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Because the church is comprised of people, hopefully “growing in Christ people,” she has her issues. Sometimes being a member of a community, any community is painful. In the church it is so much more so because the expectations are higher. This poem was written one day while contemplating the church one day from an experiential level.

The Church

The fox drove us in here
where thorns tear our fur
and tender skin.
There is safety here and
warm whorls of grass –
nesting places.
We are rabbits,
eyes timorous, quieted
among sharp edges
where safety emulates fangs
minus the gullet.
We are settled with others driven
to an imperfect haven,
but home.
In here all naked creatures
wait out the winter,
defy the brush beatings of
those would draw our blood
for sport or food.
This is our peace –
proposing harmony.