When Will the Lights Come On?

There’s just a hint of anger

Each time the Church comes up.

You must have felt its judgment;

You must have feared the cup.

You must have heard “unworthy”

So many times you quake,

And all your parents’ efforts

Somehow a big mistake.


The cloister and confessional,

The habit and the rail,

The incense and the Latin,

The good intents that fail.

The words sadly out-dated.

The sin that looks like fun.

The myriad of sainted names

That somehow cloud God’s Son.


Oh pity that your light to date

Has been the counterfeit.

The rules, the regs, the form

That begs the very heart of it.

Religion is a love affair

With history’s greatest Friend

He waits for you, and your breakthrough

To joy that knows no end.

Doug Blair, Waterloo, Ontario




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