Would He Know How To Do It Again?
He sits in the back pew on Sunday morning
Arriving just after the passing of the peace.
He observes the service from a distance
As far away as at least the next galaxy.
He experiences an enormous disconnect from
The pulpit, a place where he stood for forty-
Two years in various denominations, locations
And states of the union, mid-south and mid-west.
He seems to remember playing baseball in
Little league, Kiwanis league, high school
And junior college and he can anticipate
Which pitch is going to be thrown by the
Professional on T.V. and when the preacher
Is going to throw a curve ball or spit ball at
The batters in the pews. But it’s almost like
He never played the game, and almost like
He never preached a sermon, led a service
Of worship on Sunday or a funeral anytime.
Ironically, he can recall, all too well, what
It was like to lead a wedding service
Which he never liked, because the kids to
Be married never listened to him as they
Looked saccharin-ly into each other’s eyes
And it killed his whole weekend what
With Friday rehearsal, Saturday wedding
And then his usual Sunday responsibilities.
How ironic that he would remember what
He didn’t like to do, but couldn’t remember
If he could remember how to do all the
Stuff he had loved to do ever again.