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.