A Prose Poem
The problem with getting older, is that you’ve heard every sermon, or you think you have.
I didn’t learn faith in a church, the woods taught me, when I was young, showed me there was something greater. I saw the church filled with people, but their hearts were not still.
Later, the wooden benches were hard, difficult sermons, long sermons, with harsh words. Railing against the Pope, or President Obama. I was confused, and my heart grew sick.
Healing for me came, in the stained glass, the space. Certainly in the peace, and in the beauty of faith. Now the sermons are shorter, and the words are decorated with love. His presence. What can we give to others?
All of this reminding me of the creation, the woods, the rivers, the mountains, and the beauty of life.
My heart is full now, and contented.
And in the late afternoon, Sundays were made, for napping.
Writing and Image © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“If you love nature, you will love people.”