Sunday morning, just
before the dawn,
is a good time for
remembrance…
slanting sun through stained
glass
stained with sin
lighted with mercy
the little babies—how I loved
the little babies—named in
my arms
placing the water
made holy by grace
on their wondering heads
old men in gray suits
passing the plate
girls in Easter dresses
perfumed with wishes
ladies in flowered hats
giving sideways glances
at boys in white shirts
fidgeting and whispering
shimmering lights on a
Christmas
tree, the baby Jesus
underneath
preparing already for the
sunrise
service, always come too
soon
a line of hopers shuffling
up for bread and wine
a hymn that never ends
never quite in tune
John Robert McFarland
“If you believe that you
must know the name of Jesus in order to be saved, you are talking about
salvation by syllables.” Marcus Borg
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