If I were a pastor

I’d speak of fire –

Not the fire of Hell

Or condemnation,

But the fire of creation,

The pure fire of existence,

The inevitable, impossible combustion

Of hand and heart and mind

Upon a waiting, needy world.

 

But somehow sermons are boring

And pastors speak quietly

Or even loudly

Of words that sit upon a page

Instead of words that stir

And burn

And strengthen

And never fail to leave the world unchanged.

 

The world is waiting

For a hand that loves it,

A heart that sees it,

And a mind that knows

That life is far more than knowing.

 

If I were a pastor

I’d dwell in silence

Or song

And do my best

To never betray

The words that came to bring life.

 

I’d howl

And cry

And thrash like a fool

On that holy ground

Until I found those rare and fierce words

That hold truth like a sacred perpetual flame.

 

Somehow we know

That words unleashed

Have a power beyond time

And the right word

Is like a storm passing through,

A fire breaking free,

A silence unbound.