Immaculate conceptions leave me cold.
Rising from the dead just holds no truth.
Stories fashioned through the years
to strengthen strong beliefs
do not, for me, prove God. The Book of Ruth,
the Songs of David, Jesus, love and healing -
yes, these are things I hear with ease,
can understand - believe in.
This is why I go to church, to contemplate
its atmosphere of Godly peace.
I want no sermons on the great ‘hereafter’.
Muslim, Christian, we all tell of death
as though it is a doorway to a new world,
not an ending as it must surely be
in reality. I don’t resent my last living breath.
I’m not expecting heaven and its angels
to take us to some imagined, blissful state.
The church, content to quantify frivolity,
surrounds us with its homilies,
not ready yet for sensible debate.
Christian hymns, bright memories from childhood;
Christian teachings for the heart and mind.
No need for fairy stories taught as truthful,
reality has a substance hard to beat.
A religion mighty good for all mankind.