Mark Nine Twenty Four

A Proem...

As a theological friend

Made a theological observation

About the presence of 

Theos in Logos

With, in, and under

The Bread and the Wine

A pious impiety entered

With, in, and under

Our discourse

That was too dark for public consumption. 

I have had more theological conversations 

Than most humans have

So I am neither uninformed 

Nor uninterested

In what is at stake

For the stakes are so high

Sometimes people are burned on them. 

But something in me is broken 

Regarding theology

And the Divine promises it makes

Because the spiritual and ethical commitments

Of the pious and impious

Regularly bear no resemblance 

To the beliefs they claim to (not) have

And those rare souls who do seek to 

“Practice what they preach” 

Are so statistically few 

As to be anomalies 

And not indicators. 

Thus I have become deeply ambivalent 

About many Divine things

And this is deeply concerning to me. 

Yet when someone waxes with sincerity

About the meaning of this or that

My first thought now is to reply 

Sarcastically

Sardonically

Smugly

“Who cares?”

But if I try to dig deeper

Past the reactionary nihilism

Past the fashionable ironic distance

To get back to a semblance of sincerity

I still ask the same thing: 

Does anyone actually care? 

Does it matter in any meaningful way 

That contributes to the health and flourishing 

Of anyone?

I used to think so

But now I despair. 

Even if one sincerely affirms 

The real Presence of Christ 

In a meaningful way

What does that mean in a culture 

That has forsaken God 

And is forsaken by God? 

The real Presence simply serves 

To highlight the real Absence 

In every other meaningful way 

In this meaningless world 

We trudge through. 

Instead of the Church 

Contemplating Divine Truth

Pursuing growth strategies

Or crying out in the wilderness

Perhaps the best Witness to

Divine Absence

Is simply to close up shop

Admit that God has left the building

(and is not coming back)

Have a Divine garage sale

And sell it all to investors 

Who will develop it 

Into gastropubs 

And shopping centers 

And luxury loft apartments.

I hope this whole poem

Is hysterical histrionic hyperbole 

But I fear

It might

Be true. 

I believe 

But Oh Lord

Help my unbelief.