Our Gods haven’t met
My good friend from school prays to a God
Who hasn’t met mine, it’s as simple as that
Wish it were different but truth must out
And politeness cannot conceal
Our different paths to different Gods
We’re missing a meeting of minds.
He speaks of his God with charm
And in detail with fervor warm
While I stay mute
There is little I can say about my God
Except to state what he’s not.
He shows no interest in race or color
In religious confession or sexual preference
In some ways remote, not open to prayers
Not confined by words
But close all the same.
Immense but tiny, remote but intimate
Far and near, great and small
Understood in the infinite and eternal
Better described without speech
In the cease fire of quiet acceptance.
I catch glimpses of my elusive God
In songs and chant, in smiles of babes,
In daily walks, in cups of tea
In sunshine breaking through the rain
In Dublin, Wexford and in Spain.
In dogs that bark, in Taizé chants
In quiet churches in the afternoon
In Latin Mass where words are lost
And the soul is free to choose
Helped no little part by ignorance.
A God who cannot explain away
The evil in this world or in our hearts
Leaving open the plain choice
To fight for hope or to despair.
It’s a simple choice we take alone.
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