A Poem by Paul Chubbuck
Who is our God?
I mean, not the one we address on the Sabbath,
or try to believe in, according to the scriptures.
I speak of where our minds go in the dark hours when
the bank account is low,
our lover is gone,
our child is ill,
or we face death.
What we turn to when the chips are down
and the adrenalin up;
that’s where we’ve fixed our faith.
The prayers we thought unanswered really were,
but by the wrong God:
the God of Fear
When our mind dwells with those Gods,
it is they who answer our prayers,
in their manner,
and not the answers we hoped for.
Fear begets fear and doubt, doubt.
I used to think these old Gods bid harsh allegiance,
but when I looked more closely, I found only tin gods.
And the God of Love is not hard to find.
A wish for wellness towards another,
An aim for kindness,
A touch of compassion,
A tear shed for beauty.
These come naturally, if too rarely.
Will we offer our openness or cater to our closure?
Will we trust the wish of love more than
limiting thoughts of self and others?
Love is trustworthy.
When we trust it, it grows.
If we choose it, moment-to-moment,
again and again,
we are free.
We are free to switch Gods.
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