A forking of a path did find and wrote about the same.
Between the two there was not much to guide his choice that day
Except that one was trampled more; he chose the other way.
This story, in the main, is viewed with parabolic eye,
The path of life presented with a forward stretching “Y”.
We’re forced to opt for one of two, we cannot choose them both
And as we go, our way is set more binding than an oath.
But this is not that story nor an equal fame will get:
A choice of roads before me I but have not chosen yet.
For I await the opening of yet another way,
Though how that will present itself I will not dare to say.
At present there’s a signpost for the weary travelers gaze
Displays a gross dichotomy a parting of the ways.
One arm proclaims a journey home to ancient, tried and true;
The other to forsaking all, and all you ever knew.
The road of turmoil to this place scarce bears an explanation.
Suffice to say the church has found itself in consternation.
What thought we done and dusted rose again to give us trouble
And many shaken found that it’s their faith that's on the bubble.
And thus the fateful moment comes upon the new arrival
And after all the buff’ting, what to do for his survival?
Shall he to safety promised by established thought and praxis?
Or deconstruct conviction with agnostic knives and axes?
But I, as I have said before, am camped out by this junction.
I’m filled with reticence to let it carry out its function.
To make a choice between such poles is hardly a good option.
And either seems to me an irrevocable adoption
So stand I here like traffic cop or maybe concierge,
Watching all the passers as they come by in a surge.
See streams to left and right and wonder how it now can be:
So many guiding lights are going somewhere not for me.
My heart and head would holler after haulers down the halls,
And chooses each one way to yell, ‘what’s drawing you is false!’
The heart in desperation wants to call after the agnostic,
While Brainy sends his diatribe the other way (and caustic.)
The heart would say “The things you did, the things you felt, were real!
You knew him in a way that was far more than you could feel.
Why turn against him now just because the facts are blurry?
You’d do to any other so? why be in such a hurry?”
“No issue is enough,” I’d cry if only they would hear it
“Whatever’s shaking you right now, your love could surely bear it.
All claims of science, wounds in church, and swirl of changing mores
Do not compare with what you had before you shut your doors.”
And yet I honour all the honest seekers who must stray,
Who sense no firm connection with convention’s well worn way.
To seek the truth, if truth there be, though through the mist alone
Must touch the heart of Truth himself. I think he’ll guide them home.
The head in disbelief must shake, declaim in tones of gloom
“Is there some common sense about or has it left the room?
The vestments, edifices, canon law, monasticism’s vow
All innovations in their time add nothing then or now”
“For everything we’ve ever done expressing our faith thus
Through culture served to bring us yet a minus with each plus.
A practise that has lasted long is neither here nor there.
To mistake old for right and good? it makes me tear my hair.”
Don’t get me wrong I’m not in fear at all for their salvation.
These are true churches and they rank with any denomination .
A man can change his cult’ral trappings any time he pleases.
The lie is that this change will bring him nearer at all to Jesus.
But these my thoughts of heart and head will likely not suffice
To bend the steps of any who step up to throw the dice.
The agony that brought them to this pass was theirs alone.
My frustration doesn’t figure in the choice of their new home.
For still the stream of pilgrims marches on to measures steady
To see it I would say that I am much more numb than ready.
They make their choice for good or ill, for mundane or for odd,
And all that I have left is to commend their way to God.
For God, whose presence does not thin, awaits at either end
T’assure them of his lasting love and name himself their friend.
They may have left me far astern: my form is less than dim.
They may have left me far behind but never could leave him.
If that is so why should I wait? I could be just like they:
In awe of things liturgic, or too smart to even pray.
But neither way seems good to me, they both appear so lame.
I’d think myself an idiot, a loser at this game.
The truth is this, no change is sure, no state is so enduring.
Give but ten years or slightly more and all that we were fearing
Will melt away, be swept aside by’vents then in arrival
With all my heart I hope that those events will be revival
Historic’lly it always comes when the church is really low,
Disordered and bewildered and unsure of where to go.
God wades right in and shakes us all with some new understanding
Somehow en masse we turn to him, diff’rences notwithstanding
And that’s the third way I expect though when I do not know.
It gets here when it gets here and that’s neither fast nor slow.
What shape that it will take is more than anybody’s guess
Just hope that when you see it come, your answer will be ‘yes!’
Some mention must be made about the movements of today
Who claim to be the thing for which the intercessors pray.
Who knows? It could be you He’ll use to bring the change about.
But your commercial bent I think puts all of that in doubt.
Who knows? I might be wrong about the stuff I find repelling
But just for now I’ll steer clear the odour I am smelling.
The constant use of catchphrases is much too much like magic.
I’m sure that’s not intended and I find it rather tragic.
So here I stay, the signpost near, awaiting something real.
I hold so lightly what I know not trusting all I feel.
I’ve walked the road to get here and I know the sense of loss
And many are the tenets held have had to get the toss.
Still I will hope the time will come for holy interventions
And clarity despaired of now will come in all dimensions.
Then neither left nor right will serve as king takes back his crown
For straight ahead we’ll forge a way and tear that signpost down.
