I straighten my hair

You cut yours

In our Sunday best

We walk through the doors

I’m in a green dress

You’re in a suit

The reason for us being here is somewhat moot

We walk through the halls and say hello

And grant factitious smiles to friendly people we don’t know

I suppress my discomfort

You bottle the urge to move

Like stones we sit

Masks on, tight clothes, stoic faces, straight backs

We can’t breathe, talk, or relax

The windows around us are tall and pretty, stained, and glassy

I look out and think of time as it passes me

Easter lilies and wooden pews

On a beautiful Sunday this seems to be what we choose

Words are said and songs are sung

We’re both trying to figure out when this will be done

While I sit, I do think of the Lord

I also can’t help but think there surely must be more

More than pretentious surroundings and shallow conversation

Let downs and frustration

I’m reminded of this when we go to lunch

We see old friends from the former church

Instead of gliding away, our shared past makes us lurch

Everyone’s older

Things were swept under the rug

I think of my best friend and wish I could hold her

Still we greet one another

Smile and hug

You and I go home and change into our chillin clothes

Decompress for a moment

Hoping the confusion doesn’t show

We’re okay here

You and me

We can relax

In our home

Among the beaten wood floors and puppy tracks

We go outside

To the green grass and the Adirondacks

In the backyard we don’t have to hide

The wall-less sanctuary where we abide

We say kind words to each other

Engrossed in deep conversation

Enjoying meaningful relation

Masks off

We look up at the blue sky

We’re like the birds in flight

Rejoicing, communing

Enjoying a quiet life

Thanking God

Our eyes on Him

Helping our neighbors every now and then

Serving, loving

Telling the truth

Even when it hurts

Deeply caring for what we have

Maybe this is church

If it is, I’m glad