Meeting Needs

Meeting Needs
A Poem of Lament

In the empty darkness of a soul's great fall
When the siren song of ending whispers her seductive lies
When unseen angry voices press the mind to desperate silence
And from some small last bit of strength 
You find you are holding a phone

It is not a technician 
It is not an orator
It is not a performer
It is not an author
It is not a scholar
It is a true pastor that you seek
But, in the church of 2012, what will you find?

When even compromises have been compromised
And the wild ride of lust and thrill has ended on twisted ancient rusting rails
And the anger of family and shock of friends
Have at last driven home the stinging blows that have brought
You awake
Finally yet
Too late
Now too late
And a faint knocking at a motel room door 
Not now, and yet you move to answer
And who it might be is forgotten
In what does it matter?
And then slowly open the door
It is not a technician
It is not a performer
It is not an author
It is not a scholar
It is a true prophet that you need
But, in the church of 2012, what will you find?

When disinterested apathy in an uninteresting life
Sits in the cold panic and knotted sick stomach
By a hospital bed of a child you seemed now to barely know
But cannot begin to imagine a single future moment without
While tubes and lights and soft tones all sing 
The mournful song of impotent science and coming death
And a hand is pressed upon your shoulder
It is not a technician
It is not a performer
It is not an author
It is not a scholar
It is a true friend that you need
But, in the church of 2012, what will you find?

When sitting utterly alone in a large crowded room
Unmoved by pious song and untouched by heartfelt prayers
Sliding that long slow steady drift back into the shadows
From faith to form to the empty morning after the night before
And, for just one brief moment, some small residual place inside is stirred
By a voice, and you hear a phrase or a story
A last message of help from outside the known universe
And, though hand is set firmly on that plow toward nowhere
You pause and turn back to listen just one last time
It is not a technician
It is not a performer 
It is not an author
It is not a scholar
It is a true preacher that you need
But, in the church of 2012, what will you find?

Men and women
At the last extremity of how
Staring over the wreckage of what
Vainly grasping  the fleeing why
Uncertain now of even who
Or if
Whether they know it or not
Seek it or not
Applaud it or not
What they need
Is a man of God
But, in the church of 2012, what will they find?