Pandemic

A monarch butterfly rests on a beautiful flower, taken by Sister Carleen Schomer

I don't need a church building. I need people who once filled pews.
Community my sacrament, life giving grace, Christ’s sign of kiNdom.

COVID silenced choir’s voice; my own since pneumonia.
But, my porch welcomes Handel, Mozart, Yo-Yo Ma, Bernstein for a Prelude.

Nightly News is sin I confess. “Sisters and brothers, I confess to Yahweh I have sinned. I have railed at WH stupidity with words a sailor might not know…”

Forgiveness comes: a cashier’s eyes meet mine—a smile over masks.

Daily, baptism renewed with shower’s rush.
Water colors whisper invitation, “You can sing and pray with color!”  

Offertory of artful masks, made and given.

Lament psalms bring tears for loss of children.
Praise erupts—a text, an email from a friend.  

Once weekly “Good News” most treasured homily arrives—not Scripture
But a cherished childhood friendship now renewed love transformed.

Another joins a meal on Zoom.
Toasting wine and breaking bread,
We become communion.

Benediction? Trees circle, filter
air is clean and fresh.
Song birds sanctuary
chemical freedom here.
Deer wander, turkeys and poults, possum, raccoons venture close.
Blessings abound.

I twirl and blow blessings.
“Take that, you pandemic! Take that”

Pat Pickett, OblSB