‘The Church After Service’ was voted by members of WSA-R community as Literary Work of the Week (November 4–November 10, 2024).
Be the church when the service is over,
when there’s no light to break up the dark,
and the spirit fades like a way in the fog,
when the laughter shades out into the streets,
and warmth lingers in your soul.
Be the church outside those doors,
of dreams, burdens, and hope,
where the sun cuddles your face,
where the world awaits with full stories.
Remember, faith is not across the world,
in the four brick-walled palisades,
out there where life flourishes,
where the broken ones are healing,
and the incomparables seek direction.
Be the church on bended knees on a sidewalk,
carry love like an infiltrating root,
throw the dust of sectarianism below your feet,
and dispense love like a loaf of bread.
Take a line of that worn-out neighbour,
that friend who struggles with doubt,
that student in need to hear,
that he is not alone.
Be the church and give a word,
disperse joy like the morning sun,
swing a beautiful note in the mailbox,
to those silent and worn-out hearts,
to those disarmed in pitch black.
Open up your wide doors,
for the lost and searching to find,
a house for the hurting in mind,
where love may deeply be known.
Carry the message when you’re through,
be the light, the beat, the smile or two,
your mission is crystal clear,
from altar to the end of the hall and hear.
You can be the aftertaste of what’s divine, the long-term effect good,
the guiding star of the ships passing through the stormy waters,
sewn into one with the thread of compassion in the fabric,
reminding mankind this is not the end.
Be the church when the service is over,
faithful, compassionate,
translate spoken change into voice,
this is your calling,
in each and every look, word, and action.
