By Faith

Strange stuff, faith;
elusive, too. Across the millennia
we mortals have tried to quantify it
and make it into some sort of device
by which we claim the almighty’s attention.
Then, as if we have a particular right
by virtue of some contractual arrangement,
we use it to force the divinity’s hand so that he,
(historically speaking, it tends to be a ‘he’),
our captive deity,
will give us what we require of him.
Thus by faith we pray earnest letters of request
to our santa god, hang our eager stockings
and wait for them to be filled.

No, that’s not fair;
I’m being overly cynical and I apologise.
By faith we see through closed and prayerful eyes,
and with eyelids opened we peer beyond earth’s dust;
to behold a tantalising vision of all that could be.
All that is good, and full of virtue,
all that is possible, and full of hope.
This shall come to pass,
should enough people truly trust themselves
to the ungraspable spirit-wind’s unknowable future.
With this faith they whisper their request:
your will be done, and enter into that rare place
where neither life nor death matters;
and where grace is the truest hope,
and all that is possible is love.

© 2010 Ken Rookes