When you are to come …
Would you go see the Priest?
You will find him there in his big church,
Surrounded by his Apostles and Saints,
All dressed up … like in a masquerade!
He’s showering his Pax Vobiscum around,
… as though a manna from heaven,
Giving Your Flesh-and-Blood in Communion
… to a resigned and bored flock,
And bidding them to be generous to the paupers,
… before passing the collection saucers.
You will find him there in his confessional,
Half-asleep from indigestion,
Burping his absolution to all sins:
A few Paters and Ave Marias, lots of candles, some regrets,
And off they go, ready to party with the devil again!
Or over there with a dying man,
Giving him his last sacrament,
And blessing him with his Sacred Ointment!
“Now you can die in peace my son,”
He says in a reassuring voice to that dubious wretch,
“God’s angels are here to carry you to heaven.”
“Here lies a good man: a saved man,”
He says as a poignant epitaph!
And the richer is the dearly departed,
… the grander is the elegy of the pater!
Just to listen to him, you’d think
All Christians have a guaranteed ticket to heaven …
The good with the bad, the reverent with the reveler,
Providing they receive his sacraments holy
Before they close their eyes for Eternity!
Is it true?
Did you bestow those spiritual powers unto him?
Or, are we to be accounted for every deed, good or bad,
And be weighed in the scale of His Divine Justice?
If you tell this secondhand Pharisee,
“Who gave you that Divine power? I don’t recall ever teaching such inanity …”
Would he let you in presently,
And invite you to his confessional gently?
Or would he just slam the door in your face,
Claiming that you’re nothing but an idle fancy?
If you speak to him of God and His Kingdom Come,
Would he still insist on a sign from heaven?
And if you oblige him with one,
Would he kneel down at your feet and cry in shame,
Then beg you to absolve all of his past mistakes?
If you show him the “Right Way,”
Would he abide?
Or would he just pretend he has been hypnotized,
And, tearing his attire in rage,
Accuse you of doing the devil’s work,
And flash your crucifix in your face?
Would he then shout to all his devout followers,
With a loud vicious voice and a threatening fist,
“Here is the Anti-Christ in flesh and blood”?
Are you going to let this happen again?
Or would you sweep that canting father,
… Once and for all, out of your domain?
Would you thereon lift your fiercest scourge against all those who transgress God’s most sacred commandments,
… Like you then did in the Temple of Jerusalem?
They made you a symbol of kindness and forgiveness,
To lull us into complacency and put our fears to sleep,
All the while they turned your domain into a den of thieves
… And a clique of unforgivable perverts!
Somehow, this time around …
I don’t see the cross as your creed … but the scythe!
Nor do I see easy forgiveness in your weary eyes,
… But grapes of wrath against the wrongful and unjust!
But, tell me sweet lord,
Is it too late for us?
Isn’t it why you came?