There is so much Jesus
in this century-old church:
not in the wood of creaking pews,

nor in the sun-loving stained glass,
nor even in the sacraments,

but in Alice and Patrick and Mike,

in Curtis and Katia and Becky,

in Sylvia and Yvette, in Alan

and Nancy, in Hilary and Bob,
in Lauren and Sarah and Tammy.

Traditionalists who have grown

brittle in their orthodoxy
deride us "libbrul" types
for "worshipping each other."
But is that such a bad thing?
Don't we have to worship,
that is, to acknowledge the worth,
of our kindred in Christ
before we can claim to love Christ?