In the far corner of the sanctuary I see him
Under light beaming through the stained glass
How long has it been? Thirty years?
As boys we sat in these pews, week by week
And heard his father pray. We saw it all
The mistakes everyone made
And never spoke of it.
He spots me in the crowd now
And nods hello and smiles
We know that we know
And that no one else in this sad parade
And yet the river we still wade
Is the true stream, regardless of our erring
Beneath us, God’s tectonic plates move slowly and truly
Do not be distracted by those
Who make their own noise.