Liturgy - Poem

National Catholic Reporter, Oct 1, 1999 by Sascha T. Moore

   Some days, I will skip daily mass,
   And take up worship in the park.
   Under cathedral vaults of sacred oak trees,
   I will spread a crisp white napkin
   Over a dingy splintered park bench,
   While overhead, God orchestrates hymns with
   Gently gusting winds through the canopy of leaves.

   There is no lector, and so I sit in stillness,
   Calling forth a litany of deeply buried Psalms,
   That rumble from my heart.
   Inevitably from the river, the fisherman's bell
   Will signal consecration.

   Ignorant of rubrics, I unceremoniously break out
   A baguette from my brown tabernacle sack.
   Like Francis of Assisi, I minister first to gulls,
   Then to squirrels, who resound amen
   With a flap of a wing, and a flick of the tail.

   Then, homeless Ben crouches in front of me,
   Concealing every bit of his holiness.
   Crudely Ben polishes off the loaf,
   And in a gruff reciprocal gesture, offers me
   A swig from his nasty flask.

   Bread and wine, body and blood. I find myself shaken
   And so the proper wording of liturgy escapes me.
   Meanwhile, in all his wildness, Ben watches and waits.
   Reluctantly, I close my eyes, purse my lips and
   Take a quick burning sip.

   Ah, the mystery of faith!
   Definitely not a Guardini liturgy,
   And yet is suffices.

-- Sascha T. Moore Port Huron, Mich.