Tuesday, September 11, 2018


I gazed upon the countenances of
Our faces in our church this Sunday morn.
Our voices floated, raised in songs of love
Above the nave, the call to save, adorned
With wonderful glad words, soared as the flow
Reluctantly crescendoed in the air --
So solemnly -- with care both soft and slow...
That joy got scared and went to hide somewhere.
God, who gave us joy and mirth and laughter,
Must have wanted worship to be gladsome.
Maybe we don’t have what we are after,
Or maybe we said “No thanks, I had some…”
If joy was in the room, even traces,
I think it would have shown on our faces.

Mick McKellar
September 2018

It was a moment frozen in time. It overwhelmed me. I looked about me as I listened to the slow, sonorous music of the Mass and many voices raised in Alleluias. But all the faces were stone sober, solemn, almost somber. It was the kind of disconnect that burns itself into your memory. Words of joy from austere faces -- a curious mystery for certain.


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