and all I could think about were the millions gathering in praise
while their neighbors are being hunted --
not in metaphor, not in shadow,
but in plain sight.
On sidewalks.
On jobsites.
In bedrooms and classrooms, no longer safe.
They invoked God's will as if they had no agency,
as if heaven required their silence
more than their courage.
As if faith were submission,
not resistance.
They denied the material:
the hunger in a child's belly,
the cough in a poisoned lung,
the eviction notice folded on the kitchen table --
as if the spiritual is all that matters,
as if the body is a burden to be endured, not a vessel to be honored.
They dismissed human suffering
as if it's inevitable.
As if it's someone else's calling to intervene.
As if it's not their place
to stand between empire and "the least of these."
But wasn't that the whole point?
How easily comfort recasts itself as righteousness.
How quickly love becomes selective.
How often the name of God is spoken
not as a balm,
but as a boundary.
And yet,
there are still mornings,
like today;
when the light hits the window just so,
and I remember:
the world does not need more belief.
It needs more becoming.
"I can't stand your religious meetings.
I'm fed up with your conferences and conventions.
I want nothing to do with your religion projects,
your pretentious slogans and goals.
I'm sick of your fund-raising schemes,
your public relations and image making.
I've had all I can take of your noisy ego-music.
When was the last time you sang to me?
Do you know what I want?
I want justice -- oceans of it.
I want fairness -- rivers of it.
That's what I want. That's all I want."
--- Amos 5:21-24
