Muscle Poems

Some of the sermon completely missed the mark. “The Lord Jesus Christ” loomed above us always, but we forgot. We winced when the death was called a victory while we mourned. The saints never told us much in life before the funeral.

My father acted in the spirit of the movie man he was because of his character, because he believed it in himself. Whatever misunderstanding may have occurred in the viewing of the real movie of his life, he left a character singular to understanding, and impact. Truly human. He had to stuff down his kind humanity to play the role of the abusive father. It was like he knew something about this character from his own past.

 Now, at the funeral, Religion and Faith take up the spokesman. It’s funny, puzzling, mystifying, impersonal. We worship God in our self-defined terms, yet do not follow the dialectic that surrounds Him. We walk around the priests to the altar. In awe of what priests have to say by now. Kissing perfection at the feet of the Christ, as it soothes our fears away, hear the Word, lay down the lay weary, now walk away. Liberated, or “Liberal,” is when one man worships yet thinks for himself.