Baptized in the Jordan River

    You don’t have to travel across the world
    to be baptized in the Jordan River;
    only through the space time continuum.

    By the power of the Spirit of God
    The still clear bowl of the modern font
    Becomes the flow of that ancient water;
    Cleansing you as it was itself once cleansed
    by him who came after and yet before.

    “This is my beloved,” the voice beckons,
    Echoing from those first century shores,
    And into our very own, and beyond.

    Calling out to the called out ones, it rings
    Truer than our own truths we held so dear
    Before we, too, were brought through that River.


    The sun remains set
    but we are both awake.
    You more anxious than me

    To go outside.
    It isn’t until I feel the chill of the air
    That I realize
    You aren’t the only one
    Who has been holding it all night.
    “What’s the difference,” I ask
    “Between this and a camping trip?
    You know the kind
    Where a shovel counts as outdoor plumbing
    And you’re grateful for
    The softness of a leaf?"

    So I make my way to the fence
    And with a nod of understanding
    And a wag of your tail
    You leave

    Me alone with my thoughts.
    Moments later we both return inside,

    The Altar Rail

    The altar rail is a microcosm
    of a universe
    held together by sacrament.

    Imposed ashes speak
    louder than the words.

    The priest says
    “Remember thou art dust."
    But in their eyes, and his, it sounds more like
    “This year, or perhaps next,
    I will commend your ashes, not these."

    “The body of Christ”
    is heard in ten thousand ways,
    most of them unspoken.

    The altar rails is
    the cosmos in micro.