Crumbling Cathedrals

Our judgment the flint, our pride the steel;

Our hypocrisy the tinder by which we kneel.

We pray over sparks, breathe life into the flames.

Inside this cathedral, ignition through shame.

The white-washed walls crumble, like a house on sand.

Where does the fault lie? – we begin to demand.

The pillars will crumble, like stones we all threw.

A search for a scapegoat to slaughter ensues.

Icons have splintered, shattered apart

flames kindled by all the sin in our hearts.

And yet, once again, a carpenter appears,

equipped to rebuild and wipe up our tears.

He builds up the church away from the sand

on a rock he will build with his own pierced hands.

Anna VanHuis