Rev Jeff where are you when I need you
the Reverend Geoffrey Lough
curate of St. George’s in Gloucester England
it used to be we could tell you what alarmed us
what angered or perplexed us
you would offer words that soothed
as when I told you I hated my neighbor
throwing pebbles at Topsy my cat
sometimes drawing blood
you took me by the shoulders and whispered
thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself
words for me to unwind on my own
a pastor I met friendly on the street
opens our kitchen door uninvited
steps inside decked out in military threads
on his way to serve as chaplain for the soldiers in Iraq
visiting us on a mission to talk about God
I do not want to listen
to what I think he’ll say
how we must abolish a government
that caters to thundering leftwingers
how I must converse with God
hear Him sanction the use of guns
to protect the world He created for us
I stop our visitor before he can start
on my feet to tell him
loud
my relationship with God
is personal intense
and no one’s business but my own
for a moment still and staring
then a nod of the head
he opens the door and disappears
the Mayflower pilgrims
arrived on their leaky ship in 1610
running away from religious torment
the Church of England writing rules to pray by
the Inquisition still slaughtering Spain
in America’s forests
freedom written into law
freedom from religious communions
that dictate where and how to worship
freedom. from the threat of persecution and death
freedom to follow personal wishes of the soul
when I arrived in Cleveland
Rev Jeff you told me in our good-bye moment
to look for something called “Episcopal”
and there it was in the telephone yellow pages
along with mosques synagogues and temples
St. Luke’s Episcopal neighbored by Catholic churches
25th Street refugees from Slavic lands
but without a resident vicar
a married couple wearing imaginary haloes
in charge of the church’s existence
every Sunday I had to hear
their seething contempt for the crowds
flowing into those Catholic churches
Rev Jeff what is it makes religion so lacerating
I left St. Luke’s Episcopal behind
I think often about the pilgrims
their urge to touch the sacred with their own fingers
a heritage that has been chipped and chiseled
evangelicals nowadays telling me what I must believe
reciting how I must behave
insisting I must not tolerate my son’s marriage
to my son-in-law
echoing the self-righteous behavior
that sent the pilgrims sailing
Rev Jeff where can I find your love thy neighbor?
Tony Howarth, age 89, editor for dramatic writing with The Westchester Review, is a playwright, director, former journalist, retired in 1991 after 28 years as a high school and college teacher of English and theatre, author of two books, Wild Man of the Mountain and A Hand to Hold, published by Broadstone books.
