In churches I grew up in...

Altar of Stadtkirche Lutherstadt Wittenberg, Germany,

altarpiece by Lucas Cranach; baptismal font in foreground

by Hermann der Ältere Vischer

In her essay “Facing Altars” the poet Mary Karr writes,

“Like poetry, prayer often begins in torment,

until the intensity of language forges a shape worthy of both labels:

'true' and 'beautiful.'”

In churches I grew up in, there were hints that we expected

God to be physically at work.

We'd pray for healing.

And Pastor Dennis Cooper every month would read,

"...But let a man examine himself,

and so let him eat of that bread,

and drink of that cup...." (1 Corinthians 11:28-29).

When I was baptized,

I felt the water,

and I heard the invocation,

"Father, Son, and Holy Spirit."

When I moved back to Coulee City from Oklahoma City

and was confirmed at Bethel Lutheran Church,

I was surprised that I desired sacraments.

Karr continues, “...the Church’s carnality,

which seemed crude at the outset—people lighting candles and talking to dolls—

worked its voodoo on me....

There is a body on the cross in my church.

(Which made me think at first that the people worshipped the suffering,

till my teenage son told me one day at Mass:

'What else would get everybody’s attention but something really grisly?'...).”

And so I find myself driving to church, too little sleep,

anxious about the proper way to read the lectionary,

suspicious God might not exist and lectionary readings are made up,

wondering if it's disingenuous to read and doubt.