Thoughts upon a picture distributed at a diocesan convention, after lectures on the Kingdom of God, the Church, and our seemingly endless love affair with earthly power…
You wait in rhythmic ranks,
Frozen and timeless, aloof and secure;
Ivory butterflies without concern,
Save for the flowering Imperial Christ
Holding all by unseen force.
We, your egalitarian successors, salute you,
We lift our fair-trade coffee
To our unfair lips in grudging admiration
For what you are, or were, and
What we still half want.
Our pensions, position, power and place
Betray our rants, chants and daring poses:
We are radicals, Oh yes, until
We feel the weight of our cross.
Then we look back at you
Furtively, in envy’s green light.
Where will we fit ourselves
In your silent, secure parade?
Where is our recycled, righteous triptych found?