In the Presence of Everything

Are you the hand

That I shake in the pew,

Or on my way out the door,

To the parking lot?

…

Are you the presence,

In the plate and cup,

Upon the altar,

That is given for me to consume?

…

Are you the dirty, scarred face,

Of an abused, homeless woman,

Begging on the street,

Around the corner from the grocery store?

…

Are you the gentle face and eager voice

Of the elderly man

Who comes to my front door,

Struggling to use an iPad to show a video?

…

Are you the pastor at the soup kitchen,

Who tells me the administrative position

I’m interviewing for requires someone

Who can shmooze with the volunteers?

…

Are you the book with all the stories

Spoken a long, long time ago,

Written a long time ago,

For people who lived a long time ago?

…

If so, I’m wondering:

What is your name? Who am I

In relation to you?

Why do you appear differently to all?

…

I’d like to pin you down,

Put your number and your address

In my contact list.

I’d like to feel you.

…

I know that’s not how you operate,

If you did, you wouldn’t be God,

Or would you?

Sometimes I wonder.