WHEN WILL WE WAKE UP . . .  

 

. . . to the tragic legacy that we have left standing behind?

The once massive and sturdy oak once thriving, now dead

and desolate. The path we are on leads north to the frozen

wastelands, yet we see couples below, showing us another

way, another direction, whose mysterious meaning remains

inside an empty box. Half blinded and fearful, we trudge

along our way in dread of the workmen above taking down  

the dead wood that yearns to return to whence it began.  

The men are joyous for they know that the tree we have

clung to no longer contains the spirits that enliven. The

mess around us is both dark and deep and the question

keeps arising:

 

Who shall we choose to be our next pastor?

Who shall we choose to be our next  pastor?