I do believe that God will sort it all

I know I need have faith in what is written

Of clouds and comings-in

But maybe all that all this really means to say; merely: He’s coming:
Christ will be global (as we like to say)

Phenomenal we’d call it

A promise spoken large in high apocalyptic terms

His listeners to grasp it and relate to

Before were aeroplanes and catastrophic nuclear wars

A seething world of crowds and amphitheatres

Where managed, massed, events take care of Saturdays

And Sundays follow-through with sporting politics

Preventing to leer crew purlieu for Sabbath views

On living life

A broken finger cleft remains of onetime worship’s

Corpse: a Wednesday afternoon’s repast on Radio 3

Some murky murmuring tucked quite out the way somewhere

In meagre narrow walls

Our measure of the place of Eucharist

Broadcast a blast to minimalist audiences

Their minimal resource

Then Radio 4 draws down on a redoubtable recourse

Fast-forwards’ fudgings, fumble flows of going native

Guys give-you-over half-and-hour to a Jesus milk-and-water

Disguised in modern guises like designer-wear

Found vague and formless

The shape of loving God for the old and gormless

Two paradigms of today

Whom sophists, trends, ignore - non-gratis also-rans

And butts for decoy ducks there bids (TV’s a quagmire too)

The stand-up comics taking

A merry sustenance of monstrance all through

The weekdays; and on Sundays revels roll,

Mulch their materials

Make out on Providential fire of august hope

The provender of two, three thousand years regale

And human harvest

Of aspiration seeking standards true and transcendental

All’s blown-away by them, turned widdershins, tangential,

Hard-hearts’ hand-carts to stow the badmouth liggers

So much they exude commonplace comestibles

Of spirit dishabilitated, mock the modest manner

Too many too much ignorant to see, to seize,

The Primal Fee that breaks life free and unencumbered

Whose suit confutes all Facebook scoldings; pallid weekend larks

Indeed from His the very measure of existence streams

From out the treasuries of gospels

A violence sidelines, shunts tradition to a siding

All-dancing lines the times providing

Much bling and rosterings of Sunshine Specials

Beanos to Waterloos where glares misapprehension’s reach

A gloomy disappointment in the hollow of her cheek

But yet regardless:

There serves a clue which shows here also is the Garden

The Kingdom stands our second:

Forgiveness, hope and pardon’s love - appraise them

Cross to the other side, and stop, and let lord’s-love, kiss you a raised one

To bind your wounds

Install you expectation for a better day

Within that Inn where Righteousness wipes weeping clear away;

Take better confidence; dry eyes and melting

Your heart here give away