All That Glitters
by Ruth Harms Calkin
I love our big church with its tall steeple
And impressive white pillars
You know I do, Lord.
But sometimes I get the impression
That we're running a sort of perpetual marathon
That keeps everyone gasping and gulping for breath.
Lord, I can't quite believe
You applaud all our frantic effort
Or demand each time-consuming activity
Or encourage our continual attempt
To function at galloping speed.
