The Train Track Gospel

If I met God on a public train,

this is what I think God would say.

"Hello, God—how's it going?"

"It's going fine, babe… but where are you going?"

"I'm going to church. Why aren't you there?"

But the moment I asked it,

the answer was clear.

Then God spoke.

"Words are magic—

that’s why they call it spelling.

The preacher's words, although compelling,

have been revised a time or two

and badly need re-telling.

A part of Me left the Church

a long, long time ago…"

God trailed off,

gaze drifting past the window,

then turned back with a quiet voice.

"Child… the reason I am not in church

is because you are the temple—

the place in which I dwell,

the hidden chamber within you,

sanctuary of the heart.

You are in Me,

and I am in you—

like breath flowing through the lungs,

like fire burning in a hearth.

I gave you charisma

and an ever-living flame.

I fashioned your body

from marrow—breath—

and clay.

Where unity is known,

there—

I am—

at home."

I pondered all that God had taught.

Had the Church distilled God's spirit?

The train came to a screeching halt,

and I stood up to exit.

"Remember, Child,"

God spoke once more.

"What you sow inside yourself

becomes the harvest you reap next."

As I stepped out onto the platform,

I saw God watching me

cross the threshold.

The train doors closed,

and with a backward glance,

a finger rose—

writing one last message

on the fogged-up glass:

"The greatest of these

is love."