It was in the eighth month of the eighth year
when George W. Bush was president.
I heard the loud noise of many actors
singing praises, clapping hands in tribute.

Play-acting, learned lines and memorized songs
performed by men and women with spirit,
indistinguishable from sincere praise.
Drama entangled with reality.

It was the evening of the fourteenth day
I had taken a dear friend out for fun
to a dinner/theater, to mark his
retirement from a long life of teaching.

The play, set as a homecoming service,
honored a pastor who was leaving.
The scripted testimonies of actors
were heartfelt though I kept remembering

I'd seen these very same entertainers
play the part of thieves, liars, infidels.
Make-up, costumes, and props were authentic
but the experience lacked relevance.

On the dawn of the fifteenth day, Sunday.   
mentally exhausted, I bathed and donned
my good clothes and best vocabulary.
With Bible in hand, I headed to church.

As always, the praise songs, the sermon,
and reading of scripture were each outlined
in the program down to the times of prayer.
I offered my largest bill to the plate.

Worship was no more than a performance.
If they had watched from a balcony pew
my non-church work friends would have seen me as
merely another moonlighting actor.

Last week, they heard when I put down the boss.
They've seen me sneak out early, come in late.
On occasion, I have lied and schemed and
had a good laugh at someone's raunchy jokes.

I left church and wandered in deepest thought,
pondering, "What is worship all about?"
Bowing my head, discovering the key,
I communed with God and apologized.

written by Reason A. Poteet