Benedictus

They say my body is a temple, but I feel more like a church.

She'll be featured on billboards; she'll be the symbol for a happily-ever-after. But me?

I'm the church that's barely a church. I'm the place the worshippers went when there was nowhere else to go, and believe me, if they had the power to choose a different spot to praise the Lord, there would be nothing exalted about me.

The kids sing, and their voices echo off my walls. They sing about love, about heartbreak, and the words sound ancient coming from their soft lips.

They told me that this world will break you seven ways till Sunday. I told them that if no one gives a damn, you have to take it.

They asked if there was any hope for sinners, and I said the Bible was never written for the perfect people.

And hey, that temple is beautiful, but at least we're both fighting for God on the inside. And let me tell you, there may be tobacco stains in my carpet and a picture of a TV reverend on my wall (you know that man is only in it for the money), but there's a cross and sacred candles too. I might really be the basement or the gym, but I'm still a refuge for the lost. Those kids can always sing hallelujah here and feel heard by God.

And hey, maybe I still have my own road of Damascus to walk, but until then,
I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.