Lament for the Church of England
The Church of England,
my own lifelong denomination within the wider church,
has huge amounts to commend it,
not least its usually brilliant ability to hold together a wide range of theological and biblical understanding.
But in recent years we seem to be tearing ourselves apart.
So here is a lament, based on the sonnet-form prologue to Romeo and Juliet.
Kyrie eleison.
Christe eleison.
Kyrie eleison.
Such households, all in lack of dignity,
in Canterbury, where we lay our scene,
from ancient grudge break to new enmity,
where Christian blood makes Christian hands unclean.
From echo-chamber loins of Christ-owned foes
the fratricidal Synod in its strife,
through single issue politicking throes
with power-plays bury the church's life.
The fearful passage of our death-turned love
and the continuance of our focussed rage,
which, through schismatic rent, none could remove,
is now the public witness of our stage;
the which, if you with saddened ears attend,
what here shall miss, our toil shall strive to end.
