by Marilyn Nelson

    The Lutherans sit stolidly¹ in rows；

    only their children feel the holy ghost

    that makes them jerk and bobble and almost

    destroys the pious³ atmosphere for those

    whose reverence⁴ bows their backs as if in work.

    The congregation sits， or stands to sing，

    or chants the dusty creeds⁵ automaton⁶.

    Their voices drone like engines， on and on，

    and they remain untouched by everything；

    confession⁷， praise， or likewise， giving thanks.

    The organ that they saved years to afford

    repeats the Sunday rhythms song by song，

    slow lips recite the credo， smother⁸ yawns，

    and ask forgiveness for being so bored.

    I， too， am wavering on the edge of sleep，

    and ask myself again why I have come

    to probe the ruins of this dying cult⁹.

    I come bearing the cancer of my doubt

    as superstitious¹⁰ suffering women come

    to touch the magic hem² of a saint's robe.

    Yet this has served two centuries of men

    as more than superstitious cant¹¹； they died

    believing simply. Women， satisfied

    that this was truth， were racked and burned with them

    for empty words we moderns merely chant.

    We sing a spiritual as the last song，

    and we are moved by a peculiar¹² grace

    that settles a new aura on the place.

    This simple melody， though sung all wrong，

    captures exactly what I think is faith.

    Were you there when they crucified my Lord？

    That slaves should suffer in his agony！

    That Christian¹³， slave-owning hypocrisy¹⁴

    nevertheless was by these slaves ignored

    as they pitied the poor body of Christ！

    Oh， sometimes it causes me to tremble，

    that they believe most， who so much have lost.

    To be a Christian one must bear a cross.

    I think belief is given to the simple

    as recompense for what they do not know.

    I sit alone， tormented¹⁵ in my heart

    by fighting angels， one group black， one white.

    The victory is uncertain， but tonight

    I'll lie awake again， and try to start

    finding the black way back to what we've lost.

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