Naso – a poem by Rick Lupert

They shall confess the sin they committed.

How much time have you got? And I thought it was
only the Catholics who confessed. Maybe they got it from us.
They’ve got the right idea with the ornately decorated wooden
booths with privacy windows. I think if I had a secret booth
I could say anything inside, or at least make it to Narnia.
It is good to put it all on the table, and to accept
the consequences for what you have put there.

May God bless you and watch over you.

Like a personal bodyguard, or a spiritual advisor, or
anyone who, at the end of a days worth of danger and traffic
and frustration will show me a list of everything I did
and then make the list disappear. The biggest brother
is watching with a fleet of sacred drones whose presence
we can only hope to sense. Please watch over me.
I can’t read all the languages of all the signs, and
knowing You’re there is sometimes all I have.

May God cause God’s countenance to shine to you and favor you.

Or, as the kids say, can you please hook me up, oh Holy One.
I like to travel first class sometimes. I like when the chef chooses
my table for the unscheduled amuse-bouche. I like front-row center
seats, so, when You’re favoring me, oh Kahuna with the mighty
countenance, I feel like I’m part of the action. Or, at the very least,
which often turns out to be the baseline most, when I do the things
I do every day, please make me feel like this is how it’s supposed to be.
I want to land on top and, I want everyone there with me.
One vast plane of top, on a bed of Your favor – how it’s supposed to be.

May God raise God’s countenance toward you and grant you peace.

Yes, as long as You’re looking at me and showing me favor
can we throw in peace? Can You promise me that You’re
throwing in peace for everyone whether they show up for
the Priestly Blessing or not. Can we do a universal blessing
for everyone in every room on every piece of soil, where peace
is automatic like oxygen? You don’t have to think about it. It
just enters into you like a biological imperative. This is the blessing
I want, a granting of peace so universal we forget there was
anything else. So raise Your Vulcan fingers to me, oh Holy One.
I’ve never been more ready.