HABITUS

Photo from Unsplash.

Crossing this threshold, I dip my hand in water,
re-inscribe my birth. Stolid air
ushers me in, thick with dust
and smoke and resin

and with voices, shuffling feet,
creaking floorboard and pew—all music
to uncloak my solitude.
A votive wick receives my longing,

solid bench my hip’s ache.
I bring few words;
but words are given: prayer-book patterns,
labyrinthine cadences that know
the one path in
and out.

Like abrasions worn into icons and sculptures,
patina rubbed into pew and prie-dieu,

slowly, faith
is worked into me

by cobalt light through storied windows,
saints in stone and bronze and flesh,
hymnal, incense cloud, and kneeler,

plate and cup: Take,
and eat.
I’m given God
to interpose between clenched teeth.

Elaine Elizabeth Belz

Elaine Elizabeth Belz lives, works, and worships in Detroit, where she teaches at the Ecumenical Theological Seminary and is an active member of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul. With its capacity to hold the tension between the mundane and sacred mystery, Elaine believes poetry is the native language of theology. She blogs at eebelz.com.

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ATHANASIUS AND THE PARTIAL DISENCHANTMENT OF THE WORLD

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ACCIDENT OR ESSENCE: HOW THE SIN OF GUN VIOLENCE IMPLICATES US ALL