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The Naked Church

As I was sitting in Church, just one of those days, those regular church days, I began to drift off into wander. As if led by some mysterious guide. As you know, in some dreams you can see everyone but no one can see you. That’s how it was. I was aware of their presence, but not them of mine. Being a spectator I could not partake, but I could experience. And this is what I saw:

A church, not so different from yours or mine. But with a difference. Oh not louder music, not bigger smiles, not even more, how do they say…”spirit filled”. No, the difference was, the church was naked. Now if you know what I mean by “Church'” you know I’m not talking about the four brick walls and tiled roof. Every man woman and child stood there bare, praising their God.

I thought, “have these people no shame!”, “look at them revealed! They call themselves God’s own, how can they be if they’re exposed to the bone!”

But then my guide, he touched my eyes, and I began to see, see some of what they could see. I saw a brother with a scar here, a sister with a wound there, a child with bruise, an injured parent. I saw the pain of their suffering, the cries of their hearts. I saw the joy in their steps, the freedom in their laughter.

Then as if all at once, they turned to one another. Their leader had instructed them to do something, I never heard what, I must have been too shocked by the sight. But without uttering a word, each one turned to his neighbour with eyes that loved: they surrendered their inconvenience, forgot themselves, dressed each wound, mended the injured, soothed the bruised, poured oil on their scars. Tears in my eyes, I tried to partake. But as I stepped forward, my guide caught my hand.

I woke up.

Now I am in reality. We are all clothed to the collar. Ashamed, hidden, unwilling to expose.

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