All Sacred Things
The cross stands stark and strong against a light gray sky.
From the street, it appears small,
but the tour guide assures you it is a giant,
as tall as you and half again taller.
Its medieval bronze has turned black from pollution,
a danger to all sacred things.
About this poem
Many of you know I am a Methodist pastor of a tiny little church in Southwest Vermont. Over the past few years, I have despaired of how so many churches and pastors seemed to have lost their soul in the name of politics and prejudice, forgetting the simple command that should stand above all others, to simply love each other.
The picture was taken in Munich, Germany. A tour guide was not the one who told me about the size. It was a priest.