The church’s chalice was used to pour Jerusalem
wine into our mouths,
and Jerusalem bread was soaked in them.
The air was solemn with hymns from England,
our inner voices stuttered with the chants,
and it was the approved pattern, very holy
- Though our own chalice was not in their hands
but in our hearts.
But now, our inner voices still stutter with the
our own chalice now even smell of palm wine – in
it also smells of kola nuts soaked in them.
The air is pseudo solemn with the choruses of
which unlike the hymns,
we don’t have to learn – they are already
installed in our heads.
And it is not the approved pattern,
it is very unholy – a pagan liturgy. But it is true.
And God is in heaven,
looking at us as He looks at them,
but we don’t know what to call Him;
“Their God who forbids our ways,
our god who forbids their ways,
the God who has his own ways,
or the god who forbids no ways?”
But whenever we so stand in the sanctuary
and we see them stand in Jerusalem – tired
simply because we serve ‘their God’ better than
we then abandon the old questions
so that we can ask new ones;
“How can we make it a true communion?
And how can we make it really holy?”