what are churches used for now
the old bones of god
sit on street corners
with their doors unlocked—
not for prayer,
but for the lost electricity
of people trying
to feel something again.
they rent the pews
by the hour now:
yoga mats where knees once bent,
AA circles where confessions
spill easier than psalms,
daycare toys rattling
in the echoes of stained glass.
sometimes a wedding,
two kids promising eternity
under a roof that’s seen
too many broken versions
of forever.
other times it’s silence—
a holy kind—
where only dust believes
in resurrection.
the steeple still watches,
but it doesn’t judge anymore.
it just waits,
the old drunk sentinel,
for someone to stumble in
with a wound
too human for the streets
and too honest
for the bars.
what are churches used for now?
whatever keeps the roof on,
whatever keeps the lights dim,
whatever lets a few souls
sit still long enough
to remember
they’ve got one.
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