Long Parishioners Poems
Long Parishioners Poems. Below are the most popular long Parishioners by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parishioners poems by poem length and keyword.
You will begin to see yourself as spiritual support for all the
Good work being done
Through your parish if you can stay away from the following:
Negativity: Negativity usually starts with a few disgruntled
people who complain about virtually everything
Can spread like wildfire
The best way to deal with negativity is to address it head-on
by asking some key questions
Gossip: Gossip is negativity directed at a person or a group
of people in the parish
Every parish has gossip-mongers whose own insecurity drives them to put others down as a way of feeling better about themselves
The best way to deal with them is directly by asking why others really need to know the things they share
Or by asking how others can help the person whose reputation is at stake
Or by just
Ignoring it
Cliques: Sadly, people involved in a clique usually don’t think
of themselves as “cliquish.” They’ve just been running things for so long
that they rely on the same people over and over to help Sometimes they just need a friendly reminder to invite others
Newcomers also often benefit—and help the parish
Refusal to change: Tradition is good
But when parishioners become too rigid or too liberal about how the way things have “always been done”
A parish can quickly begin to decline
Change is never easy
Try to find a balance that will maintain some time-honored traditions
Including devotional practices
While incorporating new ways of doing things and involving new people in doing them
No parish is perfect
Even the best parishes can improve
Imagine what would happen if every person in the parish did one little thing to make the parish better!
It's ten weeks now since that fateful day when I tripped in a hole
and my life went array..
I'm finally on my feet and walking again, reflecting on those angels,
the help they did lend..
I wouldn't have been able in my home to stay, if it wasn't for a
wheel chair loan from St. John's Way..
This church based charity named after member John, who passed
away at nineteen years, yet his legacy lives on..
John had special needs and an affinity toward the aged, now the
church parishioners offer this mission in his name..
They came Easter weekend with out any hesitation and brought a
brand new wheel chair, only suggesting a donation..
I've recently utilized the Blair Senior Bus which will transport to
medicals, groceries, and such. Their retired drivers have that T.L.C. touch.
Meals on Wheels, another blessed winner when I was unable to stand
long enough to prepare my dinner..
These volunteers deliver five nutritional meals, until one's feeling better
and their body heals..
Last but not least, since my recent fall, I've had two wonderful care assistants
from the agency Griswald. They carried in my groceries from the store, emptied my trash and vacuumed my floors.
Of course family and friends also chipped in, but it's the kindness of these
total strangers that I'll remember in the end..
As we enter into HIS church
No noise or chatter do we speak
gather our reader to follow along, quietly enter the church, trying our best to not disturb anyone, as to slip into a pew to pray
For thus is our church where we come to pray, where we are all welcome as is our daughter to play on her phone, headphones on her ears…she has autism as this is her way of fitting in.
As we kneel to pray, I am numb as what to say, Heavenly Father lead the way, you see into my heart, my soul, Only you see our issues at home, please do as you wish, as my daughter is who she is..
As we sit to hear your word in the gospel my husband’s hand I grasp, Jesus help us to hear your love for us, forgive us our transgressions, we are only trying our best to seek rest in your arms of GRACE….
We share our heart but only in my tears, we are fighting this fight as a couple, running on empty, as we stand to receive your body, we give our sorrows upon your altar, I bow to you Jesus, AMEN I say to YOU, thank you Dear Heavenly Father for sending your only Son to die for our very sorrows, worries we carry with us each and every day, Help us carry our cross this Lenten season.
Mass has ended go in peace to love and serve HIM.
AMEN….
No mustard bombs are dropped
No audible or silent shots are fired
No planes are necessarily blown or hired
No flags are deliberately flown or flapped
No soldiers crossed the borders
To fight, to conquer, to kill or to die
No generals sent orders
To invade, to dismantle and to decry
However, citizens all over are coughing
Vomiting blood, suffering, and passing
COVID-19 is the deadliest war to fight
Thousands are dying and are now dead
The invisible enemies are toxic and bright
Millions are too weak to fight and are in bed
They are so sick that they want to give up
The ubiquitous enemies are wild and ferocious
Where are the superpowers that can shoot-up
And annihilate all perpetrators who are hazardous
To our health? The entire world is on lockdown
In quarantine, and at night, we're on curfew
All of us are anxious and scared. The poor clown
At the corner, is weeping. He was ditched by the crew
Who left him to die. This is a serious and deadly battle
The whole world is in danger. We're all in trouble
We cannot hide and we don't know where to run
The hospitals are filled up to the highest maximum
The corridors of the morgues are heavily crowded
With corpses and the cemeteries are mummed
It's like a quiet fiasco, a mournful silence is spread
Worldwide. No atomic bombs are dropped
People are dying. The prognosis is absolutely grim
The parishioners are praying. No priest is allowed to stop
To the churches or to the cemeteries. Hope is slim
We can only dream of better days. No shots are fired
But many people have lost their jobs. There's no economy
Health comes before wealth. This coronavirus is a mystery
This is a war that we shall unconventionally win. We're tired
Of being in quarantine. The walls become our new enemies
We're confused and nervous. We're under siege like zombies.
Copyright © April 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
I have been convinced for several years now that the worship
team at our church prays and give themselves to God.
They thrive to be a tool in cohort with The Lord. In so doing,
we are able to dine and feast together in our worship experience.
This morning, I said to myself, "Had I been there and seen Jesus in person,
I don't know if I could have contained myself". I considered the woman
at the well and the woman caught in adultery. I thought about the woman
who wiped his feet with her tears, and the man from whom were cast many
demons.
In a moment, I tried to put myself in their shoes as did I with the thief on
the cross. No, the writers and reporters of the stories could not tell it all, nor express all their emotions, but it is clear that surely, they were overwhelmed. In the spirit, I felt in the worship service what they must have felt, and so much more, when they encountered The Christ face to face. They experienced the person of his presence, and for several glorious minutes, I bathed in the spirit of his presence.
In my heart and mind, there was a brief 'casting of visions' of my Savior as I bowed and wept in the pew, taking in and consuming as much of him as I possibly could. This was public worship, albeit, never so private and personal. Words fall short of what I sensed and felt, but I wanted this morning's worship experience to be put in words. I wasn't even sure that I could put such moments in words, but these few words are my feeble attempt at sharing with you what my fellow parishioners must have also experienced. I totally realized that indeed, God is everywhere present, and regarding this morning in our Church's Sanctuary, these words best describe what I felt and heard.
There was nothing canned, frozen, or preserved about what I feasted on this morning. I tell you, it was as renewing as the rising sun, and as fresh as the morning dew. I felt it my obligation to pass this my worship experience on to you.
"... As for us, we cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard.” Acts 4:20.
8:11PMPST092621PS
We Look Up At The Family Of Tracery Architecture
Tracery architecture began seeing the light
From the Gothic Age on it gained its birthright
Its beauty spread left and right, day and night
In the stoneware dividing the glass with all its might
It took shape in the rising windows to a viewer's delight
The molds and shapes symmetrical and out of sight
Where the decorative patterns do please the eye and incite
With grooves, twirls, and colors holding the window tight
Many a cathedral today share its passage and sprite
Like an acquired custom, blessing, and rite
That duly accentuates the interiors and exteriors flight
Where the parishioners do see more than the rays of daylight
1/28/23
TRACERY Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Julia Ward
The chapel wall ornate brass findings are long gone as no more
Years of dust and debris lie upon, the now no longer used pews
Pieces from the stain glass windows, broken upon the tiled floor
In this small chapel God’s words they no longer need, or choose
Years of dust and debris lie upon, the now no longer used pews
Old leather bound bibles, lie sprawled across the floor in misuse
In this small chapel God’s words they no longer need, or choose
Cited local lack of interest as in order to claim their poor excuse
Old leather bound bibles, lie sprawled across the floor in misuse
Their lightweight Scritta’ pages waver from the windows breeze
Cited local lack of interest as in order to claim their poor excuse
A religion to which these folk burdened in as some dirty disease
Their lightweight Scritta pages, waver from the windows breeze
As relate long forgotten messages written within its open pages
A religion to which these folk burdened in as some dirty disease
The small abandoned chapel, which lack of trust in God enrages
As relate long forgotten messages written within its open pages
Relictus, where the Lord’s words lie within here, as all forgotten
The small abandoned chapel, which lack of trust in God enrages
No shoes to clink the granite tiles as no more the aisles trodden
Relictus, where the Lord’s words lie within here, as all forgotten
Silence, befalls this chapel now, as no more sermons to be read
No shoes to clink the granite tiles as no more the aisles trodden
With God’s words now muted, his messages now remain unsaid
Silence, befalls this chapel now, as no more sermons to be read
Whilst yonder angels; weep in sorrow, to them they have failed
With God’s words now muted, his messages now remain unsaid
As the Lord’s purpose to his people, no longer his worth availed
Whilst yonder angels, weep in sorrow, to them they have failed
This forgotten chapel now lies in ruins so it ails in its own decay
As the Lord’s purpose to his people, no longer his worth availed
Once cited a place of worship, leaves its parishioners, in dismay
This forgotten chapel now lies in ruins so it ails in its own decay
Pieces from the stain glass windows, broken upon the tiled floor
Once cited a place of worship, leaves its parishioners, in dismay
The chapel wall ornate brass findings are long gone, as no more
No mustard bombs are dropped
No audible or silent shots are fired
No planes are necessarily blown or hired
No flags are deliberately flown or flapped
No soldiers crossed the borders
To fight, to conquer, to kill or to die
No generals sent orders
To invade, to dismantle and to decry
However, citizens all over are coughing
Vomiting blood, suffering, and passing
COVID-19 is the deadliest war to fight
Thousands are dying and are now dead
The invisible enemies are toxic and bright
Millions are too weak to fight and are in bed
They are so sick that they want to give up
The ubiquitous enemies are wild and ferocious
Where are the superpowers that can shoot-up
And annihilate all perpetrators who are hazardous
To our health? The entire world is on lockdown
In quarantine, and at night, we're on curfew
All of us are anxious and scared. The poor clown
At the corner, is weeping. He was ditched by the crew
Who left him to die. This is a serious and deadly battle
The whole world is in danger. We're all in trouble
We cannot hide and we don't know where to run
The hospitals are filled up to the highest maximum
The corridors of the morgues are heavily crowded
With corpses and the cemeteries are mummed
It's like a quiet fiasco, a mournful silence is spread
Worldwide. No atomic bombs are dropped
People are dying. The prognosis is absolutely grim
The parishioners are praying. No priest is allowed to stop
To the churches or to the cemeteries. Hope is slim
We can only dream of better days. No shots are fired
But many people have lost their jobs. There's no economy
Health comes before wealth. This coronavirus is a mystery
This is a war that we shall unconventionally win. We're tired
Of being in quarantine. The walls become our new enemies
We're confused and nervous. We're under siege like zombies.
Copyright © April 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
the sad vicar
The vicar walks in front of the funeral procession
appears a bit wobbly, perhaps due to elderliness
eyes are watery, and the smell of lotion is too strong
He lost faith years ago praying in churches, asking
to be released from his throbbing masculinity
which left him affairs with female parishioners
past their first youth, but with adult feelings about
sexuality hidden in a black dress of widows
God had left him, he blamed himself especially now
that he was no longer young his discreet advances
were no longer useful.
The vicar had lost his faith, he went through rituals
that had no meaning, he was not a man of the cloth
His mother had been deeply religious and wished
her son will join the priesthood which he did partly
because to please her, and the idea of saving the world
from the evil that lurked in the heart of man.
He didn't know at the time, his male sexuality was
his downfall, when he knew, it was too late to do
anything about this problem, that youngish widows
was happy to assist in solving
Someone called his name, deep in thought he had
walked past the interment place, ah, they thought
our old is lost in prayers
Sadness
turns into madness
people explode in
Movie Theaters;
People explode on roads;
People have road rage
on this road called life."
Say it soft shhh hush
CAN you say
"Zoloft "
Resentments
In churches, where
black-folk congregate.
Under the protection of the
Lord.
Were killed in his presence
by programmed youth under
mind control; Parishioners,
Praying baptist,
killed by terrorist.
Can you say
"Prozac"
People
Agitated
in altered states
don't know what to think
no pure water to drink.
Foods that confuse
instead of regulate.
Can you say
"Chlorine / fluoride"
Hate
backfiring like an old shotgun
toxic people making promises
to toxic hopefuls; Who gets sadder
and madder as they realize…
That in America;
They eat bad foods and...
Their lives Also "do not matter”
CAN you say ( Mon Saint O's )
or "GMO'S"
Help
Can you say...
"Follow the wealth ".
can you say
"Pharmaceutical"
over "medicinal"
can you say "Americans
are a victim of "Stealth"
Stolen minds and bad health.
Can you say
Exodus...?