SOME KEEP THE SABBATH GOING TO CHURCH
By Emily Dickinson
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church --
I keep it, staying at Home --
With a Bobolink for a Chorister --
And an Orchard, for a Dome --
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice --
I just wear my Wings --
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton -- sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman --
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at least --
I'm going, all along.
My thoughts exactly. One of the members of a ski club I once belonged to was quite a drinker and user of mind-altering substances – but heaven forbid she missed Mass on Sunday. She dressed me down quite nastily one Sunday, and I just let her go on and on telling me what a sinner I was. At a later date we were both at the top of a ski lift in Vermont on a brilliantly cold, crisp, sunny day. As we looked out over the snowy scenery, I remarked to her “Caroline, this is my God, my church.” She just gave me a questioning, superior, and disdainful look and then skied on down.
The beauty of small minds is that they are consistent. I did expect just such a reaction from her, so I smiled. Yep!