I struggle to articulate You in the way they do.
It seems like such a permanent gesture to carve out Your grandeur in green marble and gold-plated leaves.
Does not this permanence seem to absolve the participant of responsibility?
Now that we have so loftily constructed You into a cathedral, what need is there for oratory praise, struggled inquiry of Your Word or even devoted prayer?
The vaulted ceilings elevate You beyond my grasp.
And while the intricacies of these basilicas remind me of how lofty and deserving You are of such an edifice, backed by innumerable efforts and eras of appreciation, and while they embody Your infinite power, I prefer a sunrise or a meteor shower.
Why must we gaud You with our religion?
Biased and self-righteous are two qualities that follow me like my shadow, but I can't help but think You prefer the austere, grass-root humility of Your people.
And yet I'm wrong to think by being in Your preferential gaze that I would increase Your pleasure of me.
In the light of the cross - diamond-encrusted or wood-constructed - I am Your beloved.
You are glorified and enjoyed by me.
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