This Is Our Church

Sunday morning, time for church.
Time to give praise to the holy one,
to sing to him, to offer sacrifices to her,
to give undying allegiance to the lords.

Step outside and get in the car. Navigate the
city streets, see the homes: bungalow colonial,
Mediterranean, Chalet, Spanish, Ranch. The
police camouflaged, assault riffles aimed, tanks rolling.

Arrive at the church, exit the car. No one is there
to greet you. Buried too deep in their electronics
wheeling and dealing their commerce. Scouring
the web for the loneliness of friends.

Walk into the sanctuary and take a seat.
See the wood-lined pews with purple velvet.
See the high priest in his vestigial garments:
black suit, blue tie with a donkey pinned on it.

Take note of the people who sit in the pews.
People on the right seem to be of one group
with their Moral Majorities held up to the gods.
The left more varied but offering up rights instead.

Center stage in granite statues behold the Trinity:
on the left, in her infinite beauty, Aphrodite; on
the right proud as ever, Mammon; in the center,
full of martial might and stately dignity, Mars.

Aphrodite, that goddess of the Greeks
who craved sex and beauty so much
that fidelity to her husband was no in her mind,
that she sentenced Troy to be burned by Achaeans.

Mammon, that god of greed and riches
who demands unwavering allegiance to receive
his blessings. Only as his slave can one please him.
Only as his servants will he tolerate humanity.

Mars: the Father of Romulus and Remus,
Bestower of the peace of Empire, Pax Imperius.
The Patron god of the Roman Legions, those
Deadly armies that perfected conquest.

The high priest calls the service to order with
a Call to Worship, a song to sing as a congregation:
“Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves
of grain…” The people sing in unyielding adoration.

Another priest comes to the fore, black suit, red tie
with an elephant pinned on it. Behind him are
victims for slaughter: three beautiful virgins,
a foreign man, An elderly person.

The three virgins, adorned in ornate garments,
pick a partner from the congregation. They lie
down before the goddess to offer their orgasms
in sexual sacrifice to the goddess of lust, infidelity
and sex.

The second to be offered is the elderly woman.
She is a family that steals time from making money.
She is a person who is a waste of resources.
She is burned alive in love to Mammon for riches.

The third offering is given: the dark-skinned man,
beaten and bruised, taken from his home
in martial conquest—a trophy to our power.
His blood sprinkled on the altar to Mars for victory.

The high priest calls for one last song:
“Oh say can you see, by the dawn’s early light?
What so proudly we hail at the twilight’s last
gleaming…” On goes the praise to the Trinity:

“I’m proud to be an American
where at least I know I’m free.
And I won’t forget the men who
Died, who gave that right to me…”

These are our gods.
This is our liturgy.
This is our church.
Welcome to America.

~ by hankimler on November 5, 2014.

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