Terra Incognitas

These are terra incognitas, histories,
to wade through marshes of words,
to swim across lakes of images. Disguised?

Their retreats seem more apparent, yet
transparent, when we’d rather not
know the past as it is felt presently,

a ghost’s nip. On our heels, we’re
forced to face mirrored halls, and
often we do so with closed eyes. Why?

History hurts. Our own acts are enough
to swallow, to still be able to shrug,
and so now the weight of the Church?

Leave it unknown! Leave it alone! Keep it
away! Let me say my pledge, covering my heart,
easy words of heavenly citizenship, I believe,

enough. Ahistory is much easier,
no need to point to how we got here.


But slow down and breathe. Yes,
mystery is unknown. But let us not run
from our flailing efforts, graced by mystery

drawn near. Nor put our back to nuance.
Things shift. We’re shifty characters and
so were our forefathers. Shifting

solidity, solidification, foundation, and
apostles are still sent to speak us back
down to this earth where grace breaks in.

Breathe together, gathered, called of
the Church in the world. Walk the unknown—
they were known—ways, the paths

the aisles to the chancel, the nave of
saints’ prayers and texts. And in all
things, still, say in the Spirit the name

over all names, prayer of prayers, Word
of words, history made history; the truth,
confession, sanctifier of flesh, tongues,

hearts that speak, “Jesus Christ.”