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Prefab Tabernacle

They placed their prefab tabernacle there
Between the supermarket and the gym
And come each Sunday, clad in activewear,
From force of habit, happenstance, or whim.
But there’s no place for saints nor seraphim
Within Eternity’s wan waiting room,
So distant from that disconcerting tomb;

Just folding chairs which fan out, row by row,
Before a stage and two projector screens
On which some words from Jeremiah glow.
A pastor, dressed in faded denim jeans,
Presents a seminar on what it means
To dwell in exile from an unseen land
For reasons none could ever understand.

Our Babylon is just a state of mind,
He cries, and we must strive to live in peace
With servitude and sin. Don’t judge—be kind,
For naught but tolerance can win release
From this cheap, plastic prison; only cease
To struggle and, perhaps, in your own fashion
You might some day find glory without passion.

Forget this world ground God Himself to dust
Beneath the engines of its industry;
Forget they sold your soul and learn to trust
Those fools who told you Heaven cannot be—
Accept this sacrament of melody
And sing it to yourself while you pretend
You can believe in being without end.

Then, as the music swells, the congregation
Imagines ecstasies to exorcise
All doubt; as if, evoked from desperation,
One small apocalypse behind closed eyes
Could countermand the nagging mess of lies
Their muddled lives demand, leaving behind
The pale reflection of a pristine mind.

Yet in their hearts they bear a love which burns
Without necessity, which can’t be sold
Nor satisfied; a love which ever spurns
Stale promises which leaven lead from gold
And all those mindless platitudes extolled
By mush-mouthed prophets terrified it might
Set fire to suburbs should it burn too bright.

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Shaun C. Duncan is a picture framer and fine art printer who lives in Adelaide, South Australia.

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7 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” King James Version of the Bible. Mathew 18:20.

    Reply
  3. Paulette Calasibetta

    Shawn, I enjoy your expressive imagery, invoking us to be reminded, that God is wherever we seek him.

    Reply
  4. Warren Bonham

    This was really impressive, starting with the title through to the last couplet. The terrified mush-mouthed prophets imagery was very effective.

    Reply
  6. Joseph S. Salemi

    This is a sardonic portrait in verse of most Mainstream clergy, with their utterly secularist outlooks and their desperate pleas to their congregations to submit obediently to anything that the left-liberal cultural elite dictates as required or acceptable.

    The words “the nagging mess of lies / Their muddled lives demand” is a spot-on description of what goes on in the minds of these dwindling Mainstream “Prefab” congregations.

    Reply
  7. C.B. Anderson

    This is a great poem that opens many avenues of thought, some profound, and others simply manifestations of the Zeitgeist, but always with technical perfection that delights a mind bent on highly organized creations. I do wonder, though, why, in the last stanza, you chose “leaven” instead of “winnow.”

    Reply

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