I’m a priest

or so it says on that fancy certificate

hanging on my wall.

Not a prophet

although that is implied

no healer

but expected to heal

I stand before critics

all who have their own opinion

of what I should do

how I should act 

even, how I should dress.

Yet, into this madness

I was called to serve

not to be perfect,

to be human

to fall then get up

to fail and succeed

to stumble in the dark.

Maybe I’m insane

for doing this work

for believing, having faith.

Tears have been shed

hearts have been broken,

my own included.

Yet, I am a priest

not because of a certificate

or a fancy degree,

I’m a priest

called by God

to serve, the unservable

to heal, the unhealable

to preach words of faith

in the messiness of life.

Maybe I am insane

or just a tad mad

then again, 

so were the prophets

dressed in camel hair

wandering in the wilderness.


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