archaeologists, astronauts, and time lords
i once preached a sermon, which rambled around on the idea that some christians see the best days of faith as being the ones that the apostles lived, some see the best days of faith being in the future, when we are smarter and wiser and kinder, and some see all days as a good day to love. here is that same sermon, in the form of a poem. ... and for the record, even though i am the third type (which gets the final stanza) i am for hope in all of its disguises.
deep in the vaults of time
a word was spoken
and died, and lived again
and still lives amidst the people
of the ancient way
who fight to preserve, in these days of confusing echoes
fading memories of the moment when the word was understood
by the people fortunate enough to have heard it clearly spoken
always gazing into that distant past
for the concealed keys to the good future
3, 2, 1, ignition
word was first spoken,
word which death could not silence
word which shakes the earth as it lifts off
power to pierce the impervious heavens
to carry humanity to the previously unreachable.
barely comprehended when first uttered,
now every day we get closer, see a little more clearly where we are headed
riding a rocket ship to the day when this earth
is finally as it was meant to be
today we wake up
drawn into wakefulness by the music of distant dreams
held here by the weight of ancient rhythms
we reach towards possibilities which have not happened yet
bring to light mysteries hidden for centuries
time lords, we mine past and future, making certain
that the moment when all things are at last possible,
when the word is heard, is always right now
