the troubadour is in town, his skill
(beyond the average coffee house)
could carry him to Nashville ~
instead his guitar, scarred from the
church / camp / hospital / nursing home
circuit, bridges gaps between strangers
tomorrow, this sanctuary will fill
we'll sing old songs and ancient liturgies
adapted for here and now, helping us
make sense of today's world
tonight, though, sense is made as
we're transfixed and transformed by
virtuosic fingers on the guitar accompanying
ringing tenor vocals which fill the sanctuary
Sunday, this room will be filled
tonight, too, we are becoming church
trying to pay attention to what's going on in the world around me
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