For all saints
We're all in that communion of saints?
All belonging to that unbroken line?
All bound together?
So, my great grandfather, with his collarless shirts
and starched collars that he wore on a Sunday
and my great Uncle Charlie with the brylcreamed hair
who wore braces on his trousers
and my great aunt Nancy with the brown lace ups
who always smelled of mothballs
and wee auntie Annie who always wore a pinny
with a duster in the pocket
and a hairnet over her curlers
except on a Sunday
they're all saints
along with old Mrs Brown
who sits at the back now
always with a wee sweetie
to keep the wee ones quiet
and young Kylie who takes the youth group
and is the height of fashion
and even old grumpy Bob who's always complaining
and that wee devil Ross
who winds up all the other kids
you're telling me that they
are all saints?
How can we ever worship you
when this sanctuary must be filled
with such a babble
all worshipping you through the ages
And even more scary
you're telling me
that I have to love them
because they're all part
of your one, big, happy family?
Come on, God - give us break.