All Saints

For all saints 

Really, God? 

We're all in that communion of saints? 

All belonging to that unbroken line? 

All bound together? 

Seriously? 

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 

of voices 

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. 

Please!