A faith estranged

I have wandered

from the mother-church motherland

and in my few years in exile

I find my language has become rusty.

I still speak it well enough;

it is my ideological mother tongue.

Not one you forget easily

though it can be done.

But I fear that sometimes

my accent gives me away;

I am become ‘worldly’, foreign

I do not know the slang.

(‘PtL’? And who is this Piper?)

I have lost my sense of direction too.

The Bible is like a place I once knew

I can’t remember the footpaths

only the main streets remain.

Or maybe, what I am experiencing

is mild reverse culture shock

When I realise, this stuff

that seems so alien

is what I have always known.

It is home, but not quite.

No wonder I am drawn

to fellow foreigners and expats

who miss their imagined Britain yet

when they arrive

find it too cold.

Maybe we are now too used to the Irish pubs of the world.

Our Churches away from church

That’s where we find Home

not our places on the back pews.

And I wonder,

Is that actually so bad?

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