Memory Is a Metal Folding Chair, St. George, 1 December 2016

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be

The name of the Lord, my parents used to say, usually
Ruefully, albeit mildly, resignedly, a theological shrug
Over some minor mishap, some unexpected disappointment.
Me, I was more intrigued by the sequence of the saying.
In our church was much testimony given, much witnessing
About times when, after the Lord, presumably, apparently,
Had taken away, the Lord definitely, absolutely returned
Ten fold, as that saying went. But no one ever witnessed
The phrase, the Lord taketh away, and the Lord giveth.
What were the reasons, I wondered. Rote: never change
A sacred saying. But there were bad puns we made, groaners
On famous Bible verses and biblical cognomens, all the time.
Rhythmic: it just feels weird to front the longer phrase.
But folks in our world had no discernible ear for prosody.
Four square, shout amen, then sit back in your folding chair.
I decided that it was actually, subtly, just orthodoxy. Reverse
The turn and it implies that something was there before the Lord
Came and took it away, that the Lord's subsequent
Gifts were substitutions, not the originals. Preserve the order,
However, the message is that all good comes from the Lord, so
He's entitled to take it back at his discretion, blessed be
His name. After that, I found myself back in my own folding chair
While another two-hour Sunday sermon droned on, until nudged
In the ribs by my embarrassed father, who wanted me to stop
Whispering to myself obsessively, the Lord taketh away,
And the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away, and the Lord
Giveth, and the Lord taketh away, and the Lord giveth,
And the Lord taketh away. You would have thought I'd realized
Something about the way the universe works that day, the way
I clung to that monotonous tapestry frame, grimly stitching away.