There you sit, you strange little Greek word, daring me to say you:
koy-nohn-ee’-ah. Heard it on the grapevine. Neeah. Neeah. Coin O Neeah.
Koinōnia. Can’t scare me. Fat plum you are. Soaking in the sun.
Shiny little purple friend, all decked out on half-promises. Fellowship, is it?
Comraderie? Smarmy times of togetherness maybe. Then a kiss and a shove out the door. And leave your wallet behind if you please. No joke.
Cynic, am I? Just leave me alone. Jesus and I get on just fine.
Walking through a church door, community-of-believers door,
praying together, sharing together, caring, feeding,
hungering, thirsting together, finding courage and staying together,
that’s not me, that’s someone else,
wandering, seeking, and finding
that you can’t pick and choose the family you belong to
when God plants you there, like you can bloom where you’re planted.
Sunflower-clichèd, when it’s coming up roses just where I am,
just as I am, accepted for who I am by the One
who is the great I Am, finding grace and mercy,
redemption in the Lamb, slain for my sins, leading me
to drink from the fountain of salvation, giving me new life,
born again and adopted into His family, a new family,
in the house that He built.
Walking through a church door,
seeing is believing, and I see people belonging,
who were lost and now are found,
sending workers into the harvest,
still growing past imperfect,
stepping on toes on their way to the altar,
unruly sinners repenting, singing and crying,
praising the God who loved them enough
to send His only Son
to die upon a cross
and bring them home to Him.
You don’t scare me, you plum of a word.