Singing in Tune

Singing in Tune

The ship was supposed to sing—

not in the way of choirs or cathedrals,

but in the way of storms,

the way waves sing against rocks,

tide-pulled, breathless.

But they could not hear it,

deafened by arguments over doctrine,

borders, by-laws, lists of sins and saints.

They built walls below deck,

segregated rooms by theology,

spoke in tongues they did not share.

The Craftsman tuned each plank,

tightened the rigging,

sang to Himself in the darkness—

not to silence their noise,

but to remind Himself

what the ship was meant to sound like.

They laughed at His song—

called it foolishness, heresy,

barked orders to row faster.

But He kept singing,

low and certain,

each note a promise,

each word an echo of storms passed

and shores unseen.