Capuccino Church Poem by Bill Upton

Sunday mornings are custom built.
Birds chirping, recognizing the day of rest;
Newspapers on the porch
Brimming with overflow news, sales, and weight.
After the tumultuous battles fought in the workplace all week,
Sunday offers truce.
We breathe in the quietness,
We measure the peacefulness.
We celebrate our way through the freedom.
We sip our cappuccinos,
Navigate our smart phones,
Jog and bike, and walk the dog.
We garden
And brunch,
And walk the malls.
We decompress in the midst of Mother Nature.
Sunday seems tailor-made for mankind's benefit,
But, actually, Sunday is the Lord's day.
No matter how many 'intellects' and/or 'elitists' gather
To speak about how 'spiritual' they feel in the atmosphere
Of Sunday morning
In the confines of a coffee shop or on a bike trail-
In the malls or at the tailgate parties,
Spirituality is found in the House of God.
It is there where we gather to renew.
It is there where we give thanks for all of life.
ONE HOUR to honor the Creator.
That's all.
He visits us in the hospital,
He comes when we call His name.
He rescues us in the most dangerous moments of our lives,
And He never stops for coffee
Or sidetracks to the mall
Or tells us He is 'resting'.
He is there when WE call.
Why can't we go to His house when HE calls...
On Sunday morning?