What Do You Think of God and What Does God Think of You?

Your grandfather’s sermon

Printed as a leaflet,

Photograph of his face

Smiling on the first sheet

Right under the title,

Saved by your grandmother

For the half-century

Of her widowhood once

He’d died at forty-five—

How devoted of her,

And how cheeky of him,

Sermon title like that,

What does God think of you?

To presume you don’t know,

But he, country preacher

From rural New England,

Knows what God thinks of you

And will enlighten you.

God’s mind’s a drafty manse

To rural Protestants.

Anyone can wander

Inside, Bible in hand,

And start speculating

On the moldy contents,

Then get down to preaching,

Arguing, and splitting

Splintered congregations.

He farmed a few acres

To make ends meet when tithes

And donations couldn’t,

And you never knew him—

Not even your mother

Could ever have known him,

Dead three months before

She was born—but you think

You can imagine him,

Milking the cow, working

The plow, composing thoughts

Knowing the thoughts of God.