Sanctuary

I am an awful Catholic, it is true. 

I disbelieve. I do not go to church. 

Except, and this is strange, sometimes I do. 

I go into the building, on a search 

For something that I felt when just a boy, 

The sense, perhaps of solemn dedication, 

The sense of sorrow wrapped in promised joy, 

Maintained through centuries of aspiration. 

I bow my head, a gesture of submission, 

Not to what I believed in as a youth, 

Nor yet in token of some deep contrition, 

But rather in acceptance of a truth: 

That in this changing world, we give our best, 

Then hope it's good enough to pass the test.