by Emily Dickinson
Raised as a Catholic, I myself have attended church every Sunday since I can remember. I have recently stopped going because I question its politics. I know of many people who have acted unforgivably yet, attend church regularly. They think their souls are in no jeopardy because they attend weekly services and they fear for mine because I don’t. I justify my own feelings as others should. This poem does just that; it is telling us to follow what we believe, not what others tell us to believe in. I still hold great faith in God; I just choose not to follow his disciples or those who claim to be. I believe God will accept me and for what I believe, even if those around me will not.
22 years old; Student and Senior Library Page, SJSU
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church —
I keep it, staying at Home —
With a Bobolink for a Chorister —
And an Orchard, for a Dome —
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice —
I just wear my Wings —
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton — sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman —
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at least —
I’m going, all along.