Love, who never fails
I will hold you gently
Squeeze your arm with warmth
And remind you of your belonging.
Together we will reach out and
Touch that ancient stone
Anchoring self and community
Trace its hard and unseen edges
Feel our names forever etched
On its side.
We are linked
In this solid and invisible way,
Not by ceremony or penalty
Nor through the magic of priestliness or hierophant
But through the ordinary sacredness
That stuff that God is made of,
And love, who never fails.
This poem comes from sitting in faculty meetings all week reflecting on the sense of belonging that my Mormon feminist community has given me over the last 15 or so years.