The Preacher Ruminates Behind the Sermon


[Photo Credit]

Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000)

I think it must be lonely to be God.
Nobody loves a master. No. Despite
The bright hosannas, bright dear-Lords, and bright
Determined reverence of Sunday eyes.

Picture Jehovah striding through the hall
Of his importance, creatures running out
From servant-corners to acclaim, to shout
Appreciation of His merit’s glare.

But who walks with Him?–dares to take His arm,
To slap Him on the shoulder, tweak His ear,
Buy Him a Coca-Cola or a beer,
Pooh-pooh His politics, call Him a fool?

Perhaps–who knows?–He tires of looking down.
Those eyes are never lifted. Never straight.
Perhaps sometimes He tires of being great
In solitude. Without a hand to hold.

About the author

Brent D. Beal is an associate professor of management in the College of Business and Technology at the University of Texas at Tyler. In his spare time, he enjoys debating religious and political issues, reading and writing short stories, playing Scrabble, and hanging out with his wife and their three kids.


  1. You know, this sort of reminds me of President Kimball near the end of his life. He said that he always felt bad that no one ever called him up to go see a movie or go to McDonald’s. Maybe sometimes he tired of being great…

    Thanks for the poem.

  2. Thank you King Jesus says:

    To this poem is a beautiful idea of a real relationship with someone. But who would dare to poo poo Gods ways or call God a fool? Not me for certain :)


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