The divine? I can believe in a god who roller-skates.
Make him a man if you must. Give him a white beard if you have to. But make his breath smell like nachos. Make him love music with loud guitars and desperate singers. Give him a wide, toothy smile whenever the lights dim and the disco ball scatters the room into tiny pieces.
That’s a place where we can worship.
So happy we have to close our eyes. So wobbly we end up on our assess. We find ourselves on our knees.
This too can be a holy space. This too is a chance to love the world.
And I want to be holy and I want to be human.
Maybe those two? Those two are the same. Two sides of a coin growing smooth and warm in our pockets as we make the loop one more time.