30 APRIL 1988, Page 40

Church and Covenant

The kitschy statues bleed. This theatre of God Acts out a Latin poetry A heretic can't translate. I think of pitch pine pews A northern childhood knew. I wrestled with John Knox Who ghostly in the aisles Whispered 'Thou Shalt Not'. I think of ancestors who lived For Kirk and Covenant. They feared the Antichrist, The Roman Man of Sin, Scorned English mitres too. Aware of thumbscrew, rack, They chose a martyr's stance. I lack their bigot pride, Their certainty of Truth. I choose a slacker way, A Judas tolerance.

Robert Greacen