Faking It

Faking It

Fake it till you make it—

we preached that gospel more than Christ’s,

taught each other to smile through pain,

to clap on beat, to say we were fine

while bleeding under Sunday best.

We learned to bury the questions,

to brush doubt behind closed doors,

to trust the facade more than faith itself.

The Pharisees would have approved—

they knew all about whitewash,

about the power of a clean face.

We thought the show would save us,

that a good brand could bear witness,

treated the cross like a logo.

But the mask slipped at the table,

bread in hand, wine on the tongue—

Christ broken, bleeding, unmasked.

He didn’t ask how the service went,

only if we had loved each other

in the dark behind the doors.