John Roedel is an improv comedic who “stumbled” into writing a few years ago as his life began to fall apart all around him.  During his dark night of the soul, John began to have fake conversations with “God” on Facebook to poke fun at his spiritual and personal crisis.  

What began as a flippant way of making light of his doubts in the Divine turned into something he wasn’t at all prepared for: God wrote back. 

Since creating the popular “Hey God. Hey John.” blog on Facebook three years ago, John has tackled such topics as his journey to mental health wellness, his lack of faith, the joy and pain of raising a child with autism, and grief, all in the form of a simple conversation with “God.”

Eventually, these conversations transformed straight into poetry that has touched people all around the world. 

John has published four books: 

• Hey God. Hey John.
• Any Given Someday
• Untied
• Remedy

Untitled Poem

By: John Roedel

lately, when I need to pray

I go to the church that
has no doors

and where the walls are made of carved granite ~ 

I sit under it’s moving roof
on a pew that smells
like fresh pine 

and fold my hands quietly until God joins me ~ 

here in this most ancient of churches,
I watch a dozen fat rainbow angels
dance in the baptismal font

and wonder when I too will be made anew ~

there is a special kind of holy quiet here
that rings much louder than any fat
church bell I have ever known

and the silence often rattled my ribs ~ 

it’s choir loft is high up in a birds nest
and it’s confessional is a breeze
that asks me to speak my sins

and I do, and then they are carried away ~ 

the longer I sing psalms in this church
the shorter my memory for all of
my past mistakes become 

and that is when I hear the voice of Love speak

“oh tired light, oh wounded heart,
oh my child of crumbling grace,
come plant your feet in this Eden,
come rest in this sacred space

oh weary traveler, oh somber fire,
oh shaking heart that is prone to fear,
come lay in My ribboned water
come to fully know that I’m right here

oh wilting daisy, oh dying star
oh broken song that needs a name,
come sit with Me among the wild,
and then you’ll never be the same”

God and I take turns
saying all we need to say
to each other 

I speak in short heavy jagged breaths
and the Divine replies in thin long pauses

this goes on until the sun begins to set ~

that’s when it’s time to leave
and even though I go home
I’m always still there 

in the antiquated church
of trees and valleys
where foxes are lectors
where horizons are steeples
where clouds are vestibules
where campfires are incense
where time is a gospel
where the great flow is a sacrament
where forests are community 

where a little piece of me always still remains
talking to the voice of whispering Love
as I watch trout be slain in the spirit 

and I can’t stop marveling at the altar of creation ~

-John Roedel