In the Sanctuary
I love to gaze round the church as service begins.
All the dear faces softened for a moment -
taking the time to still thoughts and settle into peace,
waiting for song, sermon and benediction.
The rounded pew back is soft on my hand.
Think how many hands have rested there over time -
gripping in pain, tapping to hymn song, resting quietly,
leaning in for support and comfort.
It’s taken many a hand to build this church.
Polishing wood, dropping bills in the collection plate,
clasping in prayer, reaching to help neighbors,
cooking for, cleaning up after, crafting a community.
I don’t often think of times past, but here, sometimes,
I feel the whispered breath of a parade of souls -
Murmured prayers, soft amens, a faint humming,
loving fellowship that spans ages and echoes onward.
It’s humbling to stand in this long parade.
Sharing bread and wine and touching the same
Sacred place within heart and soul and infinity
here in this place with these people and our Lord.