Living in the USA has changed how I view cathedrals I have long known. |
Experiencing the Antiquity of Faith My feet make no noise On the smooth stone steps, Steps worn smooth and grooved By centuries of feet. Feet such as mine coming to Worship, Honour, Petition, Seek God. Inside there is stillness, as the ancient stone muffles The voices of unending tourists. I silently walk on stone, looking down At the engraved names and epitaphs, now almost erased, On the tombs and memorials of those came here and Worshipped, Honoured, Petitioned, Sought God. I stand in awe, eyes raised to the lofty ceiling, Imaging the masons of old Using their skills, out of love of God. Carving the symbols and beauty on high. Hands caressing mellow stone for those who Will worship, Will honour, Will petition, Will seek God. As with new eyes, I stand before the list, The list of abbots and bishops Stretching back, unbroken, for thirteen centuries, While this edifice has stood as sanctuary, A safe place, a haven, a shelter for those who Want to worship, Want to honour, Want to petition, Want to seek God. My feet lead me to a quiet chapel within, Where I can kneel in silence, Meditating, praying, weeping to a God who understands. Candles flicker as a symbol of a myriad of prayers, Rising over centuries from the lips of those Worshipping, Honouring, Petitioning, Seeking God. My prayers mingle with theirs and I sense comfort, the comfort I need from my God. The God of all comfort, the one who understands My need for strength as I mourn my sister. Because like those of old, I too have come here to Worship, Honour, Petition, Seek Him. |