Subtitle: A poetic prayer in a time of pandemic
Note: Originally written on January 18, 2018 and, this day, revised in the light and the shadow of our global ongoing viral pandemic.
Sometimes I wonder…
What happens in that place,
that sacred space,
ages ago built with care
to house the ecclesia,
“the people called out”
from the world
What happens now on many a Sunday morn-hour
when folk no longer gather for song and sermon,
Eucharist and prayer?
What happens there?
Do the spiritual bones and bodies
of the olden saints
long gone, but ne’er forgotten,
neither in the mind of God
nor in earthen corporate memory,
resume their bygone places
in the pews?
Do their calls, their cries of supplication
rise from the floor
upon which, in times yore,
their feet had trod
spring…sound from the walls
with still-held (to eternity’s breast)
petitions and intercessions of things left undone
through the rafters breeze,
as orisons new,
in keeping with the sorrows and joys of now?
And all to confirm, as the psalmist saith:
“O Lord, Thou Who alway art our dwelling-place,”
e’er abide in this sacred space
where we found and met,
loved and worshiped Thee
and, in glory, do Thee still.
I pray so.
© 2020 PRA