The Curious Offering of the Sacristan

My verse has been chosen as Poem of the Month at Sherborne Abbey! The curious offerings of sacristans Are given in obscure humility The symbol of the cupping of the hands Enshrines the essence of this mystery The dawn unlocked; the turning of a key The mystic world behind the little door The mourning weepers, watching, silently The quiet foot upon uneven floor The layered shadowed centuries; the pass Of long dead worshippers before the throne Slow shifts of coloured pools of stains of glass Soft drift of latticed light on pillar stone The empty candle, thirsting for new oil Unscrewed and filled, screwed up again and lit The hidden corners, carved by masons’ toil In which a wary flickered flame may flit The covering, uncovering; each fold Of linen and of altar cloth an art Within the starch of white, on marble cold The space to hold His living, beating heart Here, understated wafers wait in line For blessing, as an unblessed congregation Here silver, water, light, and red wine shine Anticipating sacred consecration Here eye, and hand, and mind, seek symmetry In objects placed, in psychic ebbs and flows Seek that perfection only God can see In right angle and scented mystic rose When all are done and gone, her hands will shake The fragments of His flesh on holy ground Shed drops upon the earth its thirst to slake Pour water through the light without a sound When all are gone, all blessed with wine and bread There, in the East, where better men have trod She kneels and presses to the step her head And, lost in awe, she speaks these words to God I am that ancient soul you always knew A part of you, from when time first began The I am that I am, the that in you That serves thee, as I will, while still I can I come to you as Christian, Muslim, Jew Agnostic, Gnostic, Druid, Angel, Man The cupping of my hands I give to you The curious offering of a sacristan © Gail Foster 2016