The Sanctuary Gates
I step across the stone threshold, feet moving slow as a heartbeat. The quiet of the church rises up to meet you.
You are looking for a place to rest your weight, looking for eyes that will see you and stay. Instead, there is the sharp sting of a turned back.It is the heaviest kind of silence when you offer your presence and receive a departure.
I stood at the threshold of the nave,my slow steps dragging the dust of the road.I reached out a hand toward your shadow ,but you turned your face away leaving me with the cold air of the aisle.Shepherd me, O Lord.
The staff feels far off in the dark.The valleys are deep, the paths are rocky and the sheep are so numerous.I am the one lagging at the very back wondering if the gate will shut before I reach it.
Will you look down at the bruised reed? Will you call the name I have forgotten how to speak? Or am I too frayed for the pasture ,too broken for the fold?
I am waiting by the altar rail asking if there is oil enough for my head asking if I am worth the search when the night grows long.
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