Experiencing the Antiquity of Faith

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.