A Poem

Upon the crest of a green seaside hill sits a white and well-kept church. 

With windows clear and doors spread wide, 

it’s steeple reaches ever higher as if straining for heights above sight, 

beyond reach, amongst the heavenly bodies that sit, 

unmoving in the deep blue black of night, 

and fade to forgotten with the glimmer of daylights blue. 

That steeple topped in the weighty cross of mission, of purpose, of Christ, 

a simple intersection of bronze glinting feebly with the sheen of its earthly elements,

and yet…

As one crests that nameless knoll from which the steeple leaps skyward, 

and the sun rises unconcerned from the horizon beyond that man metal cross, 

the nature of the cross itself transforms, 

not in bodily construct or stature visible to the eye of you,

but in its very posture and significance. 

What is quite literally wrought of ore and effort wholly terrestrial, 

in that light of new day, new possibility, new perspective, 

is become outstretched arms of welcome, 

a body made shield, 

and a gesture of sameness 

to all who look for its silhouette in the blinding ever growing light of 

what comes next and what will be. 

As one comes to the crest of the hill on which sits that same white and well-kept church, 

to any with ears to hear the song that spills from inside, 

or eyes to see that cross as it sits atop that lofty spire, 

one comes into the shadow of Gods face, 

not cast by any wood or metal milled or forged, 

not even cross of bronze, 

but cast like molten shade by the height and heft of human flock 

dispersing from beneath that spire of white, 

and into the world as an invasion of love, 

or perhaps like an infection of imperfect God, 

in fragments and facets with names and flaws and pasts, 

            but who shine like that unfathomable sun that crests that same hill each morning,

and who like that simple feeble cross of bronze, 

take on the look of welcome, of protection, of sameness 

to any who seek Christ’s peace in this life.

Upon the crest of a green seaside hill, sits God.

S. - July 2022