a little church

a little church

From my bedroom window I can see this cheery sunflower, one of several which Jim, my neighbour, has successfully grown this year.  (Mine tend to get munched by slugs and snails!)  Just as I was about to take a photo of this splendid specimen, a bee obligingly arrived on it, sharing my pleasure!

The photo reminds me of the amusing front cover of a little book which Sally, my elder daughter, gave me one Mother’s Day many years ago.   

Inside, the pages were blank, to allow for the copying of favourite prayers, hymns and other inspiring quotations.  Sally had started it off by copying her favourite poem by the American poet e.e.cummings (who avoided capital letters, unless referring to God).  I love it too, so have decided to share it with you today.

a little church

 i am a little church (no great cathedral)

 far from the splendour and squalor of hurrying cities

 – i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,

 i am not sorry when sun and rain make april.

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower; 

my prayers are prayers of earth’s own clumsily striving

 (finding and losing and laughing and crying) children 

whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing 

birth and glory and death and resurrection; 

over my sleeping self float flaring symbols 

of hope, and i wake to find a perfect patience of mountains

i am a little church (far from the frantic 

world with its rapture and anguish) at peace with nature 

– i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;

 i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring, i lift my diminutive spire to

 merciful Him Whose only now is forever; 

standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence 

(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)