The old cemetery stood in the yard,
dripping with the tears of rain,
its only voice the silence of the tombstones.
With it, an abandoned country church.
White siding, cement blocks
The word Methodist above its door.
Empty, except for pews
and the old wood burning stove.
Echoes of the faith that had been found there
reverberated through the room.
Bright yellow flowers at the door
offered hope of life.
Life in the hollows of a mountain
A river flowing by.
I lift my eyes to the mountains -
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the maker of heaven and earth.
Today, with the rain outside,
Love filled the church.
The floor creaked from the strain
of unstomed company,
If, as they say,
the green walls could talk,
they would tell of past preachers,
who taught of grace,
in the middle of a cemetery,
For everything there is a season
and a time for every matter under heaven
(Turn turn turn)
A time to be born, and a time to die.
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted.
The new preacher,
who spoke of thin places,
of visions and dreams.
Brought his sister to life
as her spirit of living was celebrated.
In the room where their grandparents
shared their faith,
the grandson led people
to the light of God
and gave voice to God's message
in the silence of the tombstones
as light poured through the windows.
And his sister said,
Let not your heart be troubled.
Neither let it be afraid.
for I go to prepare a place for you.
Labels: Faith, Gospel, Old Testament, Poetry, Psalms