Early in the morning, when snow
lights the landscape
and so much of the world is canceled,
you come here and sit

alone in the pews,
the straw filled pads, a living relic,
are hard underneath you
and the hymnals are silent

as you pray, your arms and hands speaking
more eloquently than your words,
as your history pours out into the empty sanctuary
a tale of sin and triumph,

of hope, fear, courage and struggle,
a story so common, God
does not condemn, but merely nods,
knowing

it is more important for you to pour yourself out
than for him to hear,
for to the penitent heart, the sin matters not,
only the love.

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The picture was taken at Rupert Congregational Church in the next town over from me, Rupert, Vermont. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom