You Are The Air

It is late in the day.
The afternoon sun filters through the window,
the only light in the sanctuary
where you have come to pray.

It is silent,
a place set apart,
built for crowds and congregations, today
it is empty.

No candles burn. There is no music,
only light and prayer, and perhaps,
just perhaps,
hope.

You breath deeply,
all the love here is for you,
all of it, a frightening thought
that you could be loved so much,

an inexplicable thing, yet real,
like air, a sweet caress,
necessary for fire, and more,
for life.

About this poem

This evening I was listening to music and “This is the Air I Breath.” played on the radio. Few people realize how deeply this song touches me. The praise team I used to sing in at Troutville Baptist Church used to sing this song, and it literally brought tears to my eyes. In the first year or two after my divorce, the tears were at times, uncontrollable.

To my surprise, as I listened to the song this evening, tears arrived again. The power and message still, for me at least, as overwhelming today as it was then. Flawed, broken, unsure I would ever emerge from the ashes, this song sang to me like no other.

Somethings, thank goodness, never change.

The picture is of the sanctuary at Rupert United Methodist Church, where I worship and serve here in Vermont. It was taken last Saturday, after we had finished a clean up day, getting the basement ready for kid’s Sunday School. Every one else had left and I sat in the back to pray, and when I was done, I took this picture.

Tom