by Kent Reichert

At the eastern horizon
the sun initiates its daily liturgy.
In these quiet hours,
The Host awaits at the altar
eager to share.

Throughout the nave,
waiting in stillness,
oak pews
absorb ambient light 
into their satin finish
leaving the grain muted
though smooth			
to touch.				

Radiant waves,		
lucent heavenly spirits,	
pass through windows,
culling ancient messages
from the stained and leaded panes
awaiting eyes to behold.

aligned in sweeping parabolas
stand at silver attention
as if rehearsing
the Bach prelude,
bellows anticipating breath.

The cadence of time
pulses with expectancy
and hope.

     “I tell you,
     if these were silent,
     the very stones would cry out.”

Bells mark
the tidal turn.
Beckoning all, “Come,
‘taste and see that
the Lord is good.’”

the promise,	
“Where two or three are gathered in
My Name…”
 becomes reality,
“…there am I…”

Sinners approach,
bathed in grace,
summoned by the Spirit,
beckoned by tradition, 
animated by memory and desire.

“Oh come, let us worship and bow down;
let us kneel before the Lord our Maker!”

A lifelong educator, Kent Reichert, holds a Master’s degree in Religion from Wake Forest University and a doctorate from UNC-Charlotte. A native of Southern California, he has spent the last 50 years living the North Carolina piedmont. His writing has appeared in The Dead Mule, The Dispatch, Agape Review, The Clayjar Review, and New Verse News, receiving a Best of the Net nomination for his poem “Three Days by Rail from North Carolina.”

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