The Churchyard

I don't often spend time in the churchyard at The Old Presbyterian Meetinghouse. It's a quick walk-through between the sanctuary and church office and the education buildings: a brick path that passes through a swath of green, punctuated by some old stones and a couple magnolias that have seen their share of years. I scarcely notice them anymore.

Last week, however, I found myself sitting in our customary pew (middle center, right side) looking out the window that, with its counterpart on the left, overlooks the churchyard. The thought crossed my mind that what we had was two congregations--both facing the altar (or communion table, if you prefer; I'm a Catholic, born and raised, and it will always be an altar to me.) Inside, here we are in our Sunday dress; outside, there they are in their rather irregular ranks of stones. What would we have to say to each other, if we could speak? There must be a poem here somewhere, if I could only find the words.

(And here is the poem that came out of this, done in April of 2012. Sometimes it takes a while, but no idea goes unpursued...)

Window

On an ordinary Sunday morning at the meeting-house

I sit in my side pew and,

between those stalwart hymns and anthems,

gaze out the 16-over-16 window

at the churchyard,

home to near three hundred former worshipers

who no doubt sat once in side pews

and likewise gazed.

Between us stands: a communion table,

the old Erben organ,

the pulpit, and a wall, on my side--

magnolia trees, flowers, and two hundred years on theirs.

I sometimes wonder if they hear the Sunday sermons there,

and comment sagely on the scripture lessons...

if the music stirs their memories, as it does mine.

Perhaps they lie back beneath the trees and flowers, 

their whispers lost in summer breeze,

and, unseen, smile at children

swarming toward our tables,

(set amidst their stones)

scrambling for the after-service cookies and lemonade.  

Perhaps they remember picnics of their own,

with lemonade and cookies..

and recall familiar faces

and the greetings that they shared each Sunday.

Or maybe it's as simple as this:

there is a window between our holy assemblies--

looking out, looking in,

looking at each other, at the world,

through lenses past and present,

trying to see through God's eyes

a world we all could live in.

Perhaps we differ

only in perspective.