Praises From the Past

For a change today, I thought I'd climb off my ethical and relational soap box and just pause to observe a moment which touched me deeply. I attend a relatively plain, non-denominational church, but I appreciate much of the beauty and rich tradition of our religious heritage. Wherever I go, I love to poke my head into churches, especially old ones, and take in what they have to offer. On the particular morning of this poem I was in the town of Besancon, in France, and we wandered into a beautiful old cathedral. It was, like so many of its counterparts, a veritable museum of church history and imagery. As I took in the scene, it seemed as if I could hear the praises of our religious ancestors still echoing within the cavernous sanctuary. There are those moments when we seem to connect ... with the past, with the future, with other people and with God. That was one of those moments. My hope and prayer for each of us is that we will pause during key moments in our lives and be willing to let our experiences touch us deeply. Whether it's a sunset, a perfect tree, the song of a child, a poem, or merely a moment of blissful silence. If we approach lives with an open heart, then we may well hear the still, small voice of God whispering upon the breeze ... or through the rafters of an old church.

Cathedral Saint Jean
We stand, in awe, beneath the dome
Of Besancon's Cathedral St. Jean
Watched over by the saints above
Who share each fresco scene
The apostles look on knowingly
Their faces hewn of stone
With so great a cloud of witnesses
No believer is ever alone
The cherubim and seraphim
From every arch bring laud
That humble men may bow their knees
Before the holy God
Choirs from the ageless past
Still echo joyfully
Their voices etched into the stone
Sing out eternally
And even in the silence
In the vastness of this place
The voices of ten thousand angels
Sing out of His grace
I sit alone in one of countless pews
As have saints from countless days
Overwhelmed by how this vast cathedral
Echos back my praise

By Frank Carpenter ©