Tin Tabernacle, Pembroke
I’m waiting to go in
to that little, homely, stable-of-a-place
where nothing could be simpler than the grace of God.
On hot days, the large fan whirrs softly overhead,
the narrow, high, windows are opened and,
outdoors, you'd hear the free streaming of praise.
On cold days, someone lights the stove
and we come just as we all already are.
Nobody dresses up
or down. The same familiar friends talk openly
to God: His Spirit gathers everyone
with a small voice.
Sometimes, a nutshell cracks:
a man weeps, tenderly;
an old woman finds a secret joy;
the quiet peace sinks into
the hearts' beats and lungs
of every body’s breathing. Jesus
in these warm-hearted meetings.
We drink tea, later: there's a kitchen,
mugs and kettle out the back.
Old friends, around a table,
catching up with God:
and all of us plain
folk go home easy.
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