Tyburn Comes To Glastonbury Poem by Sue Oxley

On a perfect October morning,
With mist lying thin on streams of light
That washed the stones in golden memory,
We walked on spiders’ lace,
Silent in expectation,
And then sat and watched the beauty unfold.

Gradually they came.
First the altar layer, the spreader and keeper of holy things,
Chalices and lamps and patens for the Body
And pottery bowls full of bread.
Still, the ruined stones
Shook with the waiting.

Then the children, the young,
With songs and prayers
Slowly filled the Galilee
With the power of sacrifice.

Finally the priests.

In white and gold they faced the south
And said the words
And made the Mass
And sunlight shone on their consecration
Gleaming from the chalice in golden rays,
Raised to Heaven, and bringing down the Light.

From all around
The monks walked out
In habits of grey and brown and white.

And one drifted down the Galilee steps
Slight and fair, and pale with the Power
That thrummed through the stones,
And washed over us all.
Behind him, raised in spectral ranks,
Came those who had chosen the killing fields,
Unable to live
Without the Mystery,
Happy to die for its Light.

Together we knelt,
Body and Spirit
Helpless with joy at the Mass.