Sacrifice at The Abbey

A poem processed in my mind during Mass:


Crows soar in-between high-arched rooftops,

Graves lie steadfast below, upon the wet grass

Next to the withered stained-glass, through raindrops

Thick beside the church, outside the damp window,

Where the monks have gathered for Mass. 


Oh, be joyful, for the coming of Spring, for Christ

Whose sacrifice we willingly participate, expectation

For the celebration, forgiveness of Sins, all rise

Giving thanks to Him, Our Lord Jesus Christ.

He Blessed this church, with monks singing their hymns.


Lord have mercy on us, hallelujah,

The Kingdom of God is close at hand.

Brothers and sisters, we pray for you, ah,

Dear Benedictines, most Holy, you make 

known your worship across the land. 


Our roof is not worthy of the Messiah,

But at his command, are we truly healed

By His body and blood, bestow peace on us

Go forth into the community with life’s zeal,

Souls torn open by the beauty of Salvation. 


Reflections on Christ

Three poems to celebrate his living and loving grace:



We are all part of His one Body;

Christ, and the Father Godhead. This is the

Bread of Life; the energy of all things.

Created once, broken, and shared for

all Eternity. It is the force that

sustains us; the gift of life; God’s gift to us. 



He is the sweetest touch of my life;

He is the most graceful presence

I have ever felt or knelt beside,

I have ever judged or loved,

That I can ever hope to experience;

He is the love of my life.



The Spirit blows up on high

Beyond those church wardens

Heart so vast and open as the sky

Where in steady breathe it returns

Whence came grace and our cries

Homebound, into the land of Zion

At the foot, there was the Cross

Of Christ crucified. 



The Holy Spirit



As the soul soars high like a bird

As the bird is free to make heaven their home.


As home is the nest of family

As family is the bread of daily life.


As life is the temptation of good and evil

As evil is all that is left over down below.


As below the soul sinks like trodden soil

As soil came man when long ago

And as Spirit only can he hope to go.