Putiki Church

I step inside
Almost cautiously, like a small child
… Half afraid.
Here is an awareness.
Which never before have I recognised;
It strikes me that I am entirely alone.
From far away from the trees by the river
… Comes the sound of clear bird notes
(But it is winter—the sound is shrill;
Sharp, like the frost on the church lawns
Early this morning)
Someone is watching me…
I look around, prepared to give some stranger an unwelcome look
(Though isn't that what I am too—a stranger?)
But here perhaps is a friend;
It is Mary's eyes who gaze from a coloured window,
Her pale face softly illuminated
… I have a feeling that she wishes me to pray
Yet still I sit defiantly,
(I do not comprehend
I wait, listen, for something else.)
Now a reconciliation is gradually coming to me;
The winter sun's lights, like some golden benediction,
Stream onto my bowed head,
Bowed, through some instinct of humility.
I find it easy, in this small church
To think of places
Where God.
(Even with my doubting mind;
Sometimes believing, yet too often not,)
Could be almost understood.

Cath Matthews