The Blessed Place

They walked into

The church of stone

In hats and gloves

And heels.

Not far into

The holy place

They crossed themselves

And kneeled.

An organ pled

In solemn tone

To quiet themselves

In prayer.

A hush suspended

Above the crowd

Holiness filled

The air.

I’ve sat with those

In that quiet
Breathless place

I’ve felt that silent presence.

I’ve tasted to see

The Lord was good

I’ve known His mysterious

Essence.

But we have lost

Ourselves somewhere

Along the way.

His touch has left the people.

It was never about

The gold and gilt

It was never about

The steeple.

Our music is blaring

While we sit laughing

Sipping our Starbucks  

And clapping our hands.

We demand the dazzle

Of the ‘Worship Show’

As we move in the rhythm

Of our bands.

There is a throne somewhere

Beyond what we

Can guess

Further than we see.

In majesty the Lord God

Rules

In silence He awaits

Our bended a knee.

Music fills

The blessed Place

And joy surrounds

His throne.

And nothing matters

But true worship there

When we make the Lord

Our own.