Old Churches

There are very few things in this world that hit me at my core like stepping into old churches. The creak of the wood underfoot makes me think of the hundreds of feet that have walked before me, and without fail, I am humbled by the majesty of a God who has transcended space and time to be in that church with me too. Today I got to experience such a moment in Round Top, Texas on my journey home. While sitting in this historic church, I wrote this short poem:
The voices of the ancients have settled

into the whorls of this wood.

The echoes of faith live here,

abiding in the walls

and the soft fabrics on these sacred pews.

Hands have clasped in prayer here,

clutched the spines of hymn books to ward off

the storms of life.

The God of Abraham, of Jacob, of me,

and of you,

has curved His hand around the cornerstone

of this church,

curves it still.

As we touch the soles of our twenty-first century shoes

to this faltering floor,

we walk into His palm

just as those who walked here before.

The heart of a building is found

in the essence of the people it has housed,

and my heart is humbled to breathe

in the air filled with the dust

of one hundred years of love

poured out to a God who has caressed each prayer.

And I am filled with the knowing that

we are visitors here, guests of the divine,

stumbling into this air filled

with the sweet songs of days long gone by.


-Jessi Sanders

March 15, 2016



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