The Caller

First published 12th April 2017

Early on one summer morning
Patchy sleep has left me yawning

I heave ajar my old church door
And heave my old frame cross the floor

The church is quiet, its time to pray
Connecting time to times new day

My creaking joints crunch down to kneel
And soon my heart begins to feel

The warmth of God's protecting love
Around my soul like perfect glove

A stillness in His presence
Connected to lifes essence


But as I soar on holy heights
I plummet down with holy frights

A man is standing next to me
(He must be nearly...seventy?)

His clothes are ripped, his beard is long
His body sings a pungent song

Theres something moving in his hair
And something moving in his stare

This wasnt planned, Im here to pray
I really wish hed go away

Were closed, I say, come back at ten
He doesnt move; I say again

My Godly highs now sinking fast
My prayer-filled sail droops on the mast

The Spirits tide is ebbing out
Leave me alone!, I want to shout 

And curate joins the fray
And says the things Id like to say

He ambles in with jaunty cheer
And says hello. Youre welcome here.

The man, he nods, and ghosts a smile
Then motions to the western aisle

Behind some bobs, behind some bits
A dusty old piano sits

Its clear that he just wants a go
I do not have the heart for No!

He looks at me, I nod okay
He lifts the lid and starts to play

My ears stand crouched for aural pain
Dissonant chaos in my brain

When suddenly I note the notes
That sail my way in heavenly boats

The sounds profound, a minor key
Hes playing Bach; Im all at sea

My heart is stirring, beats are raised
My souls responding: God be praised

The music takes me ever higher
til worship is my sole desire

And then as odd as it began
The music stops; out walks the man

The curate jaunts his way out too
He says he has some jobs to do

The church falls silent, its just me
Confused of Holy Trinity

Back on my knees, back to my prayer
Im asking God: what happened there? 

With Abba love he gently chides
The pious blindness of my pride

Why, dear son, did you resent him?
When, dear son, twas I who sent him


The Caller; Ian Wedd 2017

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