Soft golden light pouring Into our sanctuary like honey
Sweetening all it touches
Blunting sharp edges to grace and gentleness,
Blurring clear lines to make miracles visible.
The doors all flung open, welcoming
The air softly caressing, a gentle, healing breeze.
Parishioners on the march, like a children’s crusade,
Led by a Father of Fathers, and Mothers, and Fathers.
Symbols flashing golden in the light.
This metal house of Yaweh, grounded in
This soft gentle piece of earth,
Nature’s counterpoint to all we design.
Gentle, crooked giants, witnesses to ages past, and
Wildflowers and grasses a carpet beneath our feet
Nicholas, our benefactor, supplicant and Saint
We gather together under his name,
To the glory of the names above all names.
Creating a place of giving and healing
A sanctuary of love and faith.