Recently one of our leaders spoke in a Sunday morning service about a very real danger that faces the churches of today. That is the danger of turning from a movement of life into a machine and then a monument to what "has been".
I felt challenged and reminded of a trip to Lindisfarne Island which I took with two of my friends a couple of years ago when I was still at Uni. I had a moment with God on finding how disenchanted I was with the monuments to bygones on the island. That was the inspiration for the poem that follows.
On a small windy island a long way North
Stands a church, from the austerity of which, Celtic Saints strode forth.
But it now stands silent, empty, just a monument,
Just a place where all those "seeking peace" are sent.
And I wonder, whilst I walk around the echoing insides,
How we lost the verve and passion that consumed their lives?
Where it was along the path we completely missed the way,
And turned this house of praise into a museum for today.
So wandering outside and glancing over a small wall,
The sea reflects the sun and holds me in it's thrall.
A living spectacle of changing, dancing light
Presents a view of briliance before my captured sight.
And then I hear inside my heart the still small voice of God.
And hear Him say "This is how I want my people to be,
Not still, nor silent, not hollow, bound to sod,
But moving, shining - a living reflection of Me."
