Visit to a Spirit Filled Place

My spirit knew
The presence of God,
Intense, breathtaking,
In the exquisite silence
Of the Boundary Waters.

But now,
Here,
One week later,
Seated in Boston's
Old South Church,
My spirit heart
Is once again moved.
The jarring noise
Of traffic, and horns
And sirens fade.
There is quiet
Here,
Inside.

Lifting my eyes
I gaze backwards
Through kaliedescope windows,
To the years
When humans shared their handiwork
In wood, stone, mosaic
And colors,
With the soul
of Ruby, emerald
And Sapphire,

I am humbled.
Deep in the wood carved grooves
And brush stokes,
And chiseled stone,
I look
To see the visions
That begged the gifts
Of talent and tithe.
Guided by creative spirits,
Nourished by faith in their God,
The hours, weeks, months, and years
Passed,
To leave a monumental work
Of art,
A holy place,
Sublime in beauty
To delight the eye.
A spirit filled place
To rouse the ungrateful heart
And let the scared feelings
Flow,
Insistant and unceasing,
A God's present.

-- Kandie Nelson August 6, 1997
from Duluth, Minnesota