Posted in Liturgy, Poetry on Tuesday, April 2, 2013|
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The weight of the door, the solid swish as it shuts.
The faint residual smell of incense and historically extinguished candles.
Flickering candles, the Paschal ~ beautifully adorned and lofty, sporting its flame of Hope.
Neat rows of hymn books, piles of slightly dog-eared mass sheets and crispy-fresh weekly newsletters, free to a good home.
Soft greetings, muted voices, genuflecting and bowing indicating the direction of the tabernacle.
Seats chosen and filled.
Silent anticipation, preparation, adoration.
“Ting” heralds the start.
The unified rising of the faithful.
Procession of robes filled with men that for just a moment are not just James and Klaus but Priest or Father and Deacon.
Familiar words delivered by a familiar voice.
The faithful rise and fall like a vertical Mexican wave.
Voices join as one ~ in song ~ in response.
Bells ring to indicate that special transubstantiated moment, rich smoke mists the room and replenishes the smell for the next people through the door.
The whole room moves with fluid, well practised ease towards the altar.
Momentary hesitation, meet the Priest’s gaze, receive, gives thanks, move on.
Kneeling, reflecting, worshipping.
Thanks be to God.
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