Memories in windows and on walls

December 26, 2020 by davidjhopcroft 2 Comments

Memories in windows and on walls

One thousand years of history locked in those walls

I became lost in thought as I looked around

At carvings upon the doors to stalls

Those figures who could make no sound

A booklet was for sale by the door

A box for donations £2 or maybe more

Yet the history was really with the walls

With the stained glass that lit up those who knelt in stalls

Telling stories of a babe left among the rushes

A testament that craftsmen had with care brought to life

Stories of the ancient struggles and of strife

Of exiles to Egypt and slaves held in Babylon

Of prophets who spoke in times long gone

The light that through those windows shone

Illuminated both the history and those it fell upon

So that in this morning silence I might reflect

Upon the glass and unlock the messages they kept

The figure at his feet who wept

One who was taken whilst others slept

Layers of white paint daubed upon a wall

Hiding another glory that was once seen

Pigments that had portrayed the bible call

Faith through the ages displayed scene by scene

Why was such love and glory hidden by the Puritan

I drink in the food of ancient thoughts whilst I still can

Above the altar a body hangs for all to see

There are no secrets in the tapestry

Of a life once lived as a model for you and me

What then of this booklet I have bought

Does it contain the history that I sought

To learn of the lives and how they built this church

Whose love I can still see before my eyes

The strength of their belief I cannot disguise

How I wish I could learn more of that yesteryear

Of those who learned of a love that had no fear

Yet on the pages of the book I find

Lists of past priests with dates that blind

Who they were and what they had to say

Why were they called and why they chose to obey

And what of those who dwelt to pray in pews

Were they captivated by messages of good news

What of their lives and why they came on Sabbath days

Did they seek more than escape from the drudgery of their ways

Why does the booklet not tell me more

Of those who passed through the creaking oaken door

And stood in sandals on a stone cold floor

There are lists of those who died in war

And pages of those who left small fortunes to the church

But the real history still lies

In windows and in paintings on walls

And from that past you may still hear the calls

Of those who praised His name from pulpit and from stalls

For history should not be kept in lists so dry

That leaves me pondering each name and asking why

Just as light brings its message through the glass

I wonder is this a story ending or what will come to pass

Or can we truly paint a future that will last

With memories on walls to show we cared

To illuminate the message that he shared

Copyright: David Hopcroft December 2020