TFR Home Page TFR Home PageContents ContentsPrev. Page Prev. PageNext Page Next PageComments Comments

          At Grace Cathedral
          by Gordon Edwards
          (When the doors were opened)

          The gray concrete majesty
          of the great cathedral on the hill
          dwarfed the pilgrims
          who climbed the steep walkways
          that lined the cable-whistled streets,
          climbing Ararat to see
          if the Ark still rested
          on its craggy moor.
          The white-haired cleric
          leaned forward from his perch
          with voice bounding from every
          arch and columned trunk
          "the work of God," he said,
          "is to love the hell out of us"
          --a life long work, no doubt.
          Yet, in this hallowed hall
          of terrifying pomp and feared misstep,
          one wondered whether He was
          here to scare the hell out
          of us
          as well.

          But when the two men
          standing to my right
          unabashedly embraced
          with echoes in their eyes,
          it was clear
          the doors of grace were opened,
          like the fingers of fog
          reaching over the hills,
          hiding and revealing
          the majesty of the tabernacle,
          its hand wrapped around this
          single pew, and touched the gray
          tweed shoulder of the pilgrim,
          and said to those who held
          and watched,
          no standing on this mount
          save standing hand in hand.

TFR Home Page | Submission Guidelines | Frequently Asked Questions | Sign Our Guest Book | Contents | Donations
Workshops | Event Calendar | TFR Background | How to Contact Us | Editors and Authors Only | Privacy Statement

© Copyright 1997, 2020, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 02/15/1997

(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),

ga('create', 'UA-22493141-2', 'auto');
ga('send', 'pageview');