Blooming Church

Through the forest of beauty, I came upon
   a ruin of a church --
Its nave open to the endless sky.
   Its wooden pews overturned and rotting.
   Its marble altar cracked and mildewed,
      cup spilt and bread moldy.
   Its stained glass telling the old, old story,
      broken, shards scattered.
But within, around, and through the ruin
   blossomed a riot of color and shape:
   Orchids, elephant ears and snout, white and purple
      poked through the pews,
   Side by side with trumpeting lilies.
   Iris, standard, anther, and fall, all in threes,
      white, purple, red atop green
      overran the once concise sanctuary.
   And roses, white, red, orange, tight and full,
      filled the panes of the lost windows,
      telling the continuing story ...
How fertile the ground is here,
   tilled from generation to generation.
So many mustard seeds have been planted here,
   by forgotten word and deed.
What delicious fruit can be harvested here
   to nourish a barren world.

Easter 2005

©2005, John A. Mills
Published in The Way of God; Jessica Woodbridge, ed.; Triumph House