Minsteracres

This poem was written by a lady who visited Minsteracres Monastery on a retreat in October 1991.  She has since died but I often read it and remember many blessed times there.  I hope you will enjoy reading it and are able to capture some of the beauty of the place in her worship.




The avenue of redwoods lining the driveway up to the main house.



I stood bareheaded in the rain
Woshipping
In a great cathedral, the work of God and man
A nave of redwoods,
Eighty feet high, one hundred and thirty years old,
Brought as saplings from the station in the publican's pony cart
And planted there.
Men's part was done then
But God had just begun.
His the soil, the sun, the rain,
His the wind that skins the branches,
His the glory that I worship.

I have seen the cathedrals,
York and Westminster, Guildford and Lincoln,
Durham, Salisbury and Wells,
Built to the glory of God,
But never before God's own handiwork
In such awe-inspiring splendour.
The size, the silence, the spirit
   Brought tears to my eyes,
        warmth to my heart,
               praise to my lips.

I shared my worship, not with human friends
But in the company of pheasants,
A feral cat, a flock of sheep
And an Airedale dog taking a walk,
A red squirrel who fled at my approach,
A choir of blackbirds, chaffinches, rooks,
   and a dove who sang solo.

Yet is was the wind of God's spirit,
   elusive and pervasive through the trees,
Which prompted my song.