A Poem for the First Sunday in Epiphany;
Or a Wintery Sunday Morning in North Carolina
Only a few had gathered, bundled tight
In winter jackets and snow boots
to break the bread and drink the wine
Of life, and love.
The Church refused to warm, the heaters
Strain to fill the nearly empty sanctuary
Our cold fingers outstretched, waiting
For the gift to come and fill.
Despite the cold our voices lifted high,
Warming that bitter air, with faith
Our song raising up to heaven.
What a sight, we merry few must have been.
Oh, the joy, we happy few,
Felt that cold and bitter morning,
The sweet fellowship we shared
Only in the grace of God.