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  • Writer's picturePhil



I hold the Spirit of the Lord in my hands... His body the bread, His blood the wine. The great live silence of His presence wraps round me in love. I long to grasp, to keep Him to myself, He slips through my fingers like quicksilver. He will not be held, He is gone, and I am left - He calls the tune, the wild One, where and when His Spirit wishes. The shining and the weight of glory, the joy the awefulness, The welling-up of song, the dancing angels, the sphere’s music, And I, his child, obedient, waiting open handed - Is part of His heart, His love, His mercy, And hears the tune He calls, and sings a new song.

Written by a friend, Gillian Scott (2014).

“Too busy having fun, or learning how,

to fully realise the truth; but now

the sound of wave-break brings me to my knees:

"Whenever you drink this, remember me"

It wasn't alcohol or diet Coke

that burned our hearts within us as we spoke.

He broke the bread, we didn't think it odd;

With hindsight he's an avatar of God.

I must have worn dark glasses everywhere

or else my sight adjusted to the glare,

but now low winter sunlight blindingly

assaults my eye and dares me not to see.

Transfiguration's subtle, not overt;

our spiritual sense seldom alert.

But distance lends discernment to the view,

reveals the truth we never thought we knew.”

steve collins - grace @ st.marys ealing: alpha for the lost in space - worth a look!

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