The holy souls are here,
in the flickering flame of a candle,
in the silence between the notes,
in the smell of the air.
The holy souls who carried the mortar,
who polished the floors,
who brought their babies for baptism,
and who mourned their loved ones at funerals.
The holy souls are here.
It is a cold place,
not unlike a mausoleum,
yet propelled into life though the…
that dwell here.
The coldness aches to be warmed
with love and friendship and devotion.
Can you hear their footsteps?
Can you imagine them lighting candles
a hundred years ago, just as you might today?
We smell the same incense,
we yearn for the same things,
and they remind us that we are connected across time,
and that when our warmth becomes cold we will live on,
not only through the structure of the church,
but not separate from it either.
Yes, the holy souls are here,
and we are here with them.