What colour?

by Philip Fortune

Scaffolding surrounded the altar—
Extending here and there,
One awkward wrought-iron lattice
Creating pitfalls everywhere!

Beneath the same high brackets
Beside the same rusty poles,
Our seat was blocked by girders
Left haphazardly on the floor.

But, were you there on Sunday?
The Body and Blood of Christ was there,
And found a way through wooden planks—
To bring me Holy Communion?

What inconsideration
And what a terrible lack of planning …
How could anyone see in all that dust—
His wonderful radiant presence?

O, what an awful colour
Will that be blue, or grey, or yellow?
Such high-handed overruling
Of our favourite choice of decor.

But when the church is painted
And the scaffolding is all gone
Jesus will still be waiting
For you to come along.

. . . . . . .

How difficult are the works of man
Creating pitfalls everywhere!
How definite is the work of God
Creating everywhere!