The Sacred Host

With weary hands, the priest lifts the host

Gazing upon that flattened disc – that unleavened mass

As it hovers over the paten, the chalice, and the sacred linens.

Priestly eyes are fixed thereupon,

Watching to see if God will swoop down to land

and change that bit of bread into flesh

into blood

into God’s very own self.

Every eye in God’s own House is upraised

In Holy Expectation

In Mystical Silence

In Sacred Reverence.

Soon, the weary arms begin to tire

And the bread is lowered once again

To the plate from which it was taken.

Jesus finds his rest upon that sacred space

As the hands of the old priest hover o’er it

Thumbs crossed, left on right.

In silence, God alights, and all is right

And the reverent crowd,

Saintly sinners all

Behold the grace of God in mercy broken.