WEBVTT

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"Worship."

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"God sits in the light
above the clouds.

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The angels fly
nearby or play lyres

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or tumble out of heaven like
a storm down toward the darker

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world where we live.

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They seem more interested
in each other than in God.

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No wonder there's never
been faith strong enough

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to protect us from evil,
when the divine messengers

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themselves are so
easily distracted.

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Or is faith the child of evil,
the mere idea of transcendence

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a necessity to our lives.

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Dear ancient gods, that sing
in the brain of mockingbird

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and thrush, that bloom in
the spires of escaped wheat

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and oregano, that fatten in
the flesh of eye-sized plums,

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tell me how do we
find our goodness?

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I stood long at the
gates of the cathedral.

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The chanting of
monks leaking out,

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the evening light angling in
to illuminate the golden icons.

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On every lintel, cornice,
frame, column, niche,

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some winged or crowned or a
round-bellied deity watching

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over our lives.

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Protector and admonisher
of what we've made.

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I followed the
worshippers, knowing

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the space was made not for those
who stand outside the doors.

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I wanted to hear the
bones of the organ

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and the throats of the monks
fill the cavernous vault.

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I wanted to see, didn't
know this until I'd seen it.

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Each worshipper approach
a table beneath the altar

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and lift from a small bowl
a spoon filled with salt.

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Pour the white grains
into a smaller bowl,

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return the spoon to the
first vessel refilling

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it with salt for
the next worshipper.

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Each person who
entered the sanctuary,

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helping one who follows
to be relieved of sorrow."

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Thank you.

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[APPLAUSE]