The Anchoress of Shere


I can only imagine how many people have walked these aisles, hand in hand, as we are now. How many people have been born anew here. In this place of worship, of devotion, the iconstases have lost their luster. The years have taken the warm light from their presence. Not like you.

Graven in the wall is the body of the anchoress. The Carpenter girl. She knelt in these very pews 700 years ago and found home. Solace. The constraint of a hagioscope wouldn’t change her view. The word of God on her tongue, the blood of Christ on her breath, she vowed she’d never need anything but Him so long as she lived.

The best way to prove an unconditional love is to devote oneself to what appears as a benevolent, gracious deity, and still allow Him to kill you in His own temple.

There are cathedrals everywhere for those with eyes to see. On my knees in your transept, I knew. The God-shaped hole in my heart, the aches, the yearning for salvation. I had been starving. I’ve found what I need. Let me fold my hands while you extend your own. Let me be your favorite saint.

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