Father Forgive Me
As I drove west from Hobart I saw St Peters Anglican Church at Hamilton, tucked away in a side street off the main highway. In the biting cold I walked the long path through the modern graveyards to this historic church.
Behind the church was the older grave yard. St Peters was built by convicts and its single front door designed to keep control of them. But it was not the history of the church as much as the feeling of total peace I found there.
It presented with simple but fine architectural features inside and out.
I walked in the unattended open doorway and sat at the rear of the church and read the visitor book which went back many years. Entries of people tracing their great grandparents wedding or the first burial of baby
Win Derwer in 1837.
It seemed the right place to ask.
How can I be a good man?
How can I come back from absolute failure?
Where I have hurt myself and failed myself;
Where I have hurt those I love and failed them.
How can I make atonement?
How can I move on
to be what I could be?
What I know I am,
and who I wanted to be.
Or am I to be judged
for what happened in the past?
Is there no future for me as a human being?
How can I be a good man?
St Peters, Hamilton
Reading the book I wrote
The cold wind chills me to the bone,
I walk inside and feel at home.
In the silence I hear angels sing.
And pray;
“Father, forgive me for I have sinned.”
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We need peace and Solitude. The Lord is my shepherd,I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul,he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,for thou art with me,thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
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Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies,thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever
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Written July 28, 1969 A FERVENT PRAYER My God, I sit here in the quiet of my home, My thoughts wandering far Beyond these walls. Thoughts of those whom I love and hold dear. Thoughts of those Who I have yet to know and to love. My heart, so often selfish, Seeks in this serene time To reach out and comfort Those who be in need. My eyes,so often blinded in greed, Are open in rare sight To see Thy wonderous works Spread so lovingly before me. My ears, so often deaf To all but my own self-pity, Strains to hear other weeping hearts And to comfort them. My mouth, so often used For my complaints. Longs to speak words That will heal and not hurt. My hands, so often grasping Out for myself alone, Are struggling to be of some unselfish use. My feet, so often running To catch my coveted wants, Now desire to run In the aid of others. My Father, help me to help Those other than I. Help me to live usefully And do for others before I die. My Lord, lead me down the right way Not down an easy path. Take what I have And use it in Thine
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Take what I have And use it in Thine Way. Give to me Thy blessings To work for Thee this coming day. Amen
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it’s not the cross, but how you bear it…..
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it’s not the cross, but how you bear it…..
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What have you started? ryn. I love that song. Irish of course.
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I love old churches too, the gentle ambience and the sense of peace. thanks for sharing this experience. hugs p
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It isn’t the cross that saves, but the one whom it represents. Love wandering in old churches. And cemeteries. So much history buried within the walls, and the grounds. I always leave a signature if there’s a guest book. Along with the simple, unattended churches I also enjoy the stately cathedrals. Like the Washington National. Very majestic.
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The pictures and your heartfelt prayer are beautiful. The sepia gives a feeling of timelessness…poetry in itself.
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