Sheltering in a doorway from
Diagonal machine-gun rain
Bullets that riddled the church;
Hallowed windows remained stained.
A man, revered, spoke of community
Spirit, occasionally in a Latin tongue
I listened via an agnostic ear
Who was I to say he was wrong?
Sitting at the back drying out
With people who queued for wine
And solace, much more else:
Seeking words from that divine.
As wine turned back to holy water
The heavens opened up
I walked amongst the gathered people
And drank from cherished cup.