High on Lewes is a circle of stone

High on Lewes is a circle of stone,
Giants dancing and turned to rock
On the ridgeway, an ancient tomb,
Wayland smithy - Mythic metal worker
Overlooking a motorway, Trefignath
Three tombs changing as faith changed
St Tsylio’s tiny church under
The shadow of Telford’s bridge  
 
Places that were and are holy to us,
Can God be found in Bryn Celli Ddu
As well as Seriol’s well?
Can the divine be discerned in
Bhudda’s face, the calligraphy of a mosque?
Is it to be found beneath an ancient wood
Or in the stones of Durham cathedral?

High above the raging sea - a church half buried
A chancel decorated with Islamic tiles
Does God rage about Patrick’s church?
Do the heavens roar at the sheel-na-gig at Kilpeck?
Does he cry when a mosque is made in the old church,
Or when  the synagogue is rebuilt by gentiles? 
 
Now I believe in God revealed in Jesus, 
I preach Christ risen from the dead.
But why should I want to destroy 
To de-story our world by denying
Any holy place, the places where we,
For a moment can see the face of God,
hear his heart beating alongside ours  
 
The holy places are the liminal places,
Where the veil is thin, a place where earth 
and heaven can touch in the dance of life.
In each generation we find new places, but need the old,
Every place of touching, or we lose the chance to learn
From the very heart of God