The Church by the Creek 

Quietly it stands, the Church by the creek;
Never changing ­­­— as it was in the beginning —
Peaceful, content, clouds overhead, 
Only their shadows across hills are moving. 

History continues to race by this town,
a scorching bushfire once leaving it scarred;
The Hume Highway that passed by our Church,
has become a by-pass, beyond our backyard. 

The Church remains stately, intact, 
days of emptiness, years of possibility,
all revealing the mystery of an inner landscape.
Only in silence can the eternal find space.

I remember as a child, the statues that stared,
Mass in Latin and folk lost in prayer.
I could sense, in each person, an inner face,
never revealed but always there.

Nature senses this longing within us;
to another place, it takes us by the hand. 
Until among the trees, in stillness we sleep;
we become for a while, this ancient land.

Therein lies a story –– my mother, 
my grand-mother, my great grand-mother,
even my great, great grand-mother,
all lie buried in the Barnawartha cemetry.

Sacred Heart Church, one hundred years old, 
still here for us, with stories untold;
Dignified, reserved, ever under the watchful eye
of the Barnawartha hills that stand nearby. 

Fr Michael Grace
Parish Priest, Numurkah, Parish Priest, Nathalia