Unclean, unkosher Oyster card in hand,
I pass somehow the Seraphim;
Their bleeped-out blessing sounds
As I step between their open wings.

Unused to the clatter of crowds,
The pilgrims, cattle-like, clamber through.
In confusion, they watch the packs of money-changers
In tailored robes of unpriestly black, walk past,
Avoiding the dirtied doves of London,
Ignoring the preachers who,
Pressed into frames,
Sell their solutions to Earth-bound Hell
And promise their branded eternities now.

But even as I step onto holy ground from the platform,
And glass curtains close on the clamour of the unconsecrated courtyard,
Still, as an incense of sweat spreads,
Burning on the altar of the body beside me,
I am not fully there,
For I have carried the world with me
Into this strange and sweltering sanctuary.

Yet when the linen of my eyelids close,
When darkness falls, the Temple veil is torn;
And though the offered seat in front of me
Between two bloated cherubim is free,
I see Him face to face.

You can find the sermon here.