The West Window:

A Saga Of York and Constantine

Background if interested: This is a poem about Constantine who was with his father, Constantius, Caesar of the Western Roman Empire, in York when he died in 306. Constantine was then proclaimed Augustus of the West by his troops and later, after defeating Maxentius (Roman Emperor at the time) in battle becomes the first Christian Roman Emperor, later uniting western and eastern empires.  Just before his battle with Maxentius he has a vision and orders his troops to paint the cross of Christ on their shields. He stops Christian persecution and promotes Christianity. He creates a new capital, Constantinople.  Importantly, in the history of Christianity, he oversees the Edict of Milan in 313 and the Council of Nicaea in 325. He is baptised a Christian in 337 on his death bed.  There is a statue of him outside York Minster. This is the story of Christmas shoppers in York in December witnessing Constantine as a young man at his father’s death, and of Constantine foreseeing York Minster and realising the future of Christianity.                                                                             (Historical sources: Wikipedia Dec2008.)

 

 

 

The Christmas markets squeeze the cobbled streets,

Rain pours cold upon the mulled wine shoppers,

Colours in the dark, shiny bags of presents,

Stalls of chocolates, pastries, sausages, olives

Olives from Italy, all colours, sizes, marinades,

And in that black afternoon of gift shopping they came

The Italians.

 

We heard their marching feet upon the stone first,

Saw the flaming torches abreast their tunics,

Watched the ancient Roman legions process,

Past stalls, boutiques, eateries, the bustling shoppers:

We stepped back.

 

Their red plumes dripped onto helmeted features,

Rain ran down gold studded leather,

Drenching the marching feet of strong fighting men.

Behind, wheels clacked and hooves slipped

Where two white stallions slowly pulled a bier,

And at the last a young man rode,

His face a mask of grief, tears running with the rain:

Upright upon his black horse.

 

Constantine, heir to Constantius,

Whose body lay stiff as ice upon the bier,

Proclaimed Augustus to the Western Empire,

Paraded his father to the populous,

In York.

 

Through Swinegate and round the streets to the River Ouse

Where the funeral pyre lay ready to launch and burn.

Mars and Venus, the Gods of War and Love, formed above them

And we shrank back with our bright bobble hats and scarves,

And watched them pass: half fear, half wonder,

Then they stopped.

 

Silently the Legions stood before the Gothic arches and towered spires,

An unexpected obstruction to their passage.

Constantine rode forward, glancing at seated statue of himself

And urged his horse upon the steps

And to the Minster.

 

Through the great doors and down the nave,

He wheeled his horse back to the Quire and altar,

Inspecting the church as he would inspect his men, he smiled:

His first for weeks.

 

Here stands the birth of a Christian Empire,

Years of politics, debate, persecution, favours,

The Roman Emperor saw through the centuries,

Heard the carols upon the organ, saw the love upon the altar,

St Peter within the walls and pillars.

The real birth had not been easy either,

Though it was simple.

 

Outside, we, with our shopping, watched them flicker and fade

Like a dream from the past the space filled with air,

We thanked God for Christ and the people

Who have witnessed, believed

That faith runs through York’s veins like the Minster the years.