I read this as about hierarchies. And the keepers of hierarchies.
The structure of the poem reminds me of a spiral staircase, looking heavenwards. And the narrator -the keeper of the sanctum- I imagine as a tall, thin aesthete with long, long fingers, steepled together. Oxbridge, with tripping questions.
I enjoy the list of tiny woes, the pimple. And the idea of the heap of parishioners sleeping in an inner temple close to the sky.
The thought that only the able-bodied parishioners (so only minor woes) would be able to reach the temple is interesting, too. Not a temple for the truly woeful, more for interested climbers who desire to sleep in high places.
The disdainful voice of the keeper of temples is both hideous and very funny. I end up wanting to climb up many stairs and sleep in the temple just to annoy them.
On a word-level, it's interesting that you use ‘wish’ rather than ‘pray’ in S2 L3. I’d been expecting ‘pray’ as I read the narrator as a member of the clergy but ‘wish’ makes them more human. I wonder why ‘revenging’ Reaper, too. What he is taking revenge on - the disruption to the temple, maybe, the kind of wear and tear of staircase climbers, perhaps.