As they were on the mountain a cloud came down.
And a voice declared,
‘This is my beloved son. The chosen one. Listen to him.’
If we had eyes to see that mountain cloud, would it be present again?
In our streets and homes
At school, at work, and in the places of unemployment
In the churches and pubs
In the sports stadiums and cinemas.
And would we hear that voice saying,
‘These are my children, my beloved sons and daughters. Chosen ones.’
And though this mountain cloud may not be visible,
The voice may sometimes whisper to us,
In the songs and the silence
In the busyness and bustle
In the smiles of others
In the compassion of those who care
‘You are my child, my beloved one. Chosen.’