Lyrical Riffs The word became flesh
And keeps moving into the neighbourhood,
Occasionally with a crack of thunder,
Or a Damascus Road flash of light,
But more often in a smile shared,
Or an Emmaus conversation,
The hand of one weak person offered to another.
In the listening rather than the talking,
In the kindness when we’d rather be annoyed,
When we don’t throw the toys out of the cot,
But offer something more,
Something less dramatic yet more effective.
In a prayer mumbled, with all the wrong words,
In a confession about that thing we did. Again.
In the playful laughter of a child,
In the quiet and the pausing,
In the limping step as we make our befuddled way,
In the trudgery and drudgery,
In the reality rather than the idealised.
The word became flesh
And keeps moving into the neighbourhood,
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