A welcoming figure,
Standing here on the road to life,
Waiting each day for us to return,
Limping up this potholed path,
Our hands and hearts and minds
Empty enough to make space for him.
Father to the fatherless,
A shelter in life’s storms.
And a ragged son, torn by life,
Has been round the block
More times than any of us.
A child of the night and the dark,
Knowing cold rejection and loss,
As well as hope and a warm embrace.
A welcoming figure, with hands so open,
They received the nails of every ending,
And still bear those marks to this day.
And the breath of God,
From those days when there were no days,
Blowing across the vast expanse
To bring life and purpose, time and history.
Breathing today on the bones of our lives,
However lean or ragged they are,
The spirit of hope and truth,
Light, peace, mercy and justice.
This community of three,
Drawing us into reality and love,
Earthed, hallowed, gritty and glorious.