Holy, worthy, utterly magnificent;
We want to see your name held aloft,
Praised on tall mountains,
Exalted in cathedrals and at coffee tables,
Called out to the sky above us,
For you created it all.
Every moment is within your grasp,
Each leaf carries your DNA, encoded - it is all yours,
By your hand creation came to pass.
Arranger of stars,
It is your kingdom we long to see formed in our midst.
Before our days are at an end,
We dream of seeing your kingdom taking shape ever more fully.
But we are sick tooooo.
We are sick of lies, lies.
And we are sick of hate.
We are sick of this,
Life shaped by the sated,
Contemptible abuses that stain our streets,
Causing us to wonder just how much of your image there actually is in us.
Build your kingdom and build it fast,
The tracks of this train are straining and snagged.
We are headed nowhere beautiful and it is you that we need.
We will still sing in wild and endless praise of your name,
But our words are jagged,
Just as we, ourselves, are jagged,
Frayed at the edges,
Shadows of our calling,
Torn apart by mourning and injustice.
Speak a word to us,
You who is there in the vigil candle’s flickering flame,
You who is indelibly written on our arms,
You who stand kettled against the blockade,
You, who is deserving of shouted anthems of praise.
You are our voice.
Just as we are yours.
On Missouri streets you are an echo,
A startling sound ringing out across ages,
Calling your people home,
Honed in the clamour of exilic forays,
Knows the razed burn of lament.
We are merely yet more witnesses to yet another defamation of your image;
Squandered in chaos,
Wrestled into death,
Leviathan names another victim.
Credence given to Babylon’s tales and version of truth,
Shaper of seasons,
You are to be praised forever,
You whose breath gives life to clay and scatters dust,
Not just another anything, but,
And suddenly stop,
And stay stopped.
Not just a name,
Not just anyone.
Not a face without a name,
For every face bears a name to you.
And this name was and is and ever shall be,
Giver of life, as we forage amidst the ashes of this collapse of love,
Help us to understand.
We find no peaceable resolve,
harmony is crushed and broken.
And yet we call out.
We sing with your cadences.
And you hear.
And you hear.
But Babylon stays silent.
The meta-modern motif creaks,
Those straining train tracks.
There is lack.
There is decay and fear and persistence,
In wilful abandon they find their muse.
Instigator of all things,
Known as much in your presence as you are in your absence.
Help us to hear you on the breeze,
To know you in burning branches,
And to trust you in the terrors of darkest night.
We long to sing praises to you,
But all we have is our lament,
Yet even in this,
We will gaze into imperceptible murk darkly,
Longing for a glimmer,
Quickly and without delay.
For the shadows gather,
And trouble rides with them.
So to you beyond our horizons and cradled within our cracked clay frames,
To you we sing our songs.
You are beyond all our words,
Anything we might see fit to mutter.
You are beyond.
And beyond is what we long for.
Beyond and yet immanent.
To you we cry out,
For you know our names and we each weigh heavy on your heart.
Ferguson know justice.
Ferguson know peace.
America see with wide open eyes.
Fill time and space with words,
Words of prayer.
And may peace flow like a river through dry temple courts,
And may a faithful rhythm be found for all people,
For those who wander - lost.
Those who march and sing prophetic acclamations.
And those who whose eyes are closed and whose hearts are hardened,
THAT THE NAME WOULD BE BLESSED.
(Written: 23:15 on 29/11/2014 - 01:21 on 30/11/2014)