If we met one day,
resting beneath some eucalypt,
taking noonday shelter,
breaking bread and sharing peace,
would we, I wonder, look each other
in the eye and see kinship’s glint,
the marks of grace, the familiar signs
of those bought with the same price?
We may have fought;
you clashed, I know, with ones like me,
and held some causes which I, from
my low-church, urban pew, reject.
Though maybe if we walked along
the same North Queensland paths, beneath
the same trees took our rest at dusk,
we might have paused as friends;
perhaps if we could lay to rest
the differences of time and place,
we could recite our common prayers
and eat from the same bread.
Though we are many, we are one;
yet more than bread must be our union.
We can join hands if this is true:
that you found life upon Christ’s tree.