My Son (First Sunday After Epiphany: The Baptism of Our Lord)

The voice of the Lord shakes the trees,
The voice of the Lord splits the flames,
The voice of the Lord shakes the thunder’s reply,
The voice of the Lord calls Your name…

The voice of the Lord rides the waters,
The voice of the Lord rides the waves,
The voice of the Lord plumbs Your baptism’s depths,
The voice of the Lord calls Your name…

The spirit, a dove, now descending,
The spirit of God, burning flame,
The spirit of God, roaring fiery bright,
Now gentle, now calling Your name.

The voice says, “You are my beloved.”
The voice says, “You are my own son.”
The voice says, “With you, my child, I’m well pleased.”
The voice of the Son calls my name.

True Face

You may not see the storms that rage
behind my daily stoic smile:
the silent endurance of misplaced pride,
the choice to cope apart from grace.

You may not see the twitch in my face
as we pass the place where I often lied
and kept my face in stern, set denial,
that trick passed down from age to age.

But walk still with me as we turn the page;
you and I both have parts we revile,
dirt upon the souls we vainly hide,
the filth we drag about us from place to place.

Our broken feet will always struggle with the pace;
we could not get better if we tried.
No matter: grace carries us, this and every mile.
It has arms enough to hold, words to assuage

our pride, our fear, the lies of every age,
and tears off layers to find our truest face.

Kin (For William Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury and Martyr)

The Lord receive my soul, and have mercy on me, and bless this kingdom with peace and charity, that there may not be this effusion of Christian blood amongst them.
(Bishop Laud’s dying words)

Some battles are fought on abstract grounds,
Brother armed against a brother,
Defending the periphery.

And sometimes hearts within us burn
For the thing that stifles unity
And puts out our true flame,

When unity, a single mind,
Is that most precious gift of His
Whose body was pierced and torn

That we might not be torn apart
But be made one, as He is One,
And be known by our love.

For if we have any comfort or
Unity or fellowship,
Tenderness, compassion, love:

Make my joy complete.
For holy blood was not shed so
That we might shed our own,

And we have not been made one flesh
To tear ourselves and burn our limbs
And turn arm against armed kin.

I am a new creation

I am a new creation, born
of blood and tears and pain,
born upon a hill of bones
and nurtured on a tree.

I am a child of the king,
born a cripple, made a prince:
the beggar picking children’s crumbs
and made an heir with them.

I am the shining of His face
for when He shines on me
my nothingness becomes His home
and He my bright new day.

I am a new creation, born
of blood and tears and pain.
His are the tears, His is the pain;
His blood sings in my place.

Look Away

There are fires that burn where you cannot see them;
There are screams that sound where you cannot hear;
There are hearts that shout too far from earshot;
There are guns that fire into the night.

There are souls that drift and drift from eyesight;
There are flags which burn and hands which fight;
There are days which simmer while you’re in hiding;
There are homes which burn beneath the moon.

There are fires that burn in places you know;
There are homes ablaze that you recognise;
There are hearts that shout upon your doorstep;
There are guns that fire in your sleep.

There are souls that pass your fingertips;
There are burning flags within your heart;
There are days you hide but still they simmer;
There is love that you lock inside your home.

Meditation

Firm still when I least feel you
Wise still when I least know you

Unchanged when I am changing
Constant when I am fickle

The light inside my shadow
The rain in my cracked soil

Fulfillment of all promises
My Yes and my Amen

My tower when I am underground
My fortress when I am besieged

The sun that breaks my tunnel sight
The hope that dazzles fear

My arms, my strength, my righteousness
The firm path for my feet

My all when I am nothing
My root, my earth, my fill

Epiphany

Nations will come to your light,
and kings to the brightness of your dawn.
(Isaiah 60:3)

We do not have a star to guide us;
Our best wisdom takes us through
The desert and across vast plains
But may not lead us here.

Persia’s camels have forgotten the way;
The calculations of Magi,
The machinations of kings
Are silent in our days.

And yet it beckons us still:
The light that drew wise men,
That flooded our shadows
With the brightness of dawn.

It beckons us still:
The truth of God-Made-Flesh,
Eternity born into a manger,
An epiphany of hope.

Cluden (For Eliza Marsden Hassall, Missionary)

The world has many great houses
and many great families and names.
There are many whose legacies spread through the world,
whose wealth and repute linger after them.

But Miss Hassall once bought a house
near a church in Old Sydney Town
where she sowed many seeds into small hearts
and those seeds grew and grew far and wide,

and the kingdom that grew spreads beyond
all our homes and all of our towns
but that old Sydney house, more forgotten than known,
is a palace in the eyes of her King.

Foolish (For Gregory of Nanzianzus and Basil of Caesarea, Bishops and Teachers)

I had wasted much time on follies and spent nearly all of my youth in vain labours, and devotion to the teachings of a wisdom that God had made foolish. Suddenly, I awoke as out of a deep sleep. I beheld the wonderful light of the Gospel truth, and I recognised the nothingness of the wisdom of the princes of this world.
(From a letter by Basil of Caesarea)

Some were caught in tides of knowledge
or thought themselves as kings,

and some kings set themselves against
the flood of truth from God

but He made all the world’s wise things
as fools beside the fools of God

and called all kings to lay down their crowns
and those with knowledge to love like Him;

He gave His fools the words to speak
and made their truth remain.

For those who trust the Three-In-One
find power and love wherever they turn

and those who trust in their own minds
will learn that they are fools.

Above All Names (The Naming and Circumcision of Jesus)

Who is this child
whom angels name,
whose birth they sound
with trumpets loud,
who lies a baby,
helpless in
his parents’ hands
and yet is praised
by elders and
the heavens’ choir?

His name is Jesus, and He saves
His people from their sins.

Who are they,
His people, that
they should deserve
such kind mercy?
Who are they,
that they should see
a king born
unto them?

They are nothing, yet He reigns
That they may know His love.

What is man
that He, immortal,
should step down,
though very God,
and take our flesh
and then submit
to death, even
death on the cross –
When I consider
all these things –
the heavens and
His handiwork –
what is man
that He should bring
such honour
to his shame?

Bow before Him and adore
This God, made humble, lifted high.
Wonder at Him, praise Him with
Your humbled, awe-struck hearts.