I, Justin, the son of Priscus and grandson of Bacchius, natives of Flavia Neapolis in Palestine, present this address and petition in behalf of those of all nations who are unjustly hated and wantonly abused, myself being one of them.

(Justin Martyr, The First Apology of Justin, trans. James Donaldson and Alexander Roberts)

Some faced what I cannot bear to know:

Crosses, beheadings, Colosseum games;

The sport of the powerful and scared,

They longed for a city for strangers such as they;

I hide where they led.

And Justin, the philosopher of Palestine, pled

With reasoning heads and unopened hearts.

Impassioned in his plea

For their reason to trump passion,

He reasoned till he bled;

And I, on the sidelines,

Hold their coats and avoid their eyes

While he holds us spellbound with his call to the truth,

Crying for mercy but strong when denied:

He knew whom he trusted;

So Justin’s eyes stare firmly where

Mine dart to the ground; he stares down the kings

Who are but false kings, knowing the Kingdom,

And knowing the Truth, which I, in my safety,

Only faintly know.

This week is the Australian Anglican Church’s week of prayer for reconciliation with Australia’s Indigenous people. It isn’t a topic I feel particularly well-equipped to address and am weary of showing up my own ignorance and, shamefully, frequent indifference on the subject. But I figure that that’s where much change happens – with ordinary broken people admitting that they are ordinary and broken but want, by the power and grace of God, to be otherwise. So here is the first in a series of poems that I will be posting, based on the creation stories of Genesis 1-3 and Psalm 103. I hope they are of some benefit.

In the valley of bones, I wait in the dryness,

The dryness of bones, the dryness of wind

Blowing on bones.

In my valley of bones, my bones sit and hear

The voice in the wind, a voice like the wind

Calling to my bones.

Speak to the bones; speak to my bones,

Wind of God. Be my breath;

Breathe in these bones.

Bring new flesh, new flesh on these bones.

Let them stand; let them rise,

New life in old bones.

In this valley, my bones rise and stand

To the voice in the wind, a voice like the breath

The breath on my bones.

Then are my bones covered in flesh;

Then is my flesh animated.

Then do I rise and soar in the wind;

Then will the Spirit pour through me,

Pour through my bones, give life to my bones,

Give life to old bones in this valley.