The Rock

When the foundation of the world
Was laid in time immemorial
It was founded on the Rock of Ages,
Of which there has not been a time
When it was not, and this Rock was
The beginning of all things.

The Rock was solid and sure and able
To sustain a good world filled with
Good life and multitudinous landscapes,
Where life could fruitfully multiply
And mirror the rock in its very reason
For being, in perfectly ordered form.

Then the Rock brought forth a being
A little lower than the angels yet
Crowned in the splendour of the Rock,
Uniquely chosen to be the communion
Of soil and spirit, of creation and creator
And the Rock was pleased for it was good.

This being was made of the dust of
Stars and placed in the midst of
The world founded on the Rock of Ages,
To continue the work of the Creator
And creatively bring forth new things
Whilst productively working the earth.

But the man of dust misused his
Creative power and began to build
A world in his image, to his own glory,
Eroding the Rock to create dust for
Clay and sand for cement believing
That he could build a safe world alone.

It’s not the dust or the sand that fails
Or the creativity that lacks power
In man’s vain attempts to play Creator,
It’s the lack of wisdom and the disconnect
From the Rock itself that leads to the
Feeble construction of man’s own house.

For when the rains come and the floods rise
Against that weak structure the sand
And dust are washed away in the torrents,
Returning to the foundation of the world
And to the Rock from whence they came
In the hope that man too may return.

But the house that is built upon the Rock
Where man trusts not in man but in the One
Who founded the world in perfect order,
This house will withstand the rain and
Storms, the howling winds and scorching sun
And the man who built it will also stand.

For everything that is built on the Rock
Will stand – EVERYTHING.
And everything that is built on sand
Will fall – EVERYTHING.

“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.”

(Matthew 7:24-27 ESV)


All I have is gift, and yet,
My heart craves things –
Impermanent, transient things –
That rust and perish almost as soon
As I take hold of them.
I chase leaves which turn from green,
To gold, and then always to dust.

There is a secret known only
To those who have learnt
To receive all life as a gift;
Who accept need and want
As provision;
Who live or die each day
In peaceful security.

To disavow oneself of all things –
Emptying those secret chests we
Fill with seductive desires –
Is to be free to accept
All things as gift;
To have nothing,
And yet possess everything.

When I consider the birds, the lillies,
And recall all that has truly held value,
Then once again I can receive all as gift.
This is the poverty that enriches;
The emptying that truly fills;
Dissatisfaction that satisfies, and
A discipline that sets me free.

In Love Resounding

All the ways you reach out to me;
All the times you come to me;
All the days you have numbered for me;
All the lives of those who love me;
All the angels who watch over me;
All the ways your grace heals me;
All the joy that overflows inside me;
All that you creatively inspire in me;
All that you are to me;
All the songs you have sung over me
Since the day of my creation;

May You who are all in all receive
My song of praise and adoration,
Sung forever with humble thanksgiving,
In love resounding.

The Garden of our Love

This ground is good for growing,
And firm enough to build up high.
The bedrock was laid and made in
Covenantal love when we believed
That what we might be together was
Far greater than what we could become

For it is not good for the (wo)man to be alone,
And yet as we grow in this our garden
We find that fruitfulness and entanglement,
Joy and sorrow, laughter and tears,
Are the landscape which shapes and constrains
Our life of love, and which creates both the
Shafts of light and the long shadows of each day.

But this ground is good for growing;
The soil enriched by the fertilisation
Of all those things which have to die in us,
And firm enough to build up high,
If only we would choose to dream our dreams,
And then wake and make them our reality.

Peter, which means ‘rock’

The Rock of Ages came to tell Peter
That the station was fast approaching.
At this station all must change,
For where we’re going this part
Of the journey must first end.
It seemed that he was too weak,
Too frail to make the change
Alone, and so we gathered there,
Around him, with him, to lift him
Up on prayers and hymns, and with
Sacramental love to provision
Him for his passing over.

We know where you are going, but
We know not what it will be like,
What scenery you will behold as
You journey on without us, except
We know that your present weakness
Will be changed more solid than rock,
Like the faithfulness of the One
Who called you home,
And your final moments here will
Reside with us as provision for
Our continuing journey –
Like those model trains going round
And round on their tiny tracks –
Until we meet again in a new country.

A Song for Advent

He has come,
The Son of GOD most high,
A small, humble babe,
Born into poverty
As a king without a
Throne or crown,
And yet with angel song
The King of kings was adored,
“Glory to GOD in the highest,
and peace on earth to all men”.

He is coming,
The Son of GOD most high,
Victorious over sin and death,
Crowned with majesty and
Splendour as the one who is,
Alive forevermore, who reigns
With righteousness and peace,
And so with angel song we sing,
“Glory to GOD in the highest,
and peace on earth to all men”.

A Better Story

Why do we so often
Rehearse the story
Of our lives as a story
Of loss, of regret, of
Disappointment and hurts,
When there is a bigger,
Better story being told –
Even sung – which brings
Forth all the grace and
Goodness which has been
Ours even from our
Mother’s womb.
This song resounds the
Truth of who I am, and
Who He is,
And major and minor keys
Alike complete this song,
Making it beautiful,
A song of love unlimited.
As we tell the better story,
Singing the truth of our life,
We become who we are
More fully, finding ourselves
In the fullness of
Who He is.

Creation song

The hills heave with pent up praise, and
The rivers roll forth, flowing with many waters,
cleansing and refreshing.
The clouds form and transform with grace as they
slow dance across their skyblue stage,
Whilst the trees reach higher heavenwards
in extended embrace.
The rocks crag their outcrops of ordered
beauty and form; ageless bedrock now overgrown
with evergreen life.
They say that all of nature is groaning
Like a woman about to give birth,
And when that genesis moment happens
we will all see and hear creation’s song performed
in full glorious chorus and rainbow colour,
So that all that was wrong will then be made right,
And join the Song of Songs which began long ago,
When, in love, what is now was first made,
And which, in love, will one day be renewed.

In all the ways I can love you

In all the ways I can love you
I want to love you with my whole heart.
That this wholeheartedness might
Bring together the broken parts in me
And unite them in the Oneness of you.
For when we are one, then I am one.

When we are together, nothing is falling apart.
In you all things come together and are held
In perfect beauty – everything being made new.
Be the One who is all in all, and be my all in all,
That my life may tell your story,
Made complete in its telling.


There’s a hole in my road.
Not the whole road,
But a whole hole still.
The flimsy fencing, there
To prevent me from falling in,
Is wholly inadequate for
Such a hole.
As I peer into it I see the
Whole problem for which
The hole exists – some
Vital arteries for gas (I think),
Long left to decay and become
Unstable and unsafe – and
See in that exposed moment
That both the hidden pipes
And the (now) vacant hole
Are a risk of danger to me.
Wholly seen the hole now
Becomes the holy ground
On which my whole being
Stands, ready to be have
The deep, broken parts
Renewed, and the absent
Spaces filled by a Holy
Presence who will make
The hole in my road whole.