Your call comes out to me
Right where I am.
You don’t call me out
Of a place of life into
A place of loss, of condemnation.
Your call to me is a way
Out of darkness into light,
From being dead to being alive,
From the filth of the pigsty
Into the Father’s house.
Only as a son can I enter
The father’s house.
Not as a servant, or even as
My own self with my own life.
No, only sons can enter
The father’s house,
And the father only has
One begotten, fully His,
So I enter as He does,
With His life, as human as
He is – nothing less, or more.