Jesus is on the cross

When brother takes up arms against brother,
Jesus is on the cross.
When children are rejected and abused,
Jesus is on the cross.
When war rages and lives are wasted,
Jesus is on the cross.
When the strong do injustice to the weak,
Jesus is on the cross.
When the poor are neglected and ignored,
Jesus is on the cross.
When a world of plenty leaves many without,
Jesus is on the cross.
When so many are so lost,
Jesus is on the cross.
When hope has gone and despair abounds,
Jesus is on the cross.
When we find the truth that we need a saviour,
Jesus is on the cross.
When we need a way back home,
Jesus is on the cross.
When we want a life worth living,
Jesus is on the cross.

“As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”
John 3:14-15

Not what has been,
but what will be

In loss, in change,
In time’s decay,
In all the things
That once were
Dreams and now
Are changed,
In scars, in wrinkled
Lines which tell
A story which was
Going somewhere;
The still small voice
Calls out to ears
Now tuned to hear
The softened hush –
Like summer’s silent
Morning breeze.
And on warm currents
Chasing Winter’s cold
And drying Spring’s
Wet weeping, comes
The sound of hope in
Grass-greening refrain,
Drawing the soul
Ever-forward towards
The unwritten tomorrow:
“Not what has been, but what will be.”

The blossoming

The brown buds
Tightly strain
And swell on wiry
Finger-like branches,
Reaching outwards
And up towards
Spring’s new sun
In hope of bathing
In the invisible glow
Of ultraviolet.
Within awaits a furled
Canopy of pink explosion
Ready for the precise unseen
And unwatched moment
When they will burst open,
Announcing the change
Of season and the coming
Fruit yet a season away.
There is a time for wintering,
Budding and blossoming,
And though the blossom or
The fruit cannot be seen
Today, yet they will come,
In an unseen
And unwatched moment.


They say a leader is one who leads
But I say that if no one is following
Then you are a loner, not a leader.
In all my gifts, talents, ideas and charisms
It is the vacant gap behind me—
A huge sinkhole prepared for years—
Which amplifies the truth like a loudspeaker
That I lead no one except myself
And I go into a delusional place where
The lonesome and the ludicrous meet
To play the game and act the part.
Influence! Confront! Lead!
The lines are learnt and awkwardly rehearsed
But no one watches this performance
Ready to mimic; no understudy waits in the wings,
For I am but an actor, a charlatan
Who knows as much about leadership
As the night knows about the day.
Make the curtain call; drop it fast
That I might take my leave of
This pantomime of curated folly
And instead sit in silence; humble, close-mouthed,
And wait until I able to see what a true leader
Looks like, walks like, talks like and is like.
Maybe then I can stand up, dust myself off
And follow.
Maybe if I can learn what a follower is
Then I can know what a leader is.