Bethlehem bustled on

This small village is full.
No room for you and the
One carrying you.
This is the place you were
Destined to be born; the
Humble beginnings foretold
In humble, mumbled words
Of a small-time prophet
Singing out of tune with the
Popular song of his people.
And yet as you come to your
People there is no space
Or place, or time for you as
Bethlehem bustled on.

Trees adorned and homes with
Heightened sense of Christmas
Festivities, family and fun
Make space, place and time
For turkey and trimmings,
Wrapped gifts and the extra-thick
Televisual feast for gorging on
Whilst many out there in
Today’s Bethlehems go without.

This house if full.
No room for you and the
Ones seeking to carry you.
This is the place you
Desire to be born; the
Humble hearts awakened
In humble, mumbled prayers
Of small-time saints
Singing out of tune with the
Popular songs of our culture.
And yet as you come to your
People there is no space
Or place, or time for you as
Christmas bustles on.

Baptise me

May the dry clay go under.
May the cracks be filled with water.
May the outer deadness give way
To the inner life which has been reborn,
And is is being reborn;
Renewed, and is being renewed.
Baptise me as that outer sign
To which inwardly my heart says “yes”,
But let that fragile, hope-filled “yes”
Be re-baptised again and again.
May I die with Christ daily
As I take up my cross daily and follow.
May I live the eternal life daily
As the risen Jesus lives in me.
May it be that as my body passes
Through the waters – death to life –
That my mind, my intellect, preconceptions
And prejudices also pass through
The baptismal Red sea; my Jordan river.
Baptise me back then and baptise me
Again Lord, so that the seed of me may
Be planted into the ground in faith-filled
Hope, and may resurrect with you
In fruitful righteousness to a life where
Repentance leads to reconciliation,
Reconciliation leads to witness,
And witness leads to power.

American Dream

There once was a dream
Of fraternal freedom and
Liberty of thought and faith,
Where the shackles of
Taxation and empire control
Were thrown off with
Patriotic fervour; where
Alms became arms, and
Pulpits political platforms.
The dream of freedom
Became the cotton and
Tobacco colonial constitution
Where the white men with
Their deist sensibilities raised
Their flag for all the Europeans
To see, whilst the negro and
The redskin, under force of arms,
Saluted their new masters
As they sang along to the
Piccolo orchestra of the
Military marching band.

Back then the dreams of empire
Were dreams of the enemy,
And who would have thought
That one day the empire spirit
Which had been breathed in
And woven into the fabric of
This new nation state would
One day incarnate in all its
Neo-liberal inglory?
Who would believe that dreams
Of freedom would be watered
Down by water canon in the
Southern heat on Southern streets
Whilst a million men marched,
In peace, just to be seen as
Human by inhuman klansmen?

How this land has changed from
The redskins of the Appalachia
To the rednecks of Alabama,
Where the stomping elephant
And the braying donkey –
Circus beasts both – continue
The pantomime of the
American dogma of the
American dream of Presidents
In the January snow pledging
Allegiance to the constitution
Whilst the world cowers from the
Droning senators, with their
Regime-change rhetoric, and the
Drones that bomb their homes
And freedom dreams whilst
The computer game is played by
Traumatised teenagers fatigued
In their military fatigues.

There once was a dream that
Has since become a nightmare
From which the rest of us are
Waiting to be woken from, and
Only the lessons from history
Keep us sane in the safe knowledge
That every empire’s sunrise
Has its sunset, and in the night
Which follows may we all
Dream sweetly of real freedom,
Uncomplicated by the military complex,
Where arms return to alms
And freedom is indeed free.


He’s alive!
What kind of life is this that dies but won’t stay dead?
What kind of life is this that won’t be governed by the rules of this world and universe?
What kind of life is this that declares, “I died, and behold I am alive forevermore”?
What kind of life is this that can be lain down and planted into the ground like a seed?
What kind of life is this that having been lain down can be taken up again of its own accord?
What kind of life is this that is broken apart so it can be shared amongst many?
What kind of life is this that is offered to you and me to live likewise?
What kind of life is this that requires me to die so I can fully live?
What kind of life is this that has already begun and will live on beyond this life’s passing?
This life is life itself.
This life holds all things in being.
This life loves life and has removed death’s sting.
This life is a person who has died to death and now lives to life.
This life demands a response from each one of us
Because He’s alive!


All I am is shaped
In you, with you, for you.
As I lift up my soul
And orient its flow
Upwards to you
I find that the flow
Of my life in you
Is endless, and
The more I lift my
Heart of love and
Worship to you,
The more I discover
There is of me;
The more I know
Who I am, because
Only in you do I
Fully exist.
Only in you do I
Fully know, just
As I am fully known.
Only in you is my heart
Fully loving and loved.
May my life always be
A song joyfully raised
Higher and higher
In worship of