The poor are robbed, the hungry wait,
prisoners long for the welcoming hand.
The powerful wield their weapons day after day.
Refugees walk in their long lines toward you
and never arrive, never find home.
The laborer used, the child abused, wait
for no announcing angel, no welcome rescue.
The lonely and condemned weep without answer.
God of justice, why is there no justice?
Living Word, why your silence?
Exiled by race, enslaved by greed,
crucified by gunshots,
your children cry to you.
Why, O Loving One, why do you not speak?
You do not hear, my Beloved, for my voice
is wrapped in the cry of the poor.
My tears are there in the prison cell,
my glory with the disappeared.
You do not hear me because
I am whispering to them.
Holy One, we enter your silence as a temple.
May we hear your cry in our heart.
May your song rise up in our throat
as we lift our voice for your justice.
May we bear your mercy in our hands
as we labor for your will.
God of mercy, I will be your mercy, for you are my hope.
-Steve Garnaas-Holmes
from the blog Unfolding Light
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