Movement I: It’s a time for resurrection.
Let our angels, better and worse, herald
Let us all pronounce a brand new day!
Before a crucifixion, we had no refuge. The wilderness wasn’t really a wilderness. It was life.
And Now, our lives seem constantly seeking refuge, most of us unsuccessful. And those of us who find it, write the stories. . . Or at least the ones that those in refuge can hear.
We cannot always seem to hear the tales of the Unforgiven, the accounts of the incorrrigible, the cries of those exterminated. Such as those may be worthy, but only heard from a distance, from the plain where refuge outposts on the wilderness.
We do not annihilate. We find a way to move away. The wilders move in the wild, rooted in our own appreciation. Never loved. Never invited. Left to find. And seek. See. And Hope.
So, hear’s the song of resurrection.
Sing in the Soul of the Earth. Dance On the Moonbeam of a Midnight Summer’s Day.
Cry as if no one is listening, Grow as if no one cares. Flower your body, Root it in your soul.
Be. And Long to do so.
Movement II: Gentle to You
here’s a tear for all of you
A cry for love floats on the sunlight and the wind
He says don’t let the hurt guide what you say
Let it sob, let it leave, and leave you You
You are not your pain although it marks you
Let it leave you grateful for the love you’ve made
For the love you found, For the love that stays
In the end, whatever trouble made you shrill your heart
It’s only trouble, it’s not the grace that’s made your soul
We are of one and many parts that make our substance
It’s what we share that truly makes us whole
Hang on to that. It is your dear life. It’s ours
It may not be the one that matters most to you
It’s just the one we cry for, just the one that we can feel
If there is Hope, then let it cherish you
Let it feed you when love seems scarce around you
There is always one who sees you. He’s not in the wind
He is here. It is me. I am real.
Movement III: Hear us, We are Here
When all the crying’s done and all the weeping, we are left with love still in our heart; broken, battered, warm with still hopeful tenderness.
We are not lonely because we do not love or have not been worthy. She simply hasn’t yet presented; not in the form, perhaps not in the time, perhaps not yet seen even if she was there in front of you all along.
Perhaps she came along and you weren’t ready . . .or she?
We travel in the wilderness seeking refuge. Like everyone of you.
Every glance, every smile, every meeting–by chance or not–remains a hope. Remains a joy that still may come.
We march ever on, stride upon our dreams, run to hoped-for open arms.
We sing hallelujah for the feeling we are still alive!
We sing alleluia for the gentleness that comes with touch.
We sing Rejoice! for the chance to dream!
Mercy! for the times we yet fall short.
Gloria! for our open hearts that still remain. . . .
and for the journey that we yet walk, that we will take until our Time has come.
Amen, Amen, Alelluia, Amen.
mtomas3 