Cities of sanctuary, places of safety, here where all strangers are welcomed and blessed, we stand with Jesus in love of our neighbour, here in our actions his love is expressed. We will act justly while offering mercy, nurturing humbly a gospel of peace, welcome all people regardless of status, counter celebrity, value the least. Here in a world that is cruel and unyielding God's hospitality values the poor; this is the scandal of love without limits, loving the unloved, then loving them more. We will not rest till each migrant is welcomed. We will share bread till the hungry are fed. We will confront each injustice that greets us, loving with vigour till hatred is dead. Andrew Pratt (born 1948) Words © 2008 Stainer & Bell Ltd, London, England copyright@stainer.co.uk . Please include any reproduction for local church use on your CCL Licence returns. All wider and any commercial use requires prior application to Stainer & Bell Ltd Metre: 11 10 11 10 Tune: STEWARDSHIP With thanks to Inderjit Bhogal for his work, example and inspiration
Tag: Migrant
While the nations guard their borders,
While the nations guard their borders,
cherished cultures, ways of life,
people struggle for survival,
children die while fleeing strife.
Can we hear with calm acceptance
what the news has got to tell?
Can we claim to follow Jesus
while the world drifts into hell?
Hell is where there’s no more loving,
close at hand, not out of sight,
what we make denying others
grace of love, or hope of light.
When compassion’s drained and stranded,
voices might as well be dumb
human cries that we’ve avoided
fall on ears both blocked and numb.
Christ is calling in each murmur,
in each whisper framing need,
silence louder than God’s thunder,
loud enough to quell our greed;
yet we close our ears, our senses,
dreading every troubling fact,
lest we feel the pain of others
forcing us to rise and act.
©Andrew Pratt
26/11/2021
Why are we forsaking them?
Hard to complain,
sounds churlish…
presents and tinsel
adorn and clutter,
in ‘tales of old’ the candles gutter.
Replete from the feast,
sleepy,
why should I moan?
Nor yet lament,
cry out:
‘my God, my God…why are we forsaking them?’
Washed by a tsunami,
shaken by earthquakes,
threatened by fire, dust, lava.
And our compassion rises,
as soon is dissipated.
Yet closer,
on our shores,
tiny rubber dinghies bring a ‘threatening cargo’
of migrant people who,
so says the lie,
‘present a crisis’.
Voices are strident or silent,
and the slaughter of the innocents passes,
largely unremarked,
in our churches.
Yet still they come.
And we, anything but innocent,
‘standby to repel boarders’
instead of asking
‘why do they come?’
And facing with honesty the truth
that people do not run into danger
unless running from something worse?
Avoiding eye contact, I draw patterns in wet sand.
And lamenting, I weep,
‘my God, my God…why are we forsaking them?
Andrew Pratt 31/12/2018
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