A day is coming, and is now here,
And there will never be another.
A day for work, to make things new.
A stable day, a hidden day,
Under the shifting surface,
The stress, and procrastination,
Of weeks and ends…
A day of purpose, a day to succeed
A day where only faith,
Working through love,
Is powerful enough
For all that is required –
The healing, the building,
The giving and forgiving,
The taking and thanksgiving,
The breaking and the sharing,
Being broken, being shared.
Old memberships, old loyalties,
All manufactured members’ marks
Of clan, or class, or choosing,
Here and now are sick
And weakly, availing nothing,
Bringing low, contagious
And debilitating.
On this eighth day, to be
“Circumcised, a Hebrew of Hebrews”
Is immaterial, ineffectual,
Along with all flags, insignia,
The anthems, the jokes,
The dreams, the fears,
The (selective) memories, histories,
And myths – all that
Bound some of us together,
Tied others of us down,
And excluded the rest.
Once you, we, were alienated,
Foreigners to a conversation,
Refugees, guests at best,
To God’s self-witness,
Without promise, without hope
Of seeing the inside of the inside
Of home.
But now, if we stand,
If we are to stand,
It is (will be) in unanimity:
One life, one friendship,
Colleagues, team-mates,
Relay-runners bearing tidings
Of good news and great joy:
Of a wall in ruins
Of gates that never shut
Of a river watering the whole earth
And leaves for healing
Of not one, not the first,
But the last, the least:
Of all the nations
Together.
An Eighth Day 