The tree in front of the hospital door is dancing.

Dancing to the music that is both silent and loud.

A wind fed ballet of ecstatic mayhem.

The pirouetting branches soar high, then fall bowed.

Whirring erratically together in a waltz of sheer joy.

Rejoicing in the ecstasy of breezes, sunlight, sap.

Green leaves and blossom flying skywards,

Then settling slowly into the roots sumptuous lap.

And we who observe it through the clinical windows of the ward.

Listening to the hygienic machine bleeps, bed calls and efficient murmur of care.

Whilst contemplating the pain of another round of tests.

Imagining the deadly samba of the virus that we know is there.

In the trees performance we get a glimpse of another melody.

In the wild festivity of creation God promises to hold us tight.

For his movement can lead us through steps of rejoicing or lament.

But even the darkest solemn music has moments of sheer delight.

They said the weather may get worse.

They said we might experience a little rain

But then the heavens opened, the torrent poured.

 The thunder, the lightning came.

And suddenly nothing was the same.

 We ran for shelter to avoid the spots.

Fearful the deluge may soak through.

We sat and watched the flood, alone or in small groups.

Fearing the cold, the pneumonia, the flu.

Afraid precipitation  may fall on us and those we love.

 Some talked of judgement for past sins

Some expressed that  it was just fate.

Some dreamed of sunnier days and clearer skies.

Whilst others got angry at the wait

Blaming Government, Science or God above.

Whilst others tried to defy the storm

 Venturing out to confront  the downpour.

Only to return to bring the drizzle in.

Leaving puddles on our nice dry floor.

Risking our comfort as well as their own.

There were others who had work to do

Had to brave the torrent for a worthy cause.

Risking dampness, so that the vulnerable  stayed dry.

We rewarded their courage by applause.

And in this act, we felt less alone.

Someday the showers will pass over.

The raining cats and dogs will lie down for the night..

Until then we trust in him we know has sheltered us,

Who is with us in dark clouds as well as sunlight.

Despite the wildest barrage on him we rely.

And maybe the rain wash away the dirt,

That has long clung to the sun-baked streets.

And as the storm has brought closer relationships and faith.

It will have refreshed us onto greater love and feats

Let that be our prayer as we watch the sky.

Where is the American dream now?

As Washington Cathedral broadcasts  to the world.

Two Hundred and Forty Four years after, equality was self-evident we learnt.

One Hundred and Sixty Two years after, Lincoln called to end slavery.

Fifty Seven years after, Martin Luther King Jr had a dream.

Forty days after, a neck was kneeled on and Minneapolis burned.

What can we now see by this dawns early light?

Is it life?

Is it Liberty?

Is it pursuit of happiness?

Surely the Declaration is untrue, until all have that right.

How can there be sweet liberty, in a land where many fathers died,

Because of white man's prejudice and pride?

Can waving star-spangled banners truly mean,

The land is free, all the brave feel at home?

Can these words,

Which do inspire,

Warm the heart,

Ignore the reality that's known?

Yet!

The faces who say the words, sing the anthems,

Come from many hues, races, creeds.

They say them as if they matter, as if they fulfill their needs.

A new generation who can catch the banner that their forebears waved

Who believed the sentiment, whilst pausing to ask,"when?"

"Why can't we be that land of liberty freedom and opportunity,

Which our forefathers dreamed of then?".

Fifty Two years ago, just before his life was taken,

A dreamer preached in that Washington pulpit.

Calling for his listeners to wake up from sleep like Rip Van Winkle smitten.

To stop dreaming and to rise like the dream is real.

He also said, "All we ask of America is to believe the words on the paper written."

II

And as I watch across the pond.

How can I a judgement state?

Is not my country also scarred,

By racial, ethnic acts of hate?

I who has sang and preached of  Gods love that encompass all.

Where is that message now,In the way I live my life, my call?

Two thousand years and twenty ago

A promised child was born David's line

Shepherds were told of peace on Earth.

Foreign Kings followed a new star sign.

Thirty years later, through his bodybbroken on the cross,

Divisions of hate and sin could reconcile be. 

That Saint  Paul could, in faith,write these words,

"In Christ there is no male or female Jew or Greek slave or free."

Can we study the scriptures words of justice and of love,

Hear the Gospel of Jesus wounds at Golgotha smitten,

Without rising up to act as if this hope is true?

All we ask of people of faith, is to believe the words in scripture written.

We are called to a brave new world.

To be pilgrims in a foreign land.

Even though we stand on solid rock,

We are surrounded by shifting sand.

We do not know what lies ahead.

There are new rules we find unclear.

It seems so distant from where with come.

All we can hope is that God is near.

Now we can no longer meet unmasked.

Every touch can carry harm.

We must keep our distance to be safe.

Can we still offer hope and calm?

In this confused world there's panic, fear.

It needs Christ's peace more than before.

This is not the time for us to hide.

New routes of love we should explore.

As Paul across the Aegean Sea did stare,

Dreaming of the Macedonian's plea

So let us enter a continent strange to us.

Bringing the message that will set the fearful free.

Lets learn the language of  width bands, U.R.L.s and apps.

To communicate in ways they'll understand.

Travel hopefully to find bold ways

To keep our distance but still hold the hand.

The Spirit does not sit and wait.

He does not rest when there is far to go.

Let his restless heart stir us onward too

To follow paths to us he wants to show.

We are torchbearers to dark places lost.

Ahead of us, The Spirit has lead the way.

We will find when we reach our next stop.

The Spirit has been working hard preparing for our stay.