Come, Lord Jesus.
You who are the flesh of the Most High God,
you whose name sets the mountains trembling,
you before whom the heavenly host sing,
come. You are desperately needed.

Come, Lord Jesus.
Show us what we cannot imagine:
the full truth of our violence against one another,
the offensiveness of our callousness and lies,
our arrogance from which you hide your face.
Come quickly to bring us to repentance.

Come, Lord Jesus,
but do not come to our churches —
come to Ferguson and come to our streets
and let us find you there:
there in the flesh and voices of protestors
demanding that Black lives are sacred,
there in the revolution inciting
our collective conscience,
there in the resistance
to false peace.
Come, Lord Jesus.

Come, Lord Jesus,
quickly come. Our hearts are full
and we are tempted to seek easy comfort
rather than stepping into this work
and trusting you to meet us there.

Come, Lord Jesus.
We strive to wait for you
with the eyes of our hearts awake and daring
to see the sun covered in shadows and
the stars fleeing from heaven,
caring to see honestly
the extent of our injustice
and the need for a world upended.
With the eyes of our hearts wide awake
we wait for you to come and agitate us with hope:
hope that is an open wound not a weak salve,
hope that is a bitter bread to our stomachs,
hope that keeps us holding our breath,
hope that will not let us go
until we are changed.

Come, Lord Jesus.
We are awake.

Cross-posted at RevGalBlogPals.

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