The Streets Where We Live

I wrote the following poem for the Art & Vespers service at our school a week ago today. It is a reflection on Isaiah 58:1-12

The streets where we live
are not paved with gold, no
trees of life lining their ways.
Ours is this brokenness,
shattered dreams
lost seasons, too many reasons for
regret, we forget
our whence, our whither, our why.

The streets where we live
are cobbled together, a stray
stone of hope alone on
a gravelled road of
slippage, everything
sliding out from under us. And
yet that strong stone sings
to us, who
are well wearied, harried
and vulnerable. Cracked open.

The streets where we live
are alive. Yes,
they weep, they worry, they
wonder why we won’t
tend them and so
they wait on us, these streets.

These streets where we live
never despair of repair.
These broken streets work on us, we who have
been over-worked, over-looked, under-fed
are now led by streets who reveal their wounds
to us, so that we weep with them, and
our sobs repair this breach
our tears restore that street.
.
The streets where we live are holy ground, all
around us are streets
hallowed, so that with
feet well shod, we trod
where we are – in awe.

Come, walk with me.