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Copyright © Brian Walsh 2007
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Walk On: Biblical Hope and U2

A version of this sermon was published in Get Up Off Your Knees: Preaching the U2 Catalog edited by Raewynne Whiteley. Cowley Publications: May 2003

Brian J. Walsh

            Friends, it is an honour to be with you this evening in order to spend some time reflecting on the contours of biblical hope, especially as they are artistically sketched in the music and lyrics of the rock band, U2. Simply put, U2 is the most successful and biggest rock band in history. And they are, I believe, one of the most powerful witnesses to the Kingdom of God of our day.
            Taking their name from a Cold War spy plane, this is a band committed to reconnoitering the cultural landscape in order to assess the ethos of our culture and the shifting spirits of our time, and to discern the movement of the Spirit of God in our midst. This is a band that comes out of the punk rock scene of the late 70’s and a charismatic Christian community in Dublin. As such, they are indebted to both the Sex Pistols and Jeremiah, the Ramones and Jesus. And when they began as a band they announced both publicly and privately that they were simply going to be the best rock band in the world. But this was not just a matter of Irish adolescent bravado. Rather, the three Christian members of the band believed that God himself had given them the gifts to make a profound impact through their music on the world for the Kingdom of God. In a letter to his father, the lead singer, Bono, wrote about beginning each day in prayer, scripture reading, and inviting God to work in their lives. “This,” he wrote, “ gives us the strength and joy that does not depend on drink or drugs. This strength will, I believe, be the quality that will take us to the top of the music business … where never before have so many lost and sorrowful people gathered in one place pretending they’re having a good time. It is our ambition to make more than good music.” And they have made good on this ambition. Indeed, I would suggest that Bono, who is deeply influenced by the psalms, is nothing less than one of the finest psalmists and liturgists of our day. There should be courses on his work in theological seminaries.
            Tonight I want to talk about hope and while we could spend a whole week discussing U2 and hope, we will limit ourselves tonight to just four songs. But first a couple of preliminary comments. The hope that we meet in U2 is a decidedly this-worldly hope. While there is here a deep longing for a world that is better than the one that we presently inhabit – a longing, in the words of Hebrews for that “better country,” that “homeland” (10.14&16) – there is no concern for what is traditionally described as heaven. The heaven longed for is a heaven on earth, not an eternal destiny of living with Jesus in some ethereal place that is decidedly different from earth. And this, I think, is an important correction to the escapist understandings of the afterlife that have so infiltrated Christian thought, piety and practice. As Paul Marshall aptly puts it in the title to his book on a Christian worldview, “heaven is not my home.” We are not destined for heaven, but we are destined for restored life with the Lord in a new earth.
            Such is the longing that we find in U2 – a longing that out of death will come resurrection; grief will be turned to joy; mourning will become dancing; tears will give way to laughter; isolation, loss and loneliness will be reconciled in a reunion and a festival of friends; war and the empire of violence will be replaced by a Kingdom of shalom; swords will broken into ploughshares; evil will be vanquished by good; hatred overthrown by love, and the tensions, ambiguities and dead ends of the world’s story will finally come to their resolution in the story of our God and of his Christ. This is the character of biblical longing for a better place, a better country.
            But the particular shape that such longing takes is always historically mediated. Which, or whose death? What grief and mourning? Whose  tears, loss and brokenness? Which wars, what violence, and which swords, molotov cocktails, missiles or suicide bombers? What particular historical evil? Hatred against whom? The tensions in whose story, at which stage or chapter of the world’s story? You see, how we conceive of the Kingdom, the shape that this hope takes in our lives is always rooted in our historical and geographical time and place. While hope for some sort of timeless heaven unrelated to this earth can be rather generic and captured in pious platitudes, a biblical hope in the coming Kingdom of God will always take on particular shape because this is a hope that is precisely for this world in all of its brokenness, sin, folly and idolatry, at this time in history.
            U2 knows this better than anyone. Think about their context being raised in Ireland in the 60’s and 70’s – a place of violence between Protestants and Catholics that has brought nothing but shame to the name of Jesus. And now consider how a group of young charismatic Christian’s might respond to this violence. This is “Sunday, Bloody Sunday” from the 1983 album, War.

 Yes...

  I can't believe the news today
  Oh, I can't close my eyes
  And make it go away
  How long...
  How long must we sing this song?
  How long? How long...
  'cause tonight...we can be as one
  Tonight...

  Broken bottles under children's feet
  Bodies strewn across the dead end street
  But I won't heed the battle call
  It puts my back up
  Puts my back up against the wall

  Sunday, Bloody Sunday
  Sunday, Bloody Sunday
  Sunday, Bloody Sunday

  And the battle's just begun
  There's many lost, but tell me who has won
  The trench is dug within our hearts
  And mothers, children, brothers, sisters
  Torn apart

  Sunday, Bloody Sunday
  Sunday, Bloody Sunday

  How long...
  How long must we sing this song?
  How long? How long...
  'cause tonight...we can be as one
  Tonight...tonight...

  Sunday, Bloody Sunday
  Sunday, Bloody Sunday

  Wipe the tears from your eyes
  Wipe your tears away
  Oh, wipe your tears away
  Oh, wipe your tears away
  (Sunday, Bloody Sunday)
  Oh, wipe your blood shot eyes
  (Sunday, Bloody Sunday)

  Sunday, Bloody Sunday (Sunday, Bloody Sunday)
  Sunday, Bloody Sunday (Sunday, Bloody Sunday)

  And it's true we are immune
  When fact is fiction and TV reality
  And today the millions cry
  We eat and drink while tomorrow they die

  (Sunday, Bloody Sunday)

  The real battle just begun
  To claim the victory Jesus won
  On a Sunday Bloody Sunday

[during guitar solo: Psalm 13.1-4
How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
            How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I bear pain in my soul?
            and have sorrow in my heart all day long?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?
Consider and answer me, O Lord my God!
            Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death,
and my enemies will say, “I have prevailed”;
            my foes will rejoice over me because I am shaken.


Can there be hope in a world in which British soldiers fire into crowds of protesters and the Irish Republican Army is bombing Protestant communities in Northern Ireland and subways in London? Can there be hope when Sunday – any Sunday – can be a day of murderous bloodshed?
            Any hope that is to be biblical must address the realities of violence and hatred in our world and in our own hearts. Maybe we can’t believe the news today – news of bombings in Belfast or Jerusalem, terrorist attacks in New York City, or 500,000 children dead because the US deliberately destroyed the infrastructure of water supply of Iraq and then imposed sanctions prohibiting the export of chlorine into the country – we can’t believe that Alberta’s Premier Klein will put oil profits over the environmental sustainability of the world, or that Africa is being decimated by an AIDS pandemic. And we can’t believe that homelessness and abject poverty are realities in our own incredibly wealthy province. We can’t believe the news today. But, sings Bono, we can’t close our eyes and make it go away. We can’t avert our gaze from the deep brokenness of our world. Nor can we simply objectify this brokenness as something “out there” because, Bono insists,  these trenches of violence and enmity are “dug within our hearts.”
            And so, in the face of such pain and despair, Bono takes up the refrain of the psalms of lament, “How long, how long must we sing this song?” Our enmity could be transformed into communion, we could be one, even tonight, so how long must we sing this song? This is the heart of biblical hope – the pathos-filled, longing and insistence that against all odds and in the face of all the mounting evidence to the contrary, there can be reconciliation – “tonight we can be as one”.  And if that is your hope then you never will play the world’s game and heed the battle call. Rather, in the face of the violence within and without, and with tears in your own eyes you will offer to wipe the tears from the eyes of others. This is the only alternative, this is the only hope in a world where the media numbs us and makes us immune to suffering at best, and cheap voyeurs of pain at worse.
            But this is a song of hope. The lament that cries out “how long, how long must we sing this song?” is rooted in a hope that U2 expresses in a later song as “then will there be no time of sorrow/then will there be no time for pain.” [“Playboy Mansion,” from the Pop  album, 1997] But in this early song they contrast the battleground of Northern Ireland, indeed the battleground of a world of ethnic, racial and religious hatred – a battle that they will not join because it cannot be won – with a more profound battle of principalities and powers, and battle of the Spirit. The “real battle” sings Bono, has “just begun.” “To claim the victory Jesus won/On a Sunday, bloody Sunday.” Biblical hope does not avert its gaze from the violence. Biblical hope is bought at the cost of the deepest violence of all – the violence of the cross and the victory of a bruised, scarred and pierced man on a Sunday, a bloody Sunday. Biblical hope, kingdom hope is resurrection hope. And only the resurrected One, can promise a better country. Only the resurrected One can transform Belfast, New York, Ramallah, Kabul, or Brampton into the New Jerusalem.
            This is “Where the Streets Have No Names” from the 1987 album, Joshua Tree  performed in concert in Sydney Australia.
           
[during the musical introduction read Rev. 21.1-7 ]
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,
“See, the throne of God is among humans,
they will be his peoples,
and God himself will be with them;
he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.”
And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children.”]

  I want to run
  I want to hide
  I want to tear down the walls
  That hold me inside
  I want to reach out
  And touch the flame
  Where the streets have no name

  I want to feel sunlight on my face
  I see the dust cloud disappear
  Without a trace
  I want to take shelter from the poison rain
  Where the streets have no name

  Where the streets have no name
  Where the streets have no name
  We're still building
  Then burning down love
  Burning down love
  And when I go there
  I go there with you
  It's all I can do

  The city's aflood
  And our love turns to rust
  We're beaten and blown by the wind
  Trampled in dust
  I'll show you a place
  High on a desert plain
  Where the streets have no name

  Where the streets have no name
  Where the streets have no name
  We're still building
  Then burning down love
  Burning down love
  And when I go there
  I go there with you
  It's all I can do
  Our love turns to rust
  We're beaten and blown by the wind
  Blown by the wind
  Oh, and I see love
  See our love turn to rust
  We're beaten and blown by the wind
  Blown by the wind
  Oh, when I go there
  I go there with you
  It's all I can do

The long organ introduction to this song ­– on both the original album and in this performance – serve to suggest that we are entering into holy space here. This song is the band’s late twentieth century take on the hope we meet in Revelation 21. After the fall of Babylon, after the collapse of all idolatrous cultures and civilizations, the Scriptures still envision a new city, even a heavenly city, but its final abode is not in heaven but on a new and restored earth. In the face of generations upon generations of unfaithfulness, broken covenant and cultural prostitution, we have here a vision of God’s faithfulness from the beginning to the end, a new covenant, a renewal of marriage vows. In this city, Bono’s hope in “Sunday, Bloody Sunday” is fulfilled and the tears will be wiped from our bloodshot eyes, because instead of “broken bottles under children’s feet/bodies strewn across a dead end street” this vision has the audacity to proclaim that “death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”
            But the first things have not yet passed away. And so the same artist who sang “I can’t close my eyes and make it go away” now sings, “I want to run/I want to hide”. No sooner, however, has he given honest voice to the desire to simply run from the pain around him, then he sings “I want to tear down the walls/that hold me inside/I want to reach out/And touch the flame/where the streets have no name.” This is, I suggest both a longing to be set free from those “trenches dug within our own hearts” ­– those deeply internal forces of self-protection that make us avert our gaze from the pain of the other – and a profound longing for the New Jerusalem. You see, if street names serve to identify what part of town you are from, and in the Irish context whether you are a Protestant or a Catholic, then one’s hope for the New Jerusalem will be that this will be a place “where the streets have no names.” It won’t matter what side of the tracks you come from, whether you live in Rosedale or Regent Park, Jane and Finch or Eglinton and Yonge, Ramallah or Tel Aviv, Brampton or Kabul because in this city, those neighbourhoods, addresses, ethnic, class and even denominational identities are all irrelevant. The dividing walls are broken down, there is neither Greek nor Jew, slave nor free, male nor female, straight or gay, single or married, rich or poor because Christ is all and in all.
            In this song we meet a longing for a world no longer threatened by nuclear military devastation or ecological ruin - “I want to feel, sunlight on my face/See that dust cloud disappear without a trace/I want to take shelter from the poison rain.” But this is a hope that is lived (and here sung) with a deeply realistic grasp on reality. While this place where the streets have no names is grounded and nourished by covenantal love, our reality is that while we attempt to build such a place, such a Kingdom in our lives now, we nonetheless find that “We’re still building/Then burning down love, burning down love.” Indeed the cities in which we presently live, this world in its brokenness and idolatry, is a flood that turns our love to rust. Instead of the flame of the Spirit that Bono longs to touch in a world where the nuclear dust clouds have disappeared, we find that “we’re beaten and blown by the wind” of every new false spirit and cultural force while we are trampled in the dust or our own pollution and cultural ruins.
            You see, while St. John of Patmos envisioned the New Jerusalem in the face of the collapse of the old Jerusalem and the brutality of the Roman empire, St. Bono of Dublin must dream of a city where the streets have no names in the face of the collapse of the modern project, in the blood stained streets of Belfast and in the dust of the World Trade Center. And with apocalyptic vision he sings, “I’ll show you a place/high on a desert plain/where the streets have no names.” And with a sense of prophetic and covenantal solidarity he sings to us and to his God, “And when I go there/I go there with you/It’s all I can do.” There is no other recourse. There is no other hope for this world than a new heavens and a new earth, a New Jerusalem coming down out of heaven as a restored cultural reality, a place of peace, renewed community and reconciliation, the dwelling of God amongst us.
            This, of course, is the heart of the Christian proclamation of the Incarnation. His name shall be called “Emmanuel” – God with us. The Word became flesh and moved into the neighbourhood. And all of the heavenly host sang , “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among all people.” [Lk 2.14]. And then Jesus taught his disciples to pray, “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” [Mt 6.9-10] An earthly kingdom. But that’s not the way it is, is it? This is U2’s song “Peace on Earth” from the most recent, All that you Can’t Leave Behind album (2000):

 “Peace on Earth”

Heaven on Earth
We need it now
I'm sick of all of this
Hanging around
Sick of sorrow
I'm sick of the pain
I'm sick of hearing
Again and again
That there's gonna be
Peace on Earth

Where I grew up
There weren't many trees
Where there was we'd tear them down
And use them on our enemies
They say that what you mock
Will surely overtake you
And you become a monster
So the monster will not break you

And it's already gone too far
Who said that if you go in hard
You won't get hurt

Jesus can you take the time
To throw a drowning man a line
Peace on Earth
Tell the ones who hear no sound
Whose sons are living in the ground
Peace on Earth
No whos or whys
No one cries like a mother cries
For peace on Earth
She never got to say goodbye
To see the color in his eyes
Now he's in the dirt
Peace on Earth

They're reading names out
Over the radio
All the folks the rest of us
Won't get to know

Sean and Julia
Gareth, Ann, and Breda
Their lives are bigger than
Any big idea

Jesus can you take the time
To throw a drowning man a line
Peace on Earth
To tell the ones who hear no sound
Whose sons are living in the ground
Peace on Earth

Jesus in this song you wrote
The words are sticking in my throat
Peace on Earth
Hear it every Christmas time
But hope and history won't rhyme
So what's it worth

This peace on Earth
Peace on Earth
Peace on Earth
Peace on Earth

Perhaps one of the most devastating things about an escapist vision of heaven is that it disallows any deeply painful pathos for the world. If we are all going to heaven in the end, then the actual suffering of this life gets trivialized because it just doesn’t compare to the glorious reality of heaven. In fact, in this kind of theology this world is somehow even less real than heaven. Bono will have nothing of it. In this anti-Christmas carol the band returns to old themes that have permeated their music from the beginning – lamentful themes of “how long?”
            If an incarnational faith is one which believes that heaven comes to earth, then where is this peace on earth? Now don’t forget that this complaint, this lament, is a prayer. Bono addresses himself to none other than Jesus himself, the Prince of Peace. “Jesus can you take the time/to throw a drowning man a line”? You see, Lord, I am “sick of sorrow/sick of pain/sick of hearing again and again/that there’s gonna be/Peace on Earth.” And, Lord, I have nothing left to say to the mothers of the disappeared in Argentina, the parents and partners of those whose names are on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, those who are still under the rubble of the World Trade Center, the mothers of the 500,000 water poisoned dead in Iraq, the grieving parents of the Middle East, native reservations in Canada, and the homeless shelters of our own neighbourhoods. You see, Lord, “no-one cries like a mother cries/for Peace on Earth” because “She never got to say goodbye/to see the colour of his eyes/Now he’s in the dirt”. So, Lord, could you take the time to say to her, “Peace on Earth”? And while you’re at it, how about me? You see, “this song you wrote/the words are sticking in my throat”. And I just can’t get over the fact that “hope and history won’t rhyme” so I wonder, “what’s it worth?/this peace on Earth”.
            Hope without this kind of pathos isn’t hope at all – it is cheap optimism. And it is not worthy of a community that follows a Prince of Peace who bought peace through the blood of the cross. When hope and history won’t rhyme, then the only faithful response – indeed the only hopeful response – is one of prayer. And so Bono prays and invites us to join him. And what so impresses me about this prayer is that he refuses to leave it with generalities – he names names. He gets incredibly specific with a list of the dead, a list of “the folks the rest of us won’t get to know/Sean and Julia, Gareth, Ann and Breda”. You see, “their lives are bigger, than any big idea” – whether that idea be ethnic identity, national security, economic power or religious purity.
            Like the psalmists, however, Bono won’t leave us here. Lament will be indispensable to any honest spirituality and true hope, but lament is never the last word. Listen now to a song written in honour of the Burmese activist for democracy, Aung San Suu Kyi, who left the security of life with her husband and son at Oxford University to face house arrest under the brutal military junta of her homeland. She walked away from security in search of a better country. And while you watch this performance, pay attention to what Bono and the Edge do at the very end of the song – how they bring the whole audience into a moment of worship. And one further note – they do not actually sing the first verse of the song in this performance.

[play from the video of the Elevation Tour, Boston, June 6, 2001]

[during the guitar solo read John 14.1-4: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.”]

"Walk On"

  And love
  Is not the easy thing
  The only baggage
  That you can bring
  Love, not the easy thing
  The only baggage you can bring
  Is all that you can't leave behind

  And if the darkness is to keep us apart
  And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off
  And if your glass heart should crack
  And for a second you turn back
  Oh no, be strong

  Walk on, walk on
  What you got, they can't steal it
  No they can't even feel it
  Walk on, walk on …
  Stay safe tonight

  You're packing a suitcase for a place none of us has been
  A place that has to be believed to be seen
  You could have flown away
  A singing bird in an open cage
  Who will only fly, only fly for freedom

  Walk on, walk on
  What you got they can't deny it
  Can't sell it or buy it
  Walk on, walk on
  Stay safe tonight

  And I know it aches
  How your heart it breaks
  And you can only take so much
  Walk on, walk on

  Home … hard to know what it is if you never had one
  Home … I can't say where it is but I know I'm going
  Home … That's where the hurt is

  And I know it aches
  And your heart it breaks
  You can only take so much
  Walk on

  Leave it behind
  You've got to leave it behind

  All that you fashion
  All that you make
  All that you build
  All that you break
  All that you measure
  All that you feel
  All this you can leave behind
  All that you reason
  All that you care
  All that you sense
  All that you scheme
  All you dress up
  And all that you see
  All you create
  All that you wreck
  All that you hate

Here is U2’s word of hope for those of us who long for heaven on earth, for those of us who seek a better country, a new city, a restoration of this creation that God so lovingly called into being. Here is U2’s encouragement along the way for those who have packed a suitcase “for a place none of us has been/a place that has to be believed to be seen”. Here is their pastoral counsel to those of us who have been singing, “how long, must we sing this song?” To those of us who feel that the darkness is keeping us apart and that “the daylight feels likes it’s a long way off”, whose hearts are so fragile that they feel like glass ready to break, Bono sings, “Walk on/walk on” because “what you’ve got” – this hope, this longing, this vision of a restoration, this imagination of new possibilities – “they can’t steal it”, “can’t feel it”, “can’t deny it/can’t sell it, can’t buy it”. This hope is no commodity, no object that can be confiscated by the agents of normality and the status quo in our lives. No, this hope is rooted in a longing for home that beats incessantly in the human heart. “Home … hard to know what it is if you’ve never had one/Home … I can’t say what it is but I know I’m going home/That’s where the hurt is”. I know that I’m going home and that it is there and only there that my hurt can finally be addressed and healed. So, walk on, Bono sings, walk on. Keep your eyes on those promises that you can only see from a distance, on that city prepared for you, that homeland in which there will be no time of sorrow, there will be no time for pain.
            And walk on, my friends, walk on. But this is an arduous journey, so you’ll have to travel light. And this is a destination in which you can take very little with you in order to enter. In fact, all that you can take, all that you can pack, is a heart – even if it is glass heart close to shattering – of love. You see, love is not the easy thing, but it is the only baggage you can bring, and for all the rest, you’ve got to leave it behind. In the end, this is not a Kingdom that we build, it is a Kingdom established through the radical generosity and love of the King of kings. This Kingdom is not an accomplishment, but a gift. So, all that you fashion, all that you make, all that you have constructed – your stock portfolio, your comfortable house in the suburbs, your church structures with its synods and councils, your educational institutions and your academic degrees, your technological prowess, your preferred vocabularies, your worldviews – all of this you need to leave behind.
            And when you can walk on with that kind of relinquishment, when you can have the courage to live with that kind of faith, when, just beyond the range of normal sight you can glimpse the goal, the New Jerusalem coming down out of heaven as a bride adorned for her husband, then perhaps you will no longer need to sing “how long, to sing this song?” (“40”) because your tongues will break into a new song, “Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.”

Prayers of the People
 A U2 inspired litany written by Rob Vagacs and edited by Brian Walsh

Leader    Let us Pray.
Lord Jesus,
Truly you are the King of the Jews,
you are the King of every race.
Forgive us for choosing hatred and violence,
murder and insurrection, over your Way of
love, peace, life and humility.
We fall at your feet and pray for forgiveness.

All    Every chip from every cup
Every promise given up
Every reason that’s not enough
Is falling, falling at your feet

Leader    We thank you for the gift of our friends and family.
Thank you for the gift of this community,
which gathers in your name in Brampton.
Thank you for every divinely appointed "passer-by"
who has crossed our path of peril to offer some support.
Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.

All   Everyone who needs a friend
Every life that has no end
Every knee not ready to bend
Is falling, falling at your feet
We’ve come crawling, now we’re falling at your feet

Leader    Lord Jesus,
Truly you are the Son of God.
Your night ran over and your day did not last,
and you gave yourself away.

All  Thank you for choosing obedience and trust. 
Thank you for choosing pain and rejection.
Thank you for choosing death and sacrifice.
Thank you for choosing us.

Leader    We live in an aching world that is without a compass,
that has no map, no particular place names, no particular song.
When you look at the world
what is it that you see?
People find all kinds of things
that bring them to their knees.
Yet a day will come
when every knee will bow
and every tongue confess
you as Lord.

All  Then will there be no time of sorrow.
Then will there be no time for pain.
Then will there be no time of sorrow.
Then will there be no time for shame.

Leader    Yet now is a time filled with sorrow.
Now is a time of pain.
Now is a time of confusion.
For the many who suffer in body, mind and soul,
we pray:

                (a moment for silent or spoken prayers for those in need)

All                          Comfort!  Restore!  Heal!  Remember!
Remember those whom you have chosen.
Remember those whose names
you have inscribed on the palms of your hands.

Leader    They are the bandits on your left and right.
They are the ones hurling insults.
They are the soldiers just taking orders.
They are the politicians making compromises.
They are the widows at your feet.
They are your disciples, scattered like sheep, nowhere
to be found.

All                          I was there when they crucified my Lord,
I held the scabbard as the soldier drew his sword
I threw the dice when they pierced his side,
But I’ve seen love conquer the great divide.

Worthy is the Lamb that was
                slaughtered,
to receive power and wealth and
                 wisdom and might
and honor and glory and
                blessing!

Amen.

 

 

 

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