benbell: Loving young people

Lois, who works alongside me as a youth worker here in Islington brought this poem to our evening service on Sunday. She talked about how she sometimes finds it hard to love the young people we work with (something I can relate to) and how after a draining session a couple of weeks ago she went to the local park and wrote this.

Here I sit

My church floor made of grass

My cathedral dome the sky

My offering basket the council estates nearby.

I open my purse and bring out my heart

I have nothing else to give.

I feel your love in concrete high rise

Where chicken and chips is eucharist;

Your grace calls me to partake

As I see your pain in hungry eyes.

I feel so empty, robbed of power,

And then I think of you, helpless in your final hour,

And I know my church is where you live

Amongst the broken glass and brittle hearts.

You draw me out until I cannot help but love,

Against my will but merging now with yours,

And I realise that my need of you

Is all you need to work through me, your church.