Land of our fathers,
how we long to return,
to touch your earth,
and to find again your sacred paths, Made flat with the Gospel of Peace, veiled now in the shadow of mediocrity.
‘What mean these stones’ which beset your coastline, who in twisted agony cry out in praise and supplication of You and the renewal of faith
that bled to secure them there?
We would walk again
Your sacred paths,
Your church has abandon these ancient ruins, Leaving us behind amongst these broken altars, raise up the foundations
of many generations abandoned among these stones.
Hear this, you lands of the South who hold many in captivity
by your empty words
and well-worn myths,
who neglect to see justice
for the disabled, the abused the exiled.
Look to the North -
From where your Redeemer comes, clothed in the poverty of the few who dare to speak His name, without vanity,
in a whisper,
For fear the earth should tremble Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord.
Poor of Yahweh, arise,
take up the ancient mantle which has awaited your day; clothe yourselves within its humility, for you have been set
as a stumbling block for many.
John Skinner & Dave Lucas