a poem by Dave Grishaw-Jones
We are flawed and fearful,
Tossed in seas both real and imagined,
Convinced of our guilt, yet hiding
From others we long to prove responsible
For everything wrong, everything askew in us.
When history and circumstance fling us
Upon the gritty shores of Ninevah,
We are still flawed, still fearful,
But facing a new choice, a chance
To speak an honest, hard word to a strange people.
You don't make peace with friends,
Says the wise and tired warrior.
You make it with unsavory enemies.
This is the peacemaker's calling.
And so we sit together, beneath the one tree,
Communicating with the ones we fear,
Imagining our equality before God and earth,
And inclining towards peace.
There is no other promised land than this:
This inclining is the promise itself.