By Richard Mather
Abraham, it is time to leave
your lonely tent.
Find a vacant spot in the belly of your heart
and learn to fear the Lord.
Stop seeking the wind that blows
this way and that; come out from behind that fig tree
and walk straight.
Do not hide your thoughts from me
or turn your hand to smooth things.
Abraham, you are a dry land without
green shoots.
But I am making you a gift
of wild grasses and flowers,
of flowing rivers and fertile soil.
It will be for you an everlasting possession,
the very ground of your being.
And Sarah! My beloved princess,
do not laugh when I say that what is now empty
shall become full.
Listen, both of you! No longer will your days
feel like a wheel that refuses to move
or a stone that won’t budge.
Have faith in the one who ploughs the fields of heaven,
whose fingers turn the earth
and whose breath shapes the clouds.
There is nothing I can’t do.
Come, Abraham, let my hand raise you up; let us pitch a tent amidst the stars
and count the brightest ones.
Maybe then you will comprehend
the immensity of my word,
the scope of my promise.
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