The Stranger?

My friend Steve Rhodes is the Canon Poet at Grace Cathedral Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. He writes poems for each of the seasons of the church and on other occasions. Here is one for this season of ordinary time. 

Stranger

I talk with myself in the morning,
and to God. Sometimes I sing or kneel.
I read words from saints, at least those I see
as such. Making my home in their minds
for a moment, I live with Crone’s disease,
say, or in a tent on the West Bank.

I hear myself speak to power, as if
I did not have it, and let myself live
somewhere other than the here I’m given
perhaps by God, but even if not,
I allow myself a bit if courage
in another’s mind and distant place.

I dream of having enough faith to live
in my own skin and face ghosts who argue
for cautious and stingy love at most.
God help me, sometimes I pray
for a new heart, or a changing one to embrace
the stranger I am called to become.

Migrants wait for asylum hearings at the US-Mexico border on May 10, 2023 in San Ysidro, California — AFP Photo