Here let me have my Heaven, where the lame,
The halt, the blind, the naked and ashamed
Are gathered at the low gate’s blood soaked frame.
Here let me be as one with those who know
They have no right to claim, no right to go
And yet they come because You told them so.
Not where the neat, clean-handed pious dwell
(Those who have practised carefulness so well)
Here, with the broken, is Immanuel.
Here, beyond law and doctrine’s argued place
Here, where the huddled outcasts find their space,
Here let me drink from undiluted grace.
Here let me learn to love with hands of pain,
Here, beyond fear, acknowledging my stain
Until all things are made complete again.