Where Our Arguments Meet the Neighbor’s Cry

 Where Our Arguments Meet the Neighbor’s Cry

Beneath the concrete span,
a green tent rests
above the stone embankment.

A blue tarp falls
over the edge.

Someone has carried
a chair here,
clothes,
the things a life gathers
when it must begin again.

We speak of boundaries.
We speak of responsibility.
Our sentences grow long.

Night comes
to the tent.

Where our arguments meet
the neighbor’s cry,
let us be close enough to hear.

A cry may have no sound.
It may be a hand
holding the zipper closed,
a body bent over a bag,
the long search
for somewhere safe to sleep.

Along the lower path,
someone stands beside a bicycle.

There is a distance
between looking
and drawing near.

Lord,
help us cross it.

Let our questions
make room for an answer.
Let us learn the name
of the person living here.

The road to Jericho
continues beneath our bridges.

Here, too,
mercy must find its footing,
carry water,
tend a wound,
seek shelter that will hold.

And when the immediate thirst is eased,
keep us faithful
to tomorrow’s need.

At the center stands the cross—
Christ entering
the suffering we discuss.

The wounded Christ
and the serving Christ—
two as one.

Let the wisdom we defend
become a hand we offer.

Let the neighbor speak.
Let us listen long enough
to be changed.

And when we rise,
let us carry together
the work love has begun.

Emmanuel.
Amen.

Pastor Steven G. Lee
St. GMC Corps
October 2, 2026

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