We are living stones who sing.
Like stones that would have sung to fill the silence,
we ring out: “How lovely are the feet of our
good-news-bearing King!”
Like Jacob’s pillow we declare:
“Lay your head here and see visions of angels.”
We are living stones who sing in the house of God.
There are other stones,
stones along the road:
they mark the journey,
they point to the sky.
There also are stones in the valley;
they say, “Trouble was here—
here are the rocks we threw down
to bludgeon our sins,
to raze death’s fortress,
to remove trouble from our midst.”
But we—we are the living stones
who have left the valley behind,
who have been built up into altars
on which is offered
a sacrifice of praise,
of self,
of all.
And here the body and the blood
are rededicated and shared,
and they bind together the living stones
as we sing,
as we sing,
as we sing.