How many times You were silent,

Words unnecessary.

Even You, the Word,

Were the quiet word,

Brief,

In season.

You saw,

Asked,

Sighed,

Prayed,

Walked,

Dined,

Celebrated.

And mostly, You listened.

To Your Father and Your Spirit,

To Your beloveds,

To suffering mortals in need of mercy,

To the praise of children,

To the service of rejects, humble and sure,

To Your accusers.

Speak now, oh, Beautiful One.

Your voice is the Song of Songs,

Your body the Word made flesh.

Your wisdom shaped for my own ears,

And the fruit of your lips a tabled feast.

I await Your pleasure.