Long ago, I would have lived like bone to bone Among villagers, close-knit, a part of the whole; But in sickness only a vigil could console And recovery at last between God and me alone. Today, we have the fruits of moldy bread And I live alone, individual, apart; But now, in sickness, we once again find our heart And recovery is doctors, nurses, and family at my bed. The Realm of God is where community is ever Whether in sickness or health, good or bad, dumb or clever. O pray God that we enter such a world, When in our times we are so desperately hurled To let shine throughout creation, matter and mind, Heart and soul for the hurting and for the unkind and the kind.
©1990, John A. Mills