WE CANNOT MEASURE HOW YOU HEAL
(Iona Community)
Lord, we cannot measure how you heal
Or answer every sufferer's prayer,
Yet we believe your grace responds
Where faith and doubt unite to care.
Your hands, though bloodied on the cross,
Survive to hold and heal and warm,
To carry all through death to life
And cradle children yet unborn
The pain that will not go away,
The guilt that clings from things long past,
The fear of what the future holds,
Are present as if meant to last.
But present, too, is love which tends
The hurt we never hoped to find,
The private agonies inside,
The memories that haunt the mind.
So some have come who need your help
And some have come to make amends,
As hands which shaped and saved the world
Are present in the touch of friends.
Lord, let your Spirit meet us here
To mend the body, mind and soul,
To disentangle peace from pain
And make your broken people whole.
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