Meditation on the body of Christ

Lord, at your feet I fall, that holy place

where lepers and harlots lie, and parents plead

life for a dying child; so, grasping grace,

I touch your wounded feet, and tell my need.

Your arms reach out to hold my grief and shame,

to lift me up, and heal, and set me free;

Your broken hands roll back the stone of blame

to bring new life, and now take hold of me.

But how shall I look up into your face,

Your eyes consuming with their unmade light?

For love unbounded burns me in your gaze

And I must die to live within your sight.

Your feet, your hands, your shining face, these three

Are mercy, power and endless love to me.

This poem forms the concluding part of a spiritual exercise in which I invite people to spend time at the feet of Jesus: when they feel the have received, to be held in the hands of Jesus: and when they are ready, to gaze into the face of Jesus. The feet of Jesus form the place of the Cross, the hands of Jesus are the place of Resurrection, and His face the place of Ascension, adoration and love in His presence.