To a Broken God

Didn’t see You there, didn’t know You were weeping too;
I think of tears as a human wound.
Though of course You care, You have shown You were human too,
They say You cried at Lazarus’ tomb. 

I was unaware how it is with a broken God,
I thought of You as above my pain.
Lost in my despair, so it is with a broken heart,
I never dreamed You could feel the same. 

Once, in a magazine I saw a face
wrinkled up in grief and travailed grace;
I kept looking to that face,
some sad refugee in some sad place.
And in his eyes the sorrow of our race;
then I saw it was the face of God,
the face of God — Your face, dear God. 

Some say You’re not there, just a myth for a lazy life,
an artifact from an ancient scroll.
But I have known You near in the gift of a weary sigh,
Lord of the lost and the lonesome soul. 

I was unaware how it is with a broken God,
I never dreamed You could feel the same.

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