God is our refuge. We will not fear
though painful changes come to earth
and sea, though oceans rise and funnel clouds
cut swaths through homes like reapers
through a field. We will not fear
though hardships come—though communities
rip apart and nations dissolve into chaos,
though inequality abounds on street corners
and the homeless are imprisoned,
though the oppressed are teargassed
and those who fight injustice, persecuted.
We will not fear though divisive politics
split our nation and widen the breech
between loved ones. We will not fear
though hostile discourse surrounds us
and crowds swarm, yelling fight.
We will not fear though friends shun us,
though guns drop into angry hands,
and our differences become ammunition.
We will not fear though the world says we must,
though our spirits feel broken and we wake
in the night, our anxious thoughts darting
to find a place of rest. We will not fear
though we choose to float like ghosts
in a dark abyss of silence, our hands extended
for the spark of a touch. We will not panic
though corporations condense us into data
and revenue, though the value of a life
becomes a resume and a paycheck.
We will not lose our nerve though the pressures
of this mortal world challenge our mental fortitude,
though our hearts pound, stomachs tighten, hands sweat,
though so much is unknown, unanswered,
out of our control, a puzzle with pieces torn
or missing. We will not fear though our bones creak
and steps grow unsteady, though we approach
losses and hospice, death at the door.
God, you are with us. You move in our midst
like a welcoming wind from over ocean waters,
a cool breeze stirring the humid stillness,
soothing our pain, calming our worries.
O God, you move like a cumulous cloud
across our horizon, stilling the storm
and shading us from the sun’s assault.
You move like a shadow, forever before us,
behind us, like dense fog edging down a mountain
or fireflies rising from the grass.
You move like music and autumn rain,
like a lightning bolt illuminating the sky,
like the mighty Iguazu Falls
and a gliding eagle, observing from above.
You move like a dear old friend, a cat
against our leg, a fox at dusk.
O God, you travel like the Southern Cross
quietly across the sky and dance like candle flames
atop a layered cake. You move as a colony
of ants at a picnic, unseen by some
but making your presence known.
Let us be still and know you move in our midst
as ocean waves and morning dew,
as wind swirling over desert sands,
shaping us over time.

This collaborative poem was created by the congregation of First Mennonite Church of 
Indianapolis and edited by Shari Wagner.