Every Hour Here

We ride our bikes around the circle in the cemetery, weaving.
I wave up to You on the Cross.
Am I to come upon You suddenly like this forever?
Happy, relieved that You are here
and I can see You, I can feel you?

You are like the ticket-half I find inside the pocket of my old lead-raking coat.
There all the time, all the while, forgotten.
I so often seem to leave You in churches and other islands.
And on my beads
where I can see You, I can feel You.

I take the ticket-half and put it on the table, saying, This is God
and He's here through my comings and my goings.
But I walk past the ticket-half,
I walk past the ticket-half.
I walk past the ticket-half
just as I've walked past the Cross on our wall.

Our self-importance grows so dazzling we don't see You.
But Gentle Jesus, aren't You always,
aren't You every hour here?

-The Innocence Mission (from the album "Umbrella")