It’s a messy business taking Jesus to the streets

One of crossed meanings and constantly moving feet

Sometimes certain that I’ve created another fine mess

Turning to and seeking out something to confess

But there is a bit of hope in cross-fired solitude

Muddled up and cuddled up into a heap of attitude

Maybe sometimes that’s how it needs to be heard

In a whirl of burl and expressions that are blurred

Sometimes shallow and sometimes deep as the ocean

Sometimes the thoughtful and other times pure emotion

Whatever and however, whenever, however the Gospel takes

Be it from a pulpit or on the street as a brother breaks

However it spreads, as long as the Good News travels

Who cares how it does as long as it does and sin unravels