“Put God at the centre of your family,” she said,
“Be aware of his presence.” My heart sank
At the thought of all the genuflecting
And time, begrudged, to praise and thank:

A little tin god, on a pedestal
Aloof to the stresses and strains
Of the living world, and its tossing seas;
Flint idol, immune to our pains;

But I turned my eyes, as she told me,
And looked at God in my home:
Between the sofas and the telly
No idol on its throne!

Among the meals and the homework,
The grieving, the plants and the cat,
A fluid, healing presence,
Supporting this, mending that;

God on his knees, like a workman,
Cobbling loose ends together.
This is the god for what’s broken,
To rebuild lost lives; fix us! Here!