A Blessing for the Dream That Still Burns
Inspired by Psalm 40, Epiphany, and the voice of Dr. King
Beat beat—the heart still speaks.
Blessed are you who carry the dream
even when the world forgets to listen.
Blessed are you who speak,
Even when silence would be safer.
“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies,
but the silence of our friends.”
Blessed are you who speak
From pulpit, picket line,
And parking lots, whispering between the lines
And walking across the ones
Empire drew in our hearts.
Where do we draw the line?
Blessed are you who draw the line—but never a gun.
Blessed are you who say enough.
And when they ask, “Where do we draw the line?”—
you point to the water, to the rock, to the dream still burning.
Blessed are you who march with weary feet,
who sing even when the sky grows heavy.
When the sun sets on systems of harm
When creation groans—as it does, as it will—this blessing is yours.
You who carry ancestors in your bones—
this blessing is yours.
May your truth be flame.
May all else burn away, may you light the new day.
May your tenderness be power.
Let mercy drip unashamed down your cheeks.
“Let justice roll down like waters,”
He said—
And we have not forgotten.
May your memory be a river
Of baptism
Of belovedness
A river that no empire can dam up.
Blessed are you who keep dreaming
not of escape
but of belonging.
Let’s keep dreaming
Of tables set with justice, served alongside love
and bread passed with joy.
Let’s keep our hearts beating.
Beat Beat, the heavy rhythm you feel before
You lift your voice.
Let’s keep dreaming.
May your voice echo in the chambers
where laws are written.
May your love redraw the maps of our belonging.
Beat Beat, with the rhythm of love,
With the Flame of truth,
With the water of baptismal memory,
Beat Beat, with the rhythm of love marching.
May love be your drum, and justice tune it.
Beat beat the footfalls—
May your courage rise in the streets
where children still hope.
“He drew me up from the desolate pit, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock…”
And when the road is long—
may love be your drumbeat.
May your heart rise like morning thunder, alongside mine—
Beat beat
The thunder of marching feet.
And may you know, always:
you do not walk alone.
You do not walk alone,
May you hear again the Voice over the waters:
