Travelers' child laid in a manger,
refugee to Egypt bound,
pilgrim youth, yet not a stranger
when your Father's house you found:
Christ, who set aside your glory
to reclaim our wayward race,
help us read salvation's story
in each passing heart and face.
Guest who vintaged wine from water,
wand'ring healer brimmed with balm,
foreigner whose hearer brought her
heart-thirst to your well of calm:
Savior, may we see our neighbor
as an emblem of your care;
in our leisure and our labor
give us grace to find you there.
Homeless squatter in a garden,
feaster in a rented room,
scapegoat for another's pardon,
sleeper in a borrowed tomb:
Jesus, outcast and offender
to those certain of God's will,
rend the veils of race and gender,
wealth and health, that shroud us still.
Strange wayfarer to Emmaus,
vague form on the distant shore,
fright to friends ("Does sense betray us?")
when you stood with them once more:
risen Lord, be there to meet us
when life dawns eternally;
may your promised blessing greet us,
"In all these you welcomed me."