Imagine

What if it's up to us?

I should probably begin by saying what this is not.

I don’t believe in “name it and claim it.”
I don’t believe God hands out better lives as prizes—
more wealth, more health, more intelligence—
to the ones God “likes best”.

That has never rung true to me.

What has stayed with me is the quieter, more unsettling possibility: that we underestimate ourselves—and what might be possible—when we are actually aligned with God’s dream for the world.

This song was written for a General Conference of Metropolitan Community Churches. For a couple of decades, I wrote theme songs for MCC gatherings like that—local and global, rooms full of people trying, in their own ways, to live love out loud.

And then came the year this theme was announced:

Imagine.

And I thought, “Well… that’s taken.” Hard to compete with John Lennon.

But then—a sermon. (It’s almost always a sermon.) About being created in the image of God.

Yes—care for the body. Yes—care for the earth. Yes—care for one another. But then the question shifted, just slightly: If God imagined us into being…what does that say about what we can imagine?

And I almost checked out right there.

I am not God. I cannot do what God does. I do not aspire to run the universe.

But the thought stayed—quiet, persistent, refusing to be dismissed. What if “Peace on earth, goodwill among all people” wasn’t just a heavenly announcement… but a human assignment?

I remember, early on in my Christian walk, reading the Apostles’ Creed and feeling a kind of whiplash.

“Born of the Virgin Mary…” —and then suddenly—“…suffered under Pontius Pilate.”

Wait. What? What happened to everything in between? The stories, the teachings, the way he moved through the world? It seemed to skip right over the part where we might actually learn how to live.

Now—I don’t believe it all rests on me. I am not responsible for saving the world. But I do believe this: I have a part. And my part… is mine.

And then there’s my wife, Cindy.

Whenever people say, “We are the hands and feet of Jesus,” I don’t think in metaphors. I think of her. She doesn’t talk about making a difference—she just quietly rearranges the world around her.

A soup kitchen discovered becomes a weekly volunteer team from her office. A suitcase of medical supplies turns into a video story, which turns into more help, which turns into changed lives half a world away at Raise the Roof Academy in Uganda.

She builds. She organizes. She shows up. Remote Area Medical one weekend, Habitat the next, a plane to somewhere else when needed. She doesn’t announce it. She just does it.

(And yes— I know. I married up.)

But maybe that’s it. Maybe “peace on earth” isn’t abstract. Maybe it looks like casseroles and clinics, hammer swings and long flights, small yeses stacked on top of each other until something begins to change.

I pray. Of course I pray. For healing. For help. For the kind of intervention only God can bring.

But I never want prayer to become my excuse for not participating. “Thoughts and prayers” are very easy from the couch. Love, it turns out, is more physical than that.

I can’t do everything. But I can usually do something—if I’m willing to believe that even the smallest offering does not stay small once it’s placed in God’s hands.

So I arrived at that conference a little unsure of myself. A different kind of Imagine in hand—one that didn’t stop with dreaming, but leaned—gently, insistently—toward action.

The day before it all began, Cindy and I went snorkeling and met a family—bright, open, kind. Their daughter, maybe twelve, studied interpretive dance and asked if she could dance to my song.

And there it was. All my self-consciousness—gone. Because there is nothing quite like watching a young girl, all grace and courage, translate your words into motion—turning lyrics into something visible, something embodied, something true. And I remember thinking, not for the first time, “Ah. There it is.”

Good job, God.

Imagine - Marsha Stevens-Pino with Danny Ray

You imagined the planets, the stars, and the sun,
Envisioned the galaxies one by one,
Conceived ev’ry animal, flower, and tree,
And made them reality.

You imagined the stillness, the hush of the night,
Foresaw how the darkness would bring us Your Light,
You pictured pure love and its mystery,
And then You imagined me.

Now we have that power working in us,
The promise of dreams come true.
What can we create when we finally know
That we can imagine, too?

The power that made all of time and of space,
The love that created the whole human race,
Still beats in the hearts of Your children here—
A greatness we need not fear.

So we will come boldly to ask You for grace,
Empowering others to run in this race,
Creating the world that was meant to be—
Imagine it starts with me.

Now we have that power working in us,
The promise of dreams come true.
What can we create when we finally know
That we can imagine, too?

That still small voice is whispering still,
The angels are singing of peace and goodwill.
It’s not healing all illness—it’s lending a hand,
It’s not walking on water—it’s serving on land.

Now we have that power working in us,
The promise of dreams come true.
What can we create when we finally know
That we can imagine, too?

What can we create when we finally know—
Living in harmony, healing our land,
All we accomplish when we understand
God’s gift to me and you…
We can imagine, too.