Weaving

Take again the spindle and the distaff;
twist and turn the flax to linen thread
though you know it tangles into mischance,
though you know you labor for the dead.
Still you know each sepulchre’s a tomb:
Every shroud bedecks a birthing room.

It was you who wove the seamless garment
stripped away from him at Calvary,
spun the flesh to clothe the Word Incarnate
once you’d said, “Let it be done to me.”
Christ in glory seated on his throne
takes again the mantle you had sewn.

Though he tore it in his great endeavor—
fraying, threadbare, naked to the heart—
ripped the veil that parted us from heaven
as his flesh and bone were pulled apart.
Could he have restored the grievous tears?
Yes, but still the wounded cloth he wears.

Take then, Mother, take again your spindle;
take this mortal labor in your hands.
Spin and weave and stitch that selfsame linen
as you made your firstborn’s swaddling bands,
wrapping in your love his human need.
Weave that love again for all who bleed.

We go hence into the dark unknowing,
tattered as a dishrag with our wear.
Let us see your worklamp’s steady glowing
as you weave our hopes into your prayer:
We have tried to do as he had said.
May your son breathe life into the dead.

Did he learn from you this patient stitching?
He who wove creation with a word
slowly now is mending it and knitting
all things back together, beast and bird,
sea and land, and heaven unto earth,
as you weave bright clothes for our rebirth.

So our bodies, too, shall be rewoven
of the threads unraveled from his side,
filaments of gold, in flame pure-proven
as the king of love arrays his bride.
Mother, pray for us to Christ your son:
as it was for you, his will be done.

Eve spinning, the spindle in her right hand: Hunterian Psalter, ca 1170 (Glasgow University Library) By Anonymous – http://special.lib.gla.ac.uk/exhibns/psalter/psalterindex.html, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2549773