Come All Whose Hearts

Thus says the LORD:
Say to those whose hearts are frightened:
Be strong, fear not!
Here is your God,
he comes with vindication;
with divine recompense
he comes to save you.
Then will the eyes of the blind be opened,
the ears of the deaf be cleared;
then will the lame leap like a stag,
then the tongue of the mute will sing.
Streams will burst forth in the desert,
and rivers in the steppe.
The burning sands will become pools,
and the thirsty ground, springs of water.
—Isaiah 35:4-7a

Come all whose hearts are frightened
and blinded by their tears,
for Christ the dawn arising
like day is drawing near,
and you who sit within the dark
will see, at last, the brightest spark.

Come all whose hearts are muted
by this world's angry noise,
for Christ, in our confusion,
speaks out, a still, small voice.
You've kept your silence for so long,
but you will raise the joyful song.

Come all whose hearts are burning,
are withered in their drought,
for Christ, our deepest yearning,
splits heaven and pours down.
The living water, gentle rain,
will bring you back to life again.

Come all whose hearts are broken—
though no step can you make—
for Christ, the Word, is spoken
and meets you on the way.
He makes our brokenness his own,
and all the wounded shall be whole.

Desna river, feeder of the Southern Bug, at dawn. Ukraine, Vinnytsia Raion By George Chernilevsky – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=82439234

Abyss

Was there a moment, O omnipotent,
when you decided you would forfeit all,
or was it always present, this intent,
O changeless and eternal one, to fall?

I am your image but am not yourself:
When powerless I plunge, it's by surprise.
See, I'm your image, so—I must confess—
I thought that I, like you, would only rise

but down I go.  I heard my teachers say
that things like this are gifts to offer up,
but now I think they're wrong about the way:
These gifts drip down into the waiting cup,

and it is bitter, bitter, as you know
who took and blessed and drank it to the dregs.
And so I ask again, when did you go
from wanting life to crossing death's doorstep?

These creatures that you made don't have a choice:
We just sink down, relentlessly depressed
into the pit where no one lifts their voice—
and is it there we nestle on your breast?

We find you, Lord, beneath the deep abyss,
borne down beyond the depths that we can bear,
as if you'd settled down to wait for us.
O, can it be that you were always there?

Autrice: Francesca KIX D’Errico Sito dell’autrice: scubakix.blogspot.com Fonte: lunedì 20 novembre 2006 (file) Note: it:Cristo degli abissi The original uploader was Yoruno at Italian Wikipedia. – Transferred from it.wikipedia to Commons. – original source scubakix.blogspot.com, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2739259

Splintered

You spread the heavens over us,
the earth beneath our feet,
and here between the stars and dust
we shelter in your keep.

Let not the skies above us fail,
their comets fall to earth,
but let the embers purning pale
keep still their distant berth.

Turn back the terrors of the night,
the arrow's flight by day.
Let every missile flaming bright 
turn harmlessly away.

Let every stone we slingshot up
be as the snow that falls
a wonder, not a wounding drop.
Our own destruction halt.

Let earth be as your gentle breast
and heaven as your wings,
that here between them we may rest
on splintered spears and slings.

Bend every bow until it snaps
and weave their strings to warm.
O Father, turn our weapons back
and keep us from all harm!

: Rider with bow (1929) on Pálya street side facaade. – 5 Győző St., Krisztinaváros, Budapest District I.Rider with bow (1929) – Győző St., [[:en:Krisztinaváros|Krisztinaváros]], [[:en:Várkerület|Budapest District I]].}}{{hu|1=: Honfoglaló magyar lovas katona íjjal (Győző utca 5. domborművei) Ohmann Béla?, ifj. Mátrai Lajos alkotása, 1929. – [[:hu:Budapest I. kerülete|Budapest I. kerület]], [[:hu:Krisztinaváros|Krisztinaváros]] városrész, Győző utca, 5 By Globetrotter19 – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=53438308

At Last

As sentinels wait for the dawn
and wonder if day will arrive,
or if they have strength to go on,
we wait for your mercy, O Christ.

When they who have waited so long 
can finally lift up their heads
and see justice righting the wrongs
and peace at last comfort the dead.

For over the fields of our wars
she spreads out the shade of her wings,
the graves that will hold us no more
where paupers lie buried with kings,

and they who have fallen will rise
and sinews will cover dry bones.
The Spirit will fill them with life
and all that was hidden be known.

But when is it coming, that day
when mercy and truth hand-in-hand
shall lay down their straight, level way?
The promised land waits at its end.

Remember your promise, O Lord,
your covenant made ages past.
Come, turn all the earth with bent swords
and replant your garden at last.

13th century depiction of a ploughing peasant, Royal Library of Spain By Baudouin d’Arras – photographie, travail personnel, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3837028

Cups

“Hear me, all of you, and understand.
Nothing that enters one from outside can defile that person;
but the things that come out from within are what defile.
From within people, from their hearts,
come evil thoughts, unchastity, theft, murder,
adultery, greed, malice, deceit,
licentiousness, envy, blasphemy, arrogance, folly.
All these evils come from within and they defile.”
—Mark 7:21-23

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites. You cleanse the outside of cup and dish, but inside they are full of plunder and self-indulgence.
Blind Pharisee, cleanse first the inside of the cup, so that the outside also may be clean.”
—Matthew 23:25-26

I come to you so hungry, Lord,
so thirsty I have come
for wine that only you can pour
like honey on my tongue.
But how can I sit down with you
when I am all unclean
to take your drink and taste your food,
pretending I'm pristine?

But you are living water, true,
and I an empty cup.
If I would taste a drop of you
then you must fill me up—
but cups, they must be purified
before they can be filled.
You see the things I hold inside—
how shall a drop be spilled?

Yet pour your waters over me
and pour them through my heart
and I shall have your purity
in every inward part.
Then shall my overflow be love
that water once had been.
You clean the inside of the cup—
and wine flows from within.

The Holy Grail depicted on a stained glass window at Quimper Cathedral Photo By Thesupermat – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=35772669

Necessary

There is no necessary thing
in all that you have made—
the fletching of the finch's wing,
the dappled summer shade,
the ripples spreading in a ring
from where the herons wade—
You have no need of anything,
yet see how they're arrayed.

And if the little bird should fall,
the world, one sparrow less,
would notice none of it at all,
would suffer no distress.
But you who hear the sparrow's call
and paint its stippled dress,
who see in death its awkward sprawl,
hold it in tenderness.

I am no sparrow in your hand,
no ray of light that fell.
There is no height I can demand,
and I shall fall as well.
The only rock where I can stand
is you, my God, yourself,
who need me not—yet you command,
and in that grace I dwell.

Photo: Don Green By Channel City Camera Club from Santa Barbara, US – Stepping off, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=106054518

Bitter Bread

The harvest of our sorrows—
the bitter dust we tilled,
the anguish of the harrows—
this grain we took and milled.
We leavened it with ashes
and kneaded it with tears
to lay it on your altar.
O Christ, come meet us here.

We long to bring you glories,
the bread of finest wheat
and wine to send us soaring,
and lay them at your feet,
to make our best our offering
for you to make divine—
Here is the bread of suffering
and tears distilled as wine.

O higher than the angels,
above all earthly crowns,
you did not spurn the manger—
You do not spurn us now.
When all that we can give you
is brokenness as bread,
you take what you are given
and fill it with yourself.

A Kremikovtsi Monastery fresco (15th century) depicting the Last Supper celebrated by Jesus and his disciples. The early Christians too would have celebrated this meal to commemorate Jesus’ death and subsequent resurrection. Photo By Edal Anton Lefterov – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15129262

Galaxies

A universe expanding,
and every day a flood
leaves one more ark on Ararat
somewhere that you call good.
Yet earthquakes and collapses,
both lava flow and flame,
creation and calamity
are calling out your name.

And all that is or will be
is but a grain of sand;
the great star-filled infinity
a pebble in your hand.
The stars burn down to ashes
and galaxies collide,
but not an atom perishes
unnoticed by your eye.

Myself am not a minute
in geologic terms,
still less in your infinitude—
but you have seen and heard.
My growth and my expansion,
my crumbling and collapse:
Though I fall to catastrophe,
I fall into your grasp.

M82, a starburst galaxy that has ten times the star formation of a “normal” galaxy By NASA, ESA, and The Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA) – http://www.spacetelescope.org/images/heic0604a/ ([cdn.spacetelescope.org/archives/images/screen/heic0604a.jpg direct link])http://hubblesite.org/gallery/album/entire_collection/pr2006014a/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=797295

To Whom Would We Go?

As a result of this,
many of his disciples returned to their former way of life
and no longer accompanied him.
Jesus then said to the Twelve, “Do you also want to leave?”
Simon Peter answered him, “Master, to whom shall we go?
You have the words of eternal life.
We have come to believe
and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”
—John 6:60-69

Could a child forget his mother,
though he takes a lonesome road,
or one hand forget the other
and the work they both have known?
You who joined us as our brother
knit yourself into our souls.
If we leave you for another,
Lord, to whom then would we go?

When you called us, we were children
seeking wisdom as a prize.
We had labored; we had striven,
but had nothing for our strife.
On the sea by storm winds driven,
you were peace amid our cries,
and the words that you have given—
They are spirit; they are life.

We will stay, Lord; we will follow,
though we may not understand.
Our desires were all but hollow
when you met us on the sands:
You have filled us, joy and sorrow;
all good things come from your hands.
And the bread you take and hallow,
we will eat at your command.

George Smith – Still Life of Bread, Butter and Cheese – Google Art Project By George Smith (1714 – 1776) – Artist (British)Born in Chichester. Died in Chichester.Details on Google Art Project – NQGAD2XKLA7c8g at Google Cultural Institute maximum zoom level, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21974529

Bloom

Shouting, they shall mount the heights of Zion,
they shall come streaming to the LORD’s blessings:
The grain, the wine, and the oil,
flocks of sheep and cattle;
They themselves shall be like watered gardens,
never again neglected.
—Jeremiah 31:12

We have had the nights of weeping
and the prophecies of doom,
had the days of wide-eyed sleeping,
walking through a drifting gloom.
Yet the endless springs are seeping
into furrows, into tombs:
We shall blossom in his keeping
like a garden in full bloom.

Some have plowed and others planted—
he has worked our waiting earth;
sunk his hands into the land here,
seed, himself, in death and birth;
and the mercy he has granted 
feeds us like a secret source.
He has tilled and we shall answer
with abundance springing forth.

Oh, but now the fields are barren,
bleaching gray beneath the sun,
as we dread to hear the sirens—
waiting ended, war begun.
Still the gardener is preparing
for the harvest yet to come:
Even now the seeds are stirring;
even now his mercies run.

A la Nasir al-Mulk Mosque o Mesquita Rosa, By Joan Simon from Barcelona, España – A la Nasir al-Mulk Mosque o Mesquita Rosa, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=48223889