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

Whatever

We hear the trumpet stirring, Lord,
the long crescendo of the drums.
If there is peace or there is war,
still, bless us in whatever comes.

So long we have been hot and cold
that now we've just gone mostly numb.
Our hands feel not, and nothing hold,
but bless us in whatever comes.

The tongues that clamored all ran dry;
they've spent their noise and fallen dumb,
so who is left to lift the cry,
“Oh, bless us in whatever comes”?

For it will take us by the hair
and play our nerves like catgut strummed
whether we do or do not dare.
Lord, bless us in whatever comes.

And let it, when it's had its day
to foul the feast and leave us crumbs,
pass over and be on its way.
Oh, bless us in whatever comes.

Though time will ride us o'er rough-shod,
it goes back where it first came from.
You gather it and us, O God,
and bless us in whatever comes.

Screenshot of the film The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956) in which Doris Day performs the song Que Sera, Sera. By Paramount Pictures – Trailer of The Man Who Knew Too Much., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=65534401

Blunder

Jesus said to the crowds:
“I am the living bread that came down from heaven;
whoever eats this bread will live forever;
and the bread that I will give
is my flesh for the life of the world.”
–John 6:51-58

How could the Maker blunder,
who shaped us from the earth?
We should have been a wonder—
his fingers twitched and jerked,
or something broke asunder
and left us bent, besmirched,
for we have always hungered
and evermore shall thirst.

But nothing we have eaten
has left us satisfied,
for, oh, how we have feasted!
And, oh, how we have died.
We lost the fruits of Eden,
and now how shall we find
the end of endless needing
that eats us from inside?

In you alone, O Savior,
who did not spurn our need,
but came, like us, to break here,
and came, like us, to bleed.
You know the bread we're craving;
we beg true food, true drink.
And you, who have its savor,
you bid us take and eat.

German or South Netherlandish; Relief; Sculpture-Stone By This file was donated to Wikimedia Commons as part of a project by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. See the Image and Data Resources Open Access Policy, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=60870093

Journeys

The souls of the dead are in your hand—
but take the living, too,
who wander over sea and land,
and see us safely through.

For though our eyes are wide and bright,
we cannot see the way.
The light of noon is dark as night
and hides the coming days.

The wings of dawn will bear us far—
what dangers wait us there?
Be with us ever, guide and guard,
in all that we shall bear!

For we must go beyond the seas,
leave all we know behind.
We journey 'til all journeys cease—
Be with us, and be kind!

You see what cannot e'er be seen;
you knew me ere my birth.
You knit me in my inmost being
and drew me from the earth—

Then you will not let go of me,
the labor of your hands.
Though I go where I cannot see,
beside me there you'll stand.

L’aurore, Mer du Nord by Guillaume Vogels, c. 1877 – Robert Moyens: Guillaume Vogels 150 Jaar, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4671281

Magnificat

For the Feast of the Assumption:

Let all that hides within my heart,
that dwells within my soul,
show forth the burning light of God
and magnify the Lord.

For he was not too great to look
upon my littleness,
but from it his own smallness took—
and all will call me blessed.

My God did not refuse to see,
so I am not ashamed.
No, he has done great things for me
and holy is his name.

His mercy flows from age to age
as mountain streams pour down.
The poor he shelters in his strength
and scatters all the proud.

The mighty fall beneath his gaze;
the low are lifted up;
and see! he send the rich away
and fills the beggar's cup!

For he has not forgotten us
through all our wand'ring days,
but shapes his mercy from our dust.
Oh, let my soul sing praise!

Drawing; Drawings By Pierre-Paul Prud’hon – This file was donated to Wikimedia Commons as part of a project by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. See the Image and Data Resources Open Access Policy, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=60840413

Eat

Before the breaking of the bread
or walking on the sea,
before your rest in manger-bed
or Mary's “let it be,”
before you spoke and bid us hear
or our own tongues unfurled,
before our hunger called you near
you fed us in the world.

You did not wait 'til Bethlehem
to join us in the dust,
nor for the new Jerusalem
to break your bread with us,
but you who kneaded Eden's soil
to sculpt us as your face
you labored with us in our toil,
in our meals took your place.

There's not a crumb upon the board
that did not come from you,
and whether we could see you, Lord,
or not, you lay there, too.
You made the stomach of our need
and made it to be filled.
You made yourself the bread we eat,
and you will feed us still.

Slab stele from mastaba tomb of Itjer at Giza. 4th Dynasty, 2543–2435 BC. Itjer is seated at a table with slices of bread, shown vertical by convention. Egyptian Museum, Turin. Photo By Ian Alexander – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=54612130

Manna

“I am the bread of life.
Your ancestors ate the manna in the desert, but they died;
this is the bread that comes down from heaven
so that one may eat it and not die.
I am the living bread that came down from heaven;
whoever eats this bread will live forever;
and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.”
—John 6:41-51

You sank your fingers in the earth
to dredge the furrows of our birth
and planted first a garden there
with seeds you made, all good to bear.

All times and seasons you have set
to plow and plant, to reap and rest.
You turn the earth and send it rain,
and you yourself prepare the grain.

So all we harvest is your gift:
You fill the empty hands we lift;
you fill the earth to stir the seed;
you fill us, too, who see our need.

Not earth's alone, but heaven's bread
you give us, Lord, and we are fed.
As every day we eat and live,
our life is in the bread you give.

You are yourself the bread of life,
and those who eat will never die,
no more as seeds to fall and sleep
but evermore your feast to keep.

Though still we hunger, knowing this
our daily bread a foretaste is.
You grow and bless; we take and eat,
and every bite is manna sweet.

Albert Samuel Anker – Still-Life with Coffee, Bread and Potatoes By Albert Anker – http://www.sightswithin.com/Search/albert%20anker/Page_2/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=37060415

Peaches

The blessings of the Lord will come
as peaches weighing down the boughs
and bushels overwhelmed with plums
in summer days without a cloud,

as sweet as cherries on the stem
whose taste you long for all the year—
You feast on shadows until then
and wait while ripening time draws near,

remembering how the juices run
down chins, and lips and tongues drip joy
enough and more for everyone
in song and summer's feast employed.

That memory in you is wine.
Like summer rain, let it pour down,
distilled from every branch and vine.
You need not turn the world around.

The light will lengthen, fruit grow ripe,
and feast be spread beneath the trees
in days that know no hint of strife,
in peace beside the restful stream.

Though you are winter, spring will come.
Though you are barren, peaches grow.
The Lord will fill your hands with plums
in feasts beyond all you have known.

Still Life with Peaches and Yellow Pot By Pierre Bonnard – https://www.the-athenaeum.org/art/detail.php?ID=139492, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=70363945

Peter on Tabor

Then Peter said to Jesus in reply,
“Rabbi, it is good that we are here!
Let us make three tents:
one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.”
He hardly knew what to say, they were so terrified.
Then a cloud came, casting a shadow over them;
from the cloud came a voice,
“This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.”
—Mark 9:2-10

'Tis good, Lord, to be here,
to see with my own eyes
yourself, O Rabbi, dazzling clear
against the cloud-dark skies.

Oh!  Let me build a shrine—
let me forever stay
here where I see your glory shine,
here in eternal day.

Take not the downward road—
I'm clinging to the height!
Down in the valley, shadows grow—
Why must you hide the light?

Better to stay up here—
Oh, but they call you down,
down to the wounds that must be healed,
the lost that must be found.

If you must, so must I—
you're my beloved, too.
Where you go, I go—live or die,
I still will follow you—

and where you stand, I'll stand,
someday to stand in joy,
for you are my true promised land;
you are my still, small voice.

Then let us go, my Lord,
down to Jersusalem.
I know you will show me light once more
in your endless day.  Amen.

Transfiguration of Jesus By Raphael – Downloaded from Artist Hideout, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=379381