Hunger

So they said to him,
“Sir, give us this bread always.”
Jesus said to them,
“I am the bread of life;
whoever comes to me will never hunger,
and whoever believes in me will never thirst.”
–John 6:24-35

I believe, but still I hunger;
Lord, I trust you and I thirst
as if all we have are crumbs here
in the desert of our hurt.
There are days that have no comfort,
nights when all is at its worst,
and we long for signs and wonders,
manna scattered on the dirt.

Bread of life, true bread from heaven,
every day I eat my fill
yet I wake each morning empty,
hunger crying for you still.
Let me take the bread you give me,
take the cup where mercy spills;
let it tell me of forgiveness,
that my cries shall yet be stilled.

For the bread is you, O Savior:
We will eat and we will live,
and the wine we are partaking
is your life upon our lips.
Though I rise again unsated,
let me kneel today for this:
heaven's feast of your own making
that some day shall be my bliss.

The Gathering of the Manna by James Tissot – https://thejewishmuseum.org/collection/26365-the-gathering-of-the-manna, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8849141

All & Sundry

I bring my all and sundry,
O God, to worship you,
but all of me is nothing
and fades away as dew.
How can I taste these wonders
with naught to offer you?
I leave the table hungry
and hide me from your view.

For some have brought you silver,
and some have brought you gold,
a flame to smelt the impure
and melt the heart that's cold,
or notes of horns and cymbals
to stir the brave and bold,
or they have brought you simply
your own love, ages old.

But all my love is feeble
and withers ere it starts,
as all my songs are greedy,
to ply you with my art.
Yet, Lord, you love the needy,
the shattered, and the scarred:
Then shall I let you see me,
my weak and worthless heart?

So if you want it, take it
for any good you'll get.
Oh, I would give you greatness
if I had any yet.
Here I lay on your table
the little I possess:
Take what the days are breaking
and turn it to your bread.

Gold Solidus of Roman Emperor Valentinian II By Photographed by: York Museums Trust Staff – This file originated on the York Museums Trust Online Collection. YMT hosted a GLAMwiki partnership in 2013/14.This tag does not indicate the copyright status of the attached work. A normal copyright tag is still required. See Commons:Licensing., CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=38984357

Good Ground

And he spoke to them at length in parables, saying:
“A sower went out to sow.
And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path,
and birds came and ate it up.
Some fell on rocky ground, where it had little soil.
It sprang up at once because the soil was not deep,
and when the sun rose it was scorched,
and it withered for lack of roots.
Some seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it.
But some seed fell on rich soil, and produced fruit,
a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold.
Whoever has ears ought to hear.”
—Matthew 13: 1-9

As if the sower scatters blind
on rocks and brambles he can't see—
or as he gives the ground its time
to show what it will come to be.

The dirt road where the birds swoop down,
that verges on an empty field,
still has its cracks where seeds can sprout,
and God alone knows what it yields.

The field beside it springing green:
Who knows how deep its richness runs?
The flowers each new morning brings
tomorrow wither in the sun.

And everywhere the hidden thorns
whose roots and runner choke new life,
whose tendrils crown each seedling born
with daily care and daily strife.

But you are not content to plow
the tended earth in lines and rows:
You seek the lost, farflung good ground,
and where you find it, there you sow.

Then cast your harvest in my soul,
O Christ the sower wasting seeds.
O spendthrift, foolish prodigal,
grow all the good there is in me.

Dirt road in Fremont, California DCIM\100GOPRO By Benefactor123 – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21865562

What Good?

When Jesus raised his eyes
and saw that a large crowd was coming to him,
he said to Philip,
“Where can we buy enough food for them to eat?”
He said this to test him,
because he himself knew what he was going to do.
Philip answered him,
“Two hundred days’ wages worth of food would not be enough
for each of them to have a little.”
One of his disciples,
Andrew, the brother of Simon Peter, said to him,
“There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish;
but what good are these for so many?”
—John 6:1-15

To the tune FINLANDIA:

What good is this, the little I can offer?
All I can give, O God, is just myself:
This heart fails love; this body breaks and suffers;
this mind sees not, turned inward on itself.
As nothing worth, this pittance that I proffer,
as these few loaves and fish you take and bless.

As once you took the mud that I am made of
and clothed yourself in human littleness.
You laid it out as bread for us to savor,
poured out as wine, salvation on our lips.
They were so small—five wounds that pierced two natures—
how can you feed a multitude with this?

Yet it is so, O bread come down from heaven:
You took our life and clothed yourself in dust,
yet not our sin; untainted by our leaven,
poured yourself out to fill the blessing cup
that we might drink and live and be forgiven.
Our weaknesses transformed into your love.

Then take these gifts that in my hands are nothing.
Take for your own my heart and mind and strength.
If you transform them to a wondrous something,
let it be so, for you can do all things.
Or leave me still my self as you'd begun it:
It is still good, and yours in every length.

The feeding of the five thousand; Christ blessing fishes in left background; the apostles with large baskets in foreground; illustration to William of Auvergne, ‘Postilla super Epistolas et Evangelia’, Basel; Michael Furter, 1511. 1511 Woodcut By Print made by: Urs Graf – https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/P_1927-0614-125, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=89886988

Lion’s Mouth: Psalm 10

A sort-of paraphrase of Psalm 10:

The wicked shut their hungry mouths
to sink their teeth into the poor,
who lift up hands and cry aloud,
Where are you now, O Lord?

The proud have said, There is no God—
and true, for them it's just as well
to think they never will be caught
between the teeth of hell—

but you have not forgotten them,
all these downtrodden of the land.
You see their misery and pain
and take it in your hands.

You lift your voice when theirs cry out.
For this you joined them in the dust:
to walk into the lion's mouth
and let its jaws snap shut.

And those who eat the poor like bread
will bite off more than they can chew,
for you will break the jaws of death
and let the poor pass through.

O Lord, choke all who feast on men,
and then restore them with a touch
that they may join the Great Amen,
as all broken by love.

Deir el-Bahari complex By Aligatorek – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4484923

Song of Magdalene

The Bride says:
On my bed at night I sought him
whom my heart loves–
I sought him but I did not find him.
I will rise then and go about the city;
in the streets and crossings I will seek
Him whom my heart loves.
I sought him but I did not find him.
The watchmen came upon me,
as they made their rounds of the city:
Have you seen him whom my heart loves?
I had hardly left them
when I found him whom my heart loves.
—Song of Songs 3:1-4B

My dove, in the cleft of the rock
they have laid you, my beautiful one.
My hands dripping myrrh, I have come
to anoint the beloved I've lost.

I weep, but the tears cannot quench
the fire that you set in my heart.
You death may have torn us apart,
but love is far stronger than death.

I laid myself down at your feet,
you breath incense rising like smoke.
I breathed in the haze as you spoke,
the words of your mouth honey sweet,

your eyes like the wide-open gates
of Zion, the mother of all,
your arms stretching out like the wall—
and now they have ta'en you away.

I rose from my bed and I sought,
but saw not an end to my fears.
The watchman, he found me in tears:
“Have you seen the one my soul wants?”

And there was my name on his lips.
The winter is over and past,
the wine of my blood flowing fast.
My love is my own; I am his.

Noli me tangere by Titian c. 1511–1515 By Titian – http://www.kunstbilder-galerie.de, Noli me tangere’ von Tizian, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4275990

Scattered Flock

For today’s readings on bad shepherds, the Good Shepherd, and the 23rd Psalm:

Good Shepherd, we have scattered in our fear,
and, troubled by our shadows now, we balk.
Come find us in the wilds and draw us near
and gather us again into your flock.

Worn out, for every step we took was wrong,
we hunger for the pastures of your rest.
Our weary hearts have thirsted for so long:
Oh, lead us to the waters that refresh!

Lord, spread your table near our enemies,
and make it long, for we ourselves are foes,
then bid us all sit down with you and feast
on broken bread, and wine that overflows.

And when the meal is finished, lead us out
forever in the pathways of your peace,
the road that winds at last up to your home.
Let love and mercy follow at our feet.

Then even in the valley of our death,
though once we fled we will no longer fear,
for you are with us, every pulse and breath.
Our Shepherd, you will stay forever near.

Woodcut of Christ carrying the Lamb, illustration from the prayerbook of Martin Luther By Sebald Beham – British Museum, [1], Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32907633

Vine

As Eve and Adam ate and fell,
all swallowed by the gates of death,
their children in its shadow dwell:
The teeth of hell are locked and clenched.

Woe for the fruit that passed our lips!
Oh, that we would have kept our fast!
What would we give for one small sip
of Eden's streams—but they are past.

So we become the meat and drink
that gluts the hungry maw of death
yet never fills it to the brink.
If it could, death would swallow heav'n.

O Christ, whose fall was marked by ours,
you came to be death's bread and wine.
It swallowed you down, soul and scars,
and up you sprouted like a vine.

Around the gateposts then you wound,
your living bursting from the dead.
The gates of hell came crashing down,
and death was choked by wine and bread.

Out of the garden, you, firstfruits,
took Eve and Adam from the ground,
not broken reeds but living shoots,
and brought them where the sun shines out.

Now Christ the sower, Christ the seed,
you bear us on your upward climb
to where the harvest ever feeds
on heaven's living bread and wine.

Convolvulus vine twining around a steel fixed ladder By Namazu-tron – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7282183

Waves

I was not there to watch you shut
the sea within its doors,
to see you lift the mountains up
and bind the earth with shores,
but I have seen the ocean swells
rise up and break and fall,
that something of your mercy tells
beneath the gull's wild call.

For we are past the solstice now,
and summer's hold must break
though cruelty will have its hour
and Pharaoh holds his sway.
They rise and grow; they crash and sink
like waves upon the shore.
There is a time for everything—
so peace will come once more.

You set the limits of the sea
and you can part its waves,
just as you set the pris'ners free
and open up our graves.
You cast the mighty from their thrones
to crash upon the sands:
Though now we walk through waves unknown,
we still are in your hands.

Breaking wave in Porto Covo, Portugal By Alvesgaspar – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=36434062

Morsel

Riffing on Psalm 139 and food:

Lord, you search me, plumb me down to atoms,
dive into me, know the deepest fathoms.
Every moment, resting, reaping, rising,
every thought before my heart's devising,
every step is known ere I begin it.
Every breath I take, you are within it.

I could run, but I would not escape you;
shut the door, but still your light would break through.
I could climb a ladder to the heavens:
You would be on every rung ascending.
Though I turn and leave you far behind me,
even in the depths of hell you'd find me.

You know what I do before I will it,
know my every need—then, Lord, come fill it.
See my hands are lying empty, open;
see them take the bread this world has broken.
You, who even at the farthest shores dwell,
come be present in the smallest morsel.

Bless the gifts of rain and sun and labor;
bless me; make me kith and kin and neighbor.
We all know the taste of hope and hunger:
You know all of us, above and under,
everywhere we run, to west and easting.
Bring us all, then, safe into your feasting.

Hands at the Cuevas de las Manos upon Río Pinturas, near the town of Perito Moreno in Santa Cruz Province, Argentina. Picture By Mariano – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=265811