Fragile Threads

Job spoke, saying:
Is not man’s life on earth a drudgery?
Are not his days those of hirelings?
He is a slave who longs for the shade,
a hireling who waits for his wages.
So I have been assigned months of misery,
and troubled nights have been allotted to me.
If in bed I say, “When shall I arise?”
then the night drags on;
I am filled with restlessness until the dawn.
My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle;
they come to an end without hope.
Remember that my life is like the wind;
I shall not see happiness again.
Job 7:1-4, 6-7

Swifter than a weaver's shuttle,

briefer than a watch at night,

drudgery and toil and trouble,

sleepless as we wait for light:

So we spend our whole life's journey,

restless nights and wasted days,

yet as lightning comes your mercy,

showing wonders by its blaze.



Christ, you see the brokenhearted:

Tenderly you bind their wounds.

Call us as you call the stars out,

glowing embers in our gloom.

You rebuild what lies within us;

you, the highest, look down low.

As you came to dwell with sinners,

so you turn our tears to hope.



We are fragile threads, but blessèd.

All roads lead us to our tombs,

yet you came to share our weakness,

thread yourself upon the loom.

You have borne our ills within you,

our infirmities your own,

so we'll share the life you've given

endlessly before your throne.

Job and His Friends by Ilya Repin (1869) – http://lj.rossia.org/users/john_petrov/854534.html, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2538610

Fragments

In their synagogue was a man with an unclean spirit;
he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?
Have you come to destroy us?
I know who you are—the Holy One of God!”
Jesus rebuked him and said,
“Quiet! Come out of him!”
Mark 1:21-28

Look on me, O Lord of heaven,

you who break the chains of hell,

see all that is unforgiven,

all unhealed—and make me well.



Yet the very words are terror:

All unchained, what will I be?

You destroy our cherished errors;

what will you destroy in me?



I cannot but bow before you,

lord of heaven, lord of earth. 

Even demons must adore you:

What am I at this rebirth?



I have fostered legions in me;

you seek undivided hearts,

yet if sin can't wholly win me,

take, at least, my better parts.



Take the fragments that have sought you,

though you shatter all that's left.

Little have I as I ought to:

Take it all, though I am cleft.



Yet, if you can, save the leavings,

though I know not what I'll be.

Take the legions I am keeping.

Change me, Lord: Let me be free.

Eleventh century fresco of the Exorcism at the Synagogue in Capernaum. By Unknown author – Scan aus: Rudolf Lehr –- Landes-Chronik Oberösterreich, Wien: Verlag Christian Brandstätter 2004 S. 79 ISBN 3-85498-331-X, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6633986

Now Are the Mighty Fallen

“Alas! the glory of Israel, Saul,
slain upon your heights;
how can the warriors have fallen!
Saul and Jonathan, beloved and cherished,
separated neither in life nor in death,
swifter than eagles, stronger than lions!
Women of Israel, weep over Saul,
who clothed you in scarlet and in finery,
who decked your attire with ornaments of gold.
How can the warriors have fallen–
in the thick of the battle,
slain upon your heights!
I grieve for you, Jonathan my brother!
most dear have you been to me;
more precious have I held love for you than love for women.
How can the warriors have fallen,
the weapons of war have perished!”
2 Samuel 1:19, 23-27

Now are the embers darkened,

and dimly sinks the night;

stars fall from zenith softly,

to be swallowed by the light

that cracks the east like heartache

and seeps across the skies.

Now are the mighty fallen

to silence on the heights.



How can the day be dawning?

Morning has come too soon.

I'd swear I hear you calling—

how can you light be through?

How could there still be birdsong

when every song was for you?

Now are the mighty fallen,

and I am falling, too.



Strongest you were, and stronger

than lions in their pride,

swifter than hawks or thunder

or lightning as it dives,

gone now like any other,

fragile as every life.

Now are the mighty fallen;

blind are my weeping eyes.



Now you are gone, my brothers;

gone are the fathers, too.

Grinly now stand the mothers,

with sisters they're grieving you.

Now children rend their garments,

learning to weep too soon.

Now are the mighty fallen;

now we are fallen, too.

David Composing the Psalms, Paris Psalter, 10th century By anonymous – Paris psalter (BnF MS Grec 139), folio 1v, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=807679

Calling

As he passed by the Sea of Galilee,
he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting their nets into the sea;
they were fishermen.
Jesus said to them,
“Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.”
Mark 1:14-20

When Christ comes walking on the sands,

the ocean cheers in swells:

The seas need not become like land;

they are made more themselves.



The rivers do not cease to flow:

Like justice, they roll down.

The strength of waves is made Christ's road

where every falsehood drowns.



The builders shall not leave their work

but find their cornerstone,

and shepherds know their truest flock

in pasturing God's own.



So, fishers, come and mend your nets

to follow him today,

for you shall cast them in his steps

where deeper waters play.



Not for the harvest of the dark

that dwells beneath the waves,

but for the bounty of the hearts

arising from their graves.



Come, listen for the savior's voice.

It is for this he came:

To call you into heaven's joys

by calling out your name.

Tissot, James, The calling of Peter and Andrew. – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2007, 00.159.56_PS1.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10195832

Seed of Hope

When I grow weary with my days

that never seem to bear your fruit,

Lord, lead me to some sheltered place

where new life stirs in leaves and shoots.



And when I sink down on that ground,

give me the strength to plant my seed,

to let its hidden roots reach out

and grow again your hope in me.



Although I cannot see it thrive

while buried in the ground it sleeps,

teach me to trust the source of life

that hope is stirring in the deeps.



Though what I plant is all too small

for everything tomorrow needs,

you made both the seed and soil.

You bless the bread, and thousands eat.



So if I cultivate this hope,

though I may water it with tears,

it is your harvest I will grow

to feed the joy of coming years.



O Lord of bounty, nourish me

with days of sun and days of rain.

Call all I have into your feast

and grow your hope in me again.

Phone photography. Birth of life. Seedling of unidentified plant By akshatsgi – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=74067396

Gently

The hands stretched out upon the cross

held nothing in their grasp,

but offered all things back to God

with Jesus' final gasp.



So may my hands be open, Lord,

my fingers be uncurled

to love the ones I cannot hold

abroad within the world.



The heart of Christ drained all he had;

it emptied heaven out,

and raining on the good and bad

became an endless fount.



So may my heart be generous—

as you are to all things—

to love the unjust with the just

and find your flowing spring.



For you have loved me gently, Lord,

through all my senseless fright,

through every waking whispered word,

a mother in the night.



So may I mother all of them

as rain and sun shall fall.

Though but a single drop I am,

yet may I give it all.

Crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth, medieval illustration from the Hortus deliciarum of Herrad of Landsberg, 12th century By Herrad of Landsberg – Hortus Deliciarum, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=31489656

True Repentance: Psalm 146

A versification of Psalm 146, to the tune NETTLETON:

You who shelter the defenseless,

you who set the pris'ners free,

you the fear of all oppressors

and the hope of refugees,

lead me to a true repentance.

I will seek you on my knees

where your wings are my protection.

Pour your mercy down on me.



For I know I am a sinner—

I have turned from you, O Lord.

As I love my friends and kindred,

teach me how to love your world.

Touch my eyes to see your image;

heal the blindness of my soul.

Where my hands hang slack and withered,

stretch me out and make me whole.



I will give you all my efforts,

knowing I am only dust,

for your justice in the present,

for your kingdom yet to come.

Not in armies or in weapons

but in you I place my trust;

not a prince, but in a shepherd;

not in might, but in your love.

Folio 85r – Psalm CXLV Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=108933 ?Photo. R.M.N. / R.-G. Oj?da

Speak to Me

Then Eli understood that the LORD was calling the youth.
So he said to Samuel, “Go to sleep, and if you are called, reply,
Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.”
When Samuel went to sleep in his place,
the LORD came and revealed his presence,
calling out as before, “Samuel, Samuel!”
Samuel answered, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”
1 Samuel 3:3-10

In the voice I do not recognize,

Lord, do you speak to me?

In the strength of John the Baptist's cries

that tell me turn and see,

in the unknown face that greets my eyes,

do you now walk here in disguise?

O Savior, do not pass me by,

but turn and speak to me!



In the silent watches of the night,

Lord, do you call my name?

In the afterechoes of my fright,

the ashes of my shame,

do you make my hidden darkness bright

and look on me with gentle sight?

O Christ, though I would hide from light,

keep calling out my name!



In the new day breaking overhead,

Lord, do you show your love?

In the grace of rising from my bed,

the guiding of your dove,

in the gifts of family and friend,

the mercy of my daily bread,

O God, you bless me without end

and show me still your love!



In the journey laid before me now,

Lord, I will follow you.

Though I do not know the why or how,

yet I will trust you do.

Through the desert heat or stinging show'r,

'til the closing of my final hour,

O, let your life within me flow'r

and help me follow you!

17th-century icon of Samuel (Donetsk Regional Art Museum) By Unknown author – https://blogatheologica.wordpress.com/2015/07/04/rejecting-or-accepting-god-part-ii/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21984843

Insomnia

What if morning breaks open before I find rest?

What if all of the stars leave my skies?

What if I can't be more than this nothing my best?

What if sleep never touches my eyes?



What if all that I do gets me naught in the end?

What if God never hears when I call?

What if everyone breaks because I couldn't bend?

What if no one is there when I fall?



What if all my security rests on a proof?

What if proof is a thing that's not given?

What if nobody lowers me down through the roof?

What if none of my sins are forgiven?



What if nothing I do can bring peace to my heart?

What if there is no end to my fear?

What if all my tomorrows are doomed from the start?

What if even then you are still near?

Tacuina sanitatis (XIV century) 3-aspetti di vita quotidiana, insonnia, Taccuino Sanitatis, By unknown master – book scan, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1638868

Strange Grace

Amid the noise and violence,

I can't be heard

above the shriek of sirens

that fills the world.

O Spirit, groan in silence

too deep for words.



Beneath my ceaseless worry,

beneath my fear,

be there in all your working;

be ever near

with hope, through all my searching,

that God will hear,



that when I can say nothing,

cannot cry out,

this shadow is your hov'ring

above my doubt.

You wings my heart are cov'ring

in silent hours.



Then all who sit in darkness,

who dwell in shade,

are gathered in your starkness,

in your strange grace,

while you plead hopeless causes

before God's face.

Fog shadow of the south tower of the Golden Gate Bridge By Brocken Inaglory – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2088053