Psalm 46

Riffing on Psalm 46:

Come, O Lord: The earth is shaken,
mountains falling to their knees.
All we thought we knew is breaking
with the raging of the seas.
Be our refuge and our shelter;
be our help in troubled days.
Let the earth be still your dwelling,
through the bloody wars we wage.

See, O Lord, how we hold nothing:
Only you can fill that void.
In our need, we fight for somethings
until everything's destroyed.
Look on us, the weak and thirsty;
see us wounded, hungry ones
aching for the taste of mercy,
yearning 'til your kingdom comes.

Speak, O Lord: Your word is power.
Break the bow and bend the spear.
Turn the bloodied swords to plowshares
with the whisper of “Be still!”
Turn our battlefields to gardens;
turn our famines into feasts.
Come at last to reap your harvest
with the implements of peace.

Rapier By Rama – Own work, CC BY-SA 2.0 fr, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4359923

Images

He said to them, “Whose image is this and whose inscription?”
They replied, “Caesar’s.”
At that he said to them,
“Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar
and to God what belongs to God.”
Matthew 22:15-21

In the beginning of it all,
you drew us on the ground.
You plunged your hands into the soil
and sculpted what you found.

You made your image from the dust—
no gold or precious stones,
but mud and water, flame and rust:
These bear your face alone.

Why, then, are we so prodigal
to squander what you make?
The question of all questions still,
since Abel fled from Cain.

But on a day that no one knows,
one Image will return
to sit upon a burning throne
and raise the ones we mourn.

One question only will he ask
as we for mercy plead,
as every stone cries out at last:
“Whose images are these?”

Tiberius. AD 14-37. AR Denarius (18mm, 3.84 g, 7h). Lugdunum (Lyon) mint. Group 1, AD 15-18. Obverse:TI[berivs] CAESAR DIVI AVG[vsti] F[ilivs] AVGVSTS (Caesar Augustus Tiberius, son of the Divine Augustus), laureate head right Reverse: PONTIF[ex] MAXIM[us], Livia (as Pax) seated right on chair, holding scepter in right hand, olive branch in left; plain chair legs. Catalogs: RIC I 26; Lyon 144; RSC 16; BMCRE 34; cf. BN 14 (aureus). This particular coin has been graded as “EF, toned, Artistic style”. When Jesus was asked whether or not it was lawful to pay tribute to Caesar, he requested that he be shown a coin. After questioning his questioners, he replied “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s“. It has been argued that a coin similar to this one was the coin handed to Jesus. By Classical Numismatic Group, Inc. http://www.cngcoins.com, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24821148

Canticle

Based on the Canticle of Zechariah:

How long, O Lord, must I pray
and weep to deafened skies?
How long until the light breaks,
and when will your sun rise?
Our guns unleash their thunder;
our rockets blazing bright,
we split the skies asunder,
but this is not your light.

How long until you hear us,
until you look down low?
O Mercy, now draw near us
who in the shadows groan!
We wail along with sirens
as rubble fills the streets,
and afterwards, the silence
is not the sound of peace.

We long have dwelt in shadows:
of death, of doubt, of fear.
O God, in your compassion,
draw near to us!  Draw near!
Unlock the door that bars us;
free us and guide our feet
on paths you lay before us
into the way of peace.

Estatua en mármol de San Zacarías, ubicada en la iglesia de San Juan en Arévalo, Ávila. Está datada a mediados del siglo XII. By Ángel M. Felicísimo from Mérida, España – San Zacarías en Arévalo, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=107065485

Graft

We tore creation from your hands
and turned your gift to serve our ends.
The old and withered stump still stands—
You graft it to your self again.

Peel back the layers of your bark,
and carve into the heart's deep wood
to make the sickly shoot a part
of all your offer up to God.

And reaching up to heaven now,
draw all the world up from that root
until your mercy blossoms out
and what was rotten bears good fruit.

But when will growing days be done?
The harvest feast is so far off!
Grow on, O Christ, 'til kingdom come
that all the world may reap your love.

Wedding

Then he said to his servants, ‘The feast is ready,
but those who were invited were not worthy to come.
Go out, therefore, into the main roads
and invite to the feast whomever you find.’
The servants went out into the streets
and gathered all they found, bad and good alike,
and the hall was filled with guests.
Matthew 22:1-10

The king has called his servants,
sent missives out:
The world shall cease its turning,
the stars burn out.

This shall be how the world ends:
not with a bang—
ah, no, but with a wedding
for Christ our king!

And look, the invitation:
It has your name.
Cast off your hesitation;
prepare the way!

Go not about your business:
There is no time!
The groom is all impatience
to drink new wine.

Put on your snow-white garment,
your wedding gown;
the firstfruits of the harvest,
your bridal crown.

Get up!  Come to the wedding!
Come to the feast!
Christ has made all things ready:
Sit down and eat.

Parable of the Great Banquet by Brunswick Monogrammist (circa 1525), location: National Museum, Warsaw By Brunswick Monogrammist – cyfrowe.mnw.art.pl, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23207722

Eclipse: October 14, 2023

The noonday sun is darkened;
the moon devours its light 
as angels come to harvest,
for now the time is ripe.
We stand before their sickles
well knowing we will fall:
The Valley of Decision
will swallow us up whole.

Forgive us all our failures:
Great Judge, pardon our crimes!
Your hand alone can save us
here at the end of time.
We know that we're unworthy,
but still we kneel and ask:
Grant us, O Christ, your mercy
on this, the day of wrath.

But if tomorrow's coming,
if we have one more day,
let it be, Sun of Justice,
the dawning of your rays.
And let this shadow change us,
this darkness make us new,
that we'll no more be strangers,
but that we'll love like you.

Annular solar eclipse By Smrgeog – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=19656057

Crumbs

You came to heal a broken world,
and broken you've become.
I come before you begging, Lord,
to share in mercy's crumbs:
Give me the hope I'm longing for,
though healing never comes.

My God, how foolish, but how bold—
you didn't count the cost
but left the ninety-nine in fold
and set out for the lost.
At least you're with me in the cold,
though all the gates are locked.

So here we sit outside the doors
like beggars at the feast
that others all go streaming towards
while we are left in grief.
Yes, I believe—you know it, Lord—
but help my unbelief.

And while the guests all eat their fill,
you bless and break these crumbs
as I pray for a miracle
I know will never come.
O Shepherd, give me courage still
to say, Your will be done.

Woman baking bread (circa 2200 BC); Louvre By Rama, CC BY-SA 3.0 fr, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=69938567

Sons and Mothers

O God of Isaac, God of Ishmael,
and God of children given up to death,
O God of Joseph, God of Israel,
give back what we have lost. Restore our dead.

But God of Sarah, God of Hagar lorn,
you know the empty arms and shattered hopes,
and God of Rachel, God of Leah scorned,
gather the children laid beneath these stones.

For you gave Isaac back to Abraham:
Restore our sons to us as desert streams!
Take all we have—a thousand slaughtered lambs!—
but leave our sons.  Take all, but leave us these!

And we will bless you in our poverty
and trust your grace that lets us hold them near.
Let cities turn to dust beneath our feet,
let mountains crumble, still we will not fear.

We tremble now, who know what Cain has done,
who hear the wailing of those bloodstained stones.
O Abel's God, you spared not Mary's son:
Breathe in our sons who lie there with your own.

Let Miriam sing the resurrection song
when you have led them all out of the sea,
our sons and theirs together in one throng,
back to their mothers.  Let our weeping cease.

German or Netherlandish 15th Century, Pietà, c. 1450–1500, National Gallery of Art By German or Netherlandish 15th Century – This file was donated to Wikimedia Commons as part of a project by the National Gallery of Art. Please see the Gallery’s Open Access Policy., CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=74853452

Vineyard

Now, inhabitants of Jerusalem and people of Judah,
judge between me and my vineyard:
What more was there to do for my vineyard
that I had not done?
Why, when I looked for the crop of grapes,
did it bring forth wild grapes?
Now, I will let you know
what I mean to do with my vineyard:
take away its hedge, give it to grazing,
break through its wall, let it be trampled!
Yes, I will make it a ruin:
it shall not be pruned or hoed,
but overgrown with thorns and briers;
I will command the clouds
not to send rain upon it.
The vineyard of the LORD of hosts is the house of Israel,
and the people of Judah are his cherished plant;
he looked for judgment, but see, bloodshed!
for justice, but hark, the outcry!
Isaiah 5:1-7

When justice turns to bloodshed,
when outrage does not cease,
when we fear not your judgement,
how can we speak of peace?

We claim to be your vineyard
while trampling down your vines,
but you will tread the vintage
we have so long denied:

To shatter all our strongholds
and leave us in the ruins,
unless we turn from bloodshed
and let ourselves be pruned.

The vines that we have trampled,
that should have been our feast,
were you, O gentle master,
in all your last and least.

Do not destroy the vineyard—
We still can bear good fruit!—
but teach us your new vintage.
Train us to grow anew.

So may our hearts be grafted
into your holy vine
that we become your branches
and bear your holy wine.

The Red Vineyard, 1888 by Vincent van Gogh, is the only van Gogh painting sold during his lifetime By Vincent van Gogh – History of the Red Vineyard by Anna Boch.com, 2nd upload: wikipaintings, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3073079

Not Eden

Each night we dream of Eden
and drench our beds with tears
until dawn burgeons eastward
and morning rises clear.

Those dreams are fit for nighttime,
for we have never seen
a home but this, our exile,
where harps hang on the trees.

For this, too, is a garden,
each year by sweat renewed
until the day of harvest 
when God shall make it new.

No more the fruit of knowledge, 
but apples sweet and red
and wine and rushing water
and every bite of bread.

The harps hung on the aspens
no songs of Eden play
but notes that leave us gasping
when breeze-led branches sway.

And Christ, who walked the furrows,
shall gather in all these
and in his lasting morrow
shall make of this his feast.

Late summer dawn over the Mojave Desert, California By Jessie Eastland – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=64756573