Who Do We Say You Are?

Jesus went into the region of Caesarea Philippi and
he asked his disciples,
“Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”
They replied, “Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah,
still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”
He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?”
Simon Peter said in reply,
“You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
Matthew 16:13-20

From east and west, O Lord, we come,
from all points near and far
to answer this in every tongue:
Who do we say you are?

A prophet like all those before
touched with a holy flame?
You prophesy and yet are more
than any prophet's claim.

A king to reign o'er every land,
a sword in hand you take?
You are the king, yet in your hand
is bread you bless and break.

A great high priest to stnd for us
before the face of God?
Both priest and victim, fire and blood,
and true God from true God.

You are the Christ, God's living Son;
there is no other word.
You are God's own beloved one,
God's love itself, our Lord.

Then we will go from east to west
announcing who you are:
God's love for every one of us,
light shining in the dark.

Jesus Christ – detail from Deesis mosaic, Hagia Sophia, Istanbul By Edal Anton Lefterov – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15165689

Oil

The seed is in the soil now,
but still the rains don't come.
The lamp has no more oil now,
but still the night goes on.

The earth cries out for blessing,
and its voice could be mine.
The water jars are empty:
How shall I pour out wine?

I trust you as the sparrow 
and love you in my lack.
My hand is on the harrow,
and I have not turned back.

The wisdom of the maidens:
I filled my flask with oil,
made ready for the waitingm
made ready for your joy.

But where now is the bridegroom?
Why is he so delayed?
I've burned all my supply through,
and oh, the hour is late.

How can the lamp keep burning
as night turns into days?
Come, Lord, into the yearning
and set my heart ablaze!

An oil lamp made of clay used for the diwali festival in India (Haryana). By Arne Hückelheim – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12395926

Littleness

The labors of my weary hands,
the longings of my heart,
the needs of day and night's demands:
I bring all this, O God.

The harvest of the months and years,
the cycles of the weeks,
the bitter fruit and honeyed tears:
I lay them at your feet.

I pray you, bless what I have giv'n,
though it is not enough,
and all that's missing here forgive,
in mercy and in love.

For all my littleness, O Lord,
you took to be your own
and wrote the letters of your Word
in flesh and blood and bone.

Then take the little I have brought
with grace no offer buys;
your greatness shall become my lot
and portion beyond price.

That all the harvest of myself,
though but a grain of wheat,
sits on the table you have spread,
part of your endless feast.

Wheat growing in a field. By User:Bluemoose – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=333105

Canaanite

And behold, a Canaanite woman of that district came and called out,
“Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David!
My daughter is tormented by a demon.”
But Jesus did not say a word in answer to her.
Jesus’ disciples came and asked him,
“Send her away, for she keeps calling out after us.”
He said in reply,
“I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”
But the woman came and did Jesus homage, saying, “Lord, help me.”
He said in reply,
“It is not right to take the food of the children
and throw it to the dogs.”
She said, “Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps
that fall from the table of their masters.”
Matthew 15:21-28

Canaanite
by Kate Bluett

The flock has scattered far since David's reign,
and though to his great fold I have no claim,
the blood of Adam runs in all our veins:
The demons that torment us are the same.

Have pity on me, heir to David's throne,
though I have wandered from my ancient home.
Your ears, like mine, can hear the wounded groan;
my eyes, like yours, can see the lost ones roam.

My daughter—my own body, my own blood—
is driven by a demon to her doom.
Like you, she came forth shaped of spit and mud;
like her, you sink too quickly to the tomb.

The sheep and dogs, when all is said and done,
are waiting for the same Eden-to-come
where lioness and calf together run,
and dogs and children eat the self-same crumbs.

I ask you, not for wine and not for bread,
for less: a word, a whisper of your breath.
No gold, no sacrifice, no blood to shed—
just say the word, and keep my love from death.

So let this be the mountain of the Lord,
and heal my daughter who's not one of yours.
The name of God by all shall be adored:
Bring forth the kingdom we're all looking for.

Jesus and the woman of Canaan By Unknown author – Codex Egberti, Fol 35v, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8096755

The Older Brother

Now the older son had been out in the field and, on his way back, as he neared the house, he heard the sound of music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what this might mean. The servant said to him, ‘Your brother has returned and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’ He became angry, and when he refused to enter the house, his father came out and pleaded with him. He said to his father in reply, ‘Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.’ He said to him, ‘My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.’”
Luke 15:25-32

Should I devour your life as well,
as he has all these years?
Would you come running to me then
and shed these joyful tears?

I culled no fatling from your herd,
no firstling from your stall,
and thought to love was to be starved,
if I was loved at all.

Ah, yes, he has come back to life,
so you call for a feast.
Is that is?  Do I have to die
for you to run to me?

I tasted not one crumb of you
and hoped you would be proud,
while in his fire you were consumed
and wept to put it out.

Then strike the flint and set the flame:
My love is burning, too.
Half of the welcome feast I claim,
I who have stayed with you.

Half of the bread you break is mine.
If all your love is feast,
then pour me out the dregs of wine,
for I will sit and eat

Rembrandt, The Return of the Prodigal Son 1662–1669 (Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg) By Rembrandt – 5QFIEhic3owZ-A — Google Arts & Culture, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22353933

Overshadow Us

For the Feast of the Assumption:

Come, Holy Spirit: Overshadow us
and let us rest beneath your outspread wings.
Our frantic efforts only kick up dust;
our voices rise in shouts, but rarely sing.

The heat of anger and the flame of hate
have turned the meadow into desert sand.
We wither in the glare and pray for rain,
but not a cloud is seen above the land.

Oh, cast your shadow over flesh and blood;
let not the moon assail or sun strike down,
but make the gleaming sun a shelt'ring robe,
the moon a footstool and the stars a crown,

and in your shadow, let him be conceived
who shall defeat the serpent at our heel.
Stretch over us that we may yet receive
the Love of God, upon our hearts a seal,

who casts down kings (How fallen are the proud!)
and lifts the beggars to the highest seats
at tables where the feast never runs out.
Oh, may we, too, be welcome there and eat

with her who showed the way all flesh may go
within the overspreading shade of God.
O Spirit, overshadow us once more,
that Christ may dwell forever in our hearts.  Amen.

The Visitation in the Book of Hours of the Duc de Berry; the *Magnificat* in Latin By The Limbourg brothers, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=108902 ©Photo. R.M.N. / R.-G. Ojda

Touch

For the Nineteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year A), combining Elijah and the still, small voice with Peter walking on water. To the tune ST. THOMAS:

Touch my ears that I may hear you,
not in thunder's raging noise;
let the humble things reveal you
in the smallest whispered voice.
Touch my ears, O Lord, and heal me:
Let me hear you and rejoice.

Touch my eyes that I may see you,
not in tempest or in flame.
Presence in my fear reveals you,
walking toward me on the waves.
Touch my eyes, O Lord, and heal me:
Let me see the hand that saves.

Touch my heart and draw it near you,
not in grandeur or in pride.
Trust, even in doubt, reveals you,
lifts me ever to your side.
Touch my heart, O Lord, and heal me:
Let me sense how grace provides.

Touch my life that I may feel you,
not in praise that I look for.
Quiet moments will reveal you,
still my restless search for more.
Touch my life, O Lord, and heal me:
Let me know you'll calm the storm.

Henry Ossawa Tanner – The Disciples See Christ Walking on the Water, c. 1907. Oil on canvas, 51.5 x 42 in. Des Moines Art Center – The Catholic Beat, Aug. 14, 2012, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=20672406

Table Song For Exiles

As you broke bread in Nazareth
before your desert road,
O Christ incarnate, bone and breath,
I long to taste my home.
The tables where I learned to eat,
to listen and to talk,
they held the bread of finest wheat
and honey from the rock.

The tears that fill your water jars,
now let them be transformed:
Pour out the wine that cheers my heart
in memory and hope.
Give me the bread of earthly love,
the flavors I have known,
and let it be the savor of
my everlasting home.

If I forget Jerusalem—
O Lord, if I forget,
remind me of myself again
in every taste of bread,
and let it tell me of the home
where you have made a place,
where every tribe and tongue is known,
and every feast is grace.

By Sapp0512 – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=113655277

Foes

O Shepherd, set your table
in sight of all my foes;
break for us all the same bread,
as each cup overflows
with pardon for the sinner
and healing for the sick.
O, let me drink forgiveness,
and heal me where I sit.

For where you go, I follow,
but I have fallen, too—
my prayers and praises hollow,
betrayed by what I do.
You pour the cup of mercy
and let me drink it dry,
but all of us are thirsting
beneath the desert sky.

Give us the bread we ache for,
let mercy's waters flow
before we reach the shadow
where each of us must go:
the pilgrim bread unleavened,
the blessed wine we take,
and every crumb is heaven,
and every sip is grace.

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. By Edal Anton Lefterov – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15129262

Transfigured

Jesus took Peter, James, and his brother, John,
and led them up a high mountain by themselves.
And he was transfigured before them;
his face shone like the sun
and his clothes became white as light.
Matthew 17:1-9

Today and yesterday the same,
forever always Christ,
yet here you burn with such a flame
I hardly recognize.

You are the way that led me here
to Tabor's mountain height;
you are the truth, how deep I fear;
you are this burning life.

Show me the light I'd never seen
that rises in your eyes;
show me where you have always been,
divinity disguised.

And as I watch my passing days,
my ordinary nights,
teach me to see where you still blaze
and make these moments bright.

Show me your ever-glowing spark,
and let it be a light
within the shadows of my heart
until your day dawns bright.

Now as I follow in your way,
new Tabors I will find:
You show your glory day by day,
and in my eyes it shines.

12th-century icon of the Transfiguration By Unknown author – Saint Catherine’s Monastery, Sinai (Egypt) / K. Weitzmann: “Die Ikone”, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3859855