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

Feast

Come, O Lord, and set a table
where the weary pilgrims rest.
Pour the promise that can save us;
break the everlasting bread.

When our hands are all but empty,
turn our morsels to a meal;
multiply them with your blessing
to a feast that never fails.

Let our hearts become your dwelling
by the bread that you provide;
change our spirits into wellsprings
running to eternal life.

Not from us but from your mercy
come the riches of the feast,
for the hungry and the thirsty,
for the last and for the least.

Not to us or to our working,
to our will or to our pride,
but to you we give the glory
for the feast that you provide.

Take the little we can offer,
take the loaves and take the fish:
Feed our souls and feed our bodies
with the bounty of your gifts.

Feeding the multitude. Armenian manuscript. Daniel of Uranc gospel, 1433. By Daniel of Uranc – Michel Bakni, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=98280902

Tithe

From the piercing light of early morn
when my alarm bell rings
to the evening hush that stills the world
and second shift begins,
let my work be pleasing to you, Lord,
not just the cash it brings.

For the labors of my working days
are more than settled bills;
they're my working out how I am saved
before my works are stilled.
My work itself must sing your praise
before the coffer's filled.

My all is in the tenth I bring
carved out of field and fold,
as every note of praise I sing
contains the world I hold.
Take them, and see my everything,
and love it well, O Lord.

For you alone look at the heart
where we look at the face:
See me in what I do, O God,
where others see my wage.
And bless my work, and bless my all,
and let it bring you praise.

Frescos in Ferapontov Monstery – Lesson of the widow’s mite and Healing of two blind men, Ferapontovo, Vologda Oblast, Russia By Dionisius – http://www.dionisy.com/rus/museum/120/200/index.shtml, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=97153736

Treasure

Jesus said to his disciples:
“The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field,
which a person finds and hides again,
and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.
Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant
searching for fine pearls.
When he finds a pearl of great price,
he goes and sells all that he has and buys it.”
Matthew 13:44-46

What is it you have buried in the field?
A treasure more than all its harvests yield,
	so great that all our loss is gold
	to gain the joy we long to hold.
Oh, may we share the love you have revealed!

The wonder far outweighs the sacrifice
once we have seen the pearl of greatest price,
	for all we have to give is love,
	the treasure of our deepest cove,
transforming us to grasp the love of Christ.

So guide us to the kingdom, loving God,
that you have planted for us in the ground.
	What you have hidden in the depths
	is greater than we could possess:
Lead us to where that treasure's ever found.

And plant the kingdom deep within our soil,
that it may flourish there in rest and toil.
	Spread out its branches east and west
	as shade where every bird may nest
and share the feast of your unending joy.

The parable of the pearl. A. Mironov By Андрей Николаевич Миронов (A.N. Mironov) – Own work, Andrey Mironov See also ticket:2015070410013036http://artmiro.ru/photo/religija_zhanrovaja_kartina/pritcha_o_zhemchuzhine/4-0-845, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=90104537

The Love That Knows and Names the Stars

Riffing on some lines from Psalm 147:

The love that knows and names the stars
aflame in heaven's dome
stoops down to heal our broken hearts
and bring the exiles home.

We left behind us shattered walls
and empty, aching rooms;
love gathers us into its arms
to bear us from our tombs.

Secure and safe the house it builds
where we can dwell in peace,
and long the table love has filled,
and calls us to the feast.

And we, who lived on what we scrounged
or morsels we had begged,
sit down where bread and wine abound
and are not sent away.

For love has heard the raven's prayers
and filled the earth with food,
has known us even to our hairs,
and gives us what is good.

As if we were the very stars,
love knows and calls our names.
With its own light, love fills our hearts
and joys to see our flames.

The image is from the European Space Agency. It is listed as the LH 95 star forming region of the Large Magellanic Cloud. The image was taken using the Hubble Space Telescope. By ESA/Hubble, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8788068

The Ballad of Mary Magdalene

For Easter:

The stone is heavy
and my heart is bound,
but the tomb is empty
and the cloth unwound.

My Lord is taken,
stolen all away.
Oh, where have they laid you?
Where now is your grave?

How shall I hold you,
now that you are gone,
and with myrrh enfold you
for the long sojourn?

I came to offer
all that I had left;
now my heart is nothing
but a deep stone cleft.

Where have you put him?
Let me take him thence.
Give me back his body
that my tears will drench.

But in this garden,
Adam calls me Eve,
and my heart is Eden
when my Lord I see.

A new creation
on this first of days.
Now I see the angels,
and I hear my name.

Local Accession Number: 2012.AAP.130 Title: Rabboni. Creator/Contributor: Bradley, Will, 1868-1962 (artist) Date issued: 1890-1920 (approximate) Physical description: 1 print (poster) : color ; 48 x 36 cm. Summary: Jesus appears to Mary Magdalene following the resurrection. Genre: Posters; Prints Subjects: Biblical events Notes: Title from item. Date note: Date supplied by cataloger. Statement of responsibility: Bradley Collection: American Art Posters 1890-1920 Location: Boston Public Library, Print Department Rights: No known restrictions. By Boston Public Library – https://www.flickr.com/photos/24029425@N06/10559739644/, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=107269788

The Wheat and the Weeds

There is no god besides you who have the care of all,
that you need show you have not unjustly condemned.
For your might is the source of justice;
your mastery over all things makes you lenient to all.
For you show your might when the perfection of your power is disbelieved;
and in those who know you, you rebuke temerity.
But though you are master of might, you judge with clemency,
and with much lenience you govern us;
for power, whenever you will, attends you.
And you taught your people, by these deeds,
that those who are just must be kind;
and you gave your children good ground for hope
that you would permit repentance for their sins.
Wisdom 12:13, 16-19

The Sixteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time this year pairs the reading above with the parable of the wheat and the weeds (Matthew 13:24-43):

O God, there is no one besides you
who cares for the field of the world—
not for what the harvest provides you,
but for your own promise unfurled.

You soften the earth, soak its furrows;
the rivers of heav'n overrun.
You plow it with hailstones like harrows,
enkindle the heat of the sun.

And all of it springs from your goodness:
You love every seed you have sown.
You'r might is the source of all justice,
your mercy the fruit of your pow'r.

The weeds and the wheat grow together,
and they have good ground for their hope:
You give them all time for repentance
and hold back the scythe while they grow.

But not one can hide from the reaping:
Each one of us shall be cut down
and gathered in sheaves for the keeping,
or into the fire shall be thrown.

O God, let your mercy be on us,
the wheat and the weeds, as we grow.
You made each of us from your goodness:
Then gather us all to your hold. Amen.

Parable of the Sower By Fikos, Attribution, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=55018791

Mary Magdalene

I wish you'd been the whore they said you were
(who better than the fallen so to rise?),
that I could see my failures to be pure
reflected in a true disciple's eyes.

But they've perfected you and cleaned you up—
not you who washed his filthy feet with tears,
not yours the love that was forgiven much—
untouched as she whose virgin name you bear.

Apostle to apostles, cleaned and pressed,
you stand apart, your hair now bound and veiled,
no more to wipe the feet of honored guests,
no more the saint of all those who have failed.

But still you hold an alabaster jar
that stands unbroken, useless at the tomb.
You still fall at his feet, him whose you are,
whose feet you never bathed with sweet perfume.

We are a legion, we who share your name,
but it was you he meant when he pronounced,
yourself, none other, that his “Mary” claimed:
Pray for us still with demons to drive out.

Appearance of Jesus to Mary Magdalene after resurrection, Alexander Ivanov, 1835 By Alexander Andreyevich Ivanov (1806 – 1858) – Painter (Russian)Born in Russia, Moscow. Died in Russia, St.Petersburg. – pwE-qeOqtCvCTg at Google Cultural Institute maximum zoom level, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21853920