Weighed and Wanting

I've been walking for a lifetime
up the steep and narrow track.
I was going in a straight line
just to find I'd circled back.
What I didn't want will haunt me;
what I wanted, I have failed.
When I'm weighed and I'm found wanting,
put your finger on the scales.

I held on to some forever
while the days slipped through my hands,
thought I'd built my house on bedrock
just to find that it was sand.
Now I'm starting from the bottom
of a cliff I thought I'd scaled.
Christ, you find me weighed and wanting:
Put your finger on the scales.

I've been buying life on credit;
I've been stealing borrowed time.
Teach me to forgive my debtors,
'cause I can't pay back a dime.
Now my only hope is counting
on a love that goes to hell.
Lord, I cry out weighed and wanting:
Put your finger on the scales.

The Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead depicts a scene in which a scribe’s heart is weighed against the feather of truth. By Hunefer – http://www.britishmuseum.org/explore/highlights/highlight_objects/aes/p/page_from_the_book_of_the_dead.aspx, https://www.webcitation.org/63ZdUemZU, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=79229218

When

When my eyes are dim with weeping
and my heart is drowned in tears
for the record I am keeping
of the locust-eaten years,
when I wonder if you're sleeping
while I'm crying out my fears,
let your kindly light coem creeping
and your mercy find me here.

When I can't hear any answers
to the questions that I pray,
when I can't see any pattern
to the chaos of my days,
give me ears to hear the laughter
of your living spring at play;
give me eyes to see the manna
you have scattered in my way.

Though the dreams that I have wanted
may be always out of reach
and the heart I try to soften
may be granite underneath,
though the road that we are walking
leads us straight to Calvary,
let me trust that it runs onward
and that you still walk with me.

Hortus sanitatis, Mainz 1491. Woodcut showing manna By Unknown author – Hortus Sanitatis. Mainz, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=82935525

Stone By Stone

More from the Worship for Workers retreat at Laity Lodge:

The road is long and weary;
the work is never done,
but lay each brick you carry
upon the cornerstone
and God will build the city
where all will live in hope
from everything you're bringing,
and build it stone by stone.

So bring him all you're making,
your burdens and your bread,
and all that life is breaking
again and yet again.
Lay all on his foundation
and lean upon his strength,
for it will not be shaken,
the kingdom without end.

The work is neverending,
but still the city grows,
and every weight you carry
helps build another course.
For God will make the city
upon his own great love
And though you bring but little,
yet it will be enough.

Cornerstone at St. Vincent De Paul Roman Catholic Church, New Orleans, Louisiana (1866) By I, Infrogmation, CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2230709

Duped

Then Jesus said to his disciples,
“Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself,
take up his cross, and follow me.
For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it,
but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.
What profit would there be for one to gain the whole world
and forfeit his life?
Or what can one give in exchange for his life?
For the Son of Man will come with his angels in his Father’s glory,
and then he will repay all according to his conduct.”
Matthew 16:21-27

Take up your cross, the savior says.
Beneath his own, he stooped,
and we who follow in his steps
must let ourselves be duped.

For it is madness, is it not,
to be so crucified?
A folly and a stumbling block,
yet we'll be lifted high.

We fight the weight that comes to us
and kick against the trace,
but soon or late we'll each be crushed,
and we will call it grace.

For there in sorrow and in grief
Christ lays his wounded head
on purpose to receive the thief
and walk among the dead.

The cross that is our pain and death
he came intent to share,
accepting from his first-drawn breath
the weight he was to bear.

His madness joins us on the cross;
his folly shares our fate,
so he could hold us in his arms
through all we can't escape.

Jeremiah By Ephraim Moses Lilien – E. M. Lilien, eine künstlerische Entwickelung um die Jahrhundertwende, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=49628661

Still Here

As you go forth, there will be a voice that says,
work hard enough, and you'll turn these stones to bread.
But you've choked down a lifetime full of stones,
and it's a taste you've already known too long.

As you go out, there will be a voice that calls
that if you jump, the angels'll break your fall.
But you know there's nowhere left to go but down
'cause you're there scraping manna from the ground.

As you go on, there will be a voice that screams,
if you just serve me, then I'll give you all your dreams.
But there's no dream when you're too worn out to sleep,
and thirsty for a river running deep.

As you go forth, there is one who walks with you,
who's walked each step of what you're going through,
and it's enough for him that you survive.
He loves you now, who came to give you life.

So carry on, though the desert lies ahead,
where it takes your all just to find your daily bread.
God knows your need, your heartache, and your fear.
It hurts like hell, but it's good that you're still here.

Christ in the Wilderness by Ivan Kramskoy, 1872 – Google Cultural Center, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=38344996

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