As deep as the nether world
and as high as the sky,
here in her body curled
and hid from all eyes,
the Word that spoke everything,
all that is, in six days,
as silent as angels' wings
in her waters plays.
He vibrates to hear her now,
her heart and her voice,
the maid to whom angels bow
and sing out, “Rejoice!”
As all earth will tremble soon,
feel him flutter inside,
when darkness shall come at noon
and graves open wide:
So shall the world groan with her
when the moment draws near.
The Word will cry out for her
in blood and in tears.
Alla 18. Esposizione Biennale Internazionale di Arte del 1932 è presente con otto opere, tra cui l’Annunciazione in un Tempio d’Aria esempio di Arte Sacra e Futurismo. By Mlemmi – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=113266814
When mercy reached from heav'n to earth,
forgiveness stretched out east to west,
the grass that springs up from the dirt
grew to a garden of the blest.
The barren ground of Calvary
now bears an ever-blooming rose.
The gates of Eden swinging free
encompass every flow'r that grows.
And we who sprang up with the dawn
to wither in the gath'ring dusk
find that we blossom on and on,
bear fruit that overflows the husk.
How can it be that we should bear
the grain of heav'n from earthly roots
unless the vine, with tender care,
entwines itself about our shoots?
O mercy, come to soak the ground
and drench the furrows where we sleep.
The heav'nly love that you pour down
will wash and wake the fallen seeds.
O Christ the blossom, Christ the vine,
transform the grasses into trees
where all the birds their shelter find
within the living shade of peace.
Flesh and blood for flesh and blood,
wounded for the wounded ones.
Mercy poured on us in flood:
From the chalice rim it runs.
God-with-us, incarnate Word,
hands and eyes and breath like ours,
stands here on the spinning world,
keeping time with our own hearts.
As if this were not enough—
skin-shawled heaven walking earth—
still in overflowing love
you remain, defiant of death.
From your fullness we receive
gift on gift and grace on grace.
More than mind or heart conceive,
soul and body have a taste.
More than hope could dare or dream,
now we hold you, masked as bread:
you who led us, who redeemed,
taken as the world is fed.
You who made us flesh and blood
shared with us this lifelong need.
We have shared in heaven's food:
Make us bread, your world to feed.
Some of the Pharisees who were with him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not also blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would have no sin; but now you are saying, ‘We see,’ so your sin remains.
Not as we see do you see us,
we who always look at sin.
You look at the heart, O Jesus,
seeing all that lies within.
You, who worked in the beginning,
formed our eyes to see your face.
Work in us again, Redeemer:
We have lost the light of grace.
Squinting at your great creation
we see only spit and dust.
These you take, O Incarnation,
healing all that's blind in us.
Where we see but muck or beauty,
not the substance underneath,
come to us, O Word, refuting
all our willful disbelief.
Let us see as you have seen us
when you look beneath our skin:
children of the Father's goodness,
sinning, and yet more than sin.
You who made the eyes, restore them;
earth and water shape anew
so to see who stands before them:
Son of Man, let us see you.
Christ of the compass-rose, draw near:
Show me the way each pilgrim goes.
Lead to the fore, yet guard the rear;
both on the right and the left, stay close.
Christ of ascending, hang above:
Cover my head and point my feet.
Be for me breastplate, shield, and glove;
Christ of the harrow, come beneath.
Christ the Incarnate, flesh and blood,
from Mary's ground, come dwell in mine.
Come with the strength of fire and flood,
stable as earth but with pow'r divine.
Christ in the fort, keep watch for me;
Christ in the hearthm bid me well-come.
Christ in the wheel and chariot-seat,
Christ in the proud stern, bring me home.
Saint Patrick Mosaic 1 by Boris Anrep. Christ the King Cathedral, Mullingar. Own Camera Work Peter Gavigan, May 2007 By Gavigan 01 at the English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7504400
You are, eternal Word of God,
before our making or our Fall,
before Cain's rage or Noah's flood,
as if a word could hold God's all.
Untongued, you echoed into time;
inscribed before you made the hand;
begotten, bound into a sign
that we might hope to understand.
Not only for the weight of sin
were you delimited in flesh:
Before our souls were there to win,
in syllables you fenced yourself.
Infinity was circumscribed
before the dust you formed us of,
before that dust could need a Christ,
you limned divinity in love.
For the third Sunday of Lent, Year A, for which the readings are about water in the desert and the Samaritan Woman:
Strike the stone, it flows with water;
strike the river, it is blood.
Strike the hearts of sons and daughters:
Turn us back to you, O God.
All our efforts unavailing,
all our labors merely vain:
Only you can re-create us;
you can make us whole again.
Take the half-truths we have cherished,
hearts divided, bodies sore:
Make them whole before we perish.
Heal us in our wounds, O Lord.
Not one place, but all creation,
then shall be your altar stone
where you offer us salvation,
where we worship you alone.
Not one body, one believer,
but all bodies joined as one,
whole in every part, O Jesus,
when your streams of mercy run.
Life eternal welling in us:
Let us drink and thirst no more.
Pour you healing grace upon us;
give us living water, Lord.
Jesus said to the chief priests and the elders of the people: “”Hear another parable. There was a landowner who planted a vineyard, put a hedge around it, dug a wine press in it, and built a tower. Then he leased it to tenants and went on a journey. When vintage time drew near, he sent his servants to the tenants to obtain his produce. But the tenants seized the servants and one they beat, another they killed, and a third they stoned. Again he sent other servants, more numerous than the first ones, but they treated them in the same way. Finally, he sent his son to them, thinking, ‘They will respect my son.’ But when the tenants saw the son, they said to one another, ‘This is the heir. Come, let us kill him and acquire his inheritance.’ They seized him, threw him out of the vineyard, and killed him. What will the owner of the vineyard do to those tenants when he comes?”” They answered him, “”He will put those wretched men to a wretched death and lease his vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the proper times.”” Jesus said to them, “”Did you never read in the Scriptures: The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; by the Lord has this been done, and it is wonderful in our eyes? Therefore, I say to you, the Kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that will produce its fruit.”” When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard his parables, they knew that he was speaking about them. And although they were attempting to arrest him, they feared the crowds, for they regarded him as a prophet.
We claim the vineyard of the king
and kill the son he sends,
but we will render all to him
who brings the vintage in.
For all the harvest we have claimed
belongs to him alone,
and we shall tremble at his name
and kneel before his throne.
We call ourselves the architects
who make the kingdom come,
but all the stones that we reject
he gathers, one by one.
A firm foundation he lays down
for us to stand upon
and builds a strong and solid ground
when all our work is gone.
And there the harvest will not fail,
the towers will not fall.
Our wisdom is of no avail;
his strength is all in all.
So let us lay our hearts of stone,
the harvests we reject,
as offerings before the throne
of Christ the architect.
You give me no sword for the battle;
you give me no shield from the foe.
You leave me at home with a hammer;
you leave me with nowhere to go.
You say, make the home and then fill it;
prepare for the victors a feast,
for God will be praised in his temple
when all of our battles have ceased.
I stay, but the battle comes to me;
I wield then the work of the home,
for even here evil pursues me.
O God, must I fight it alone?
My enemy lies on the hearthrug
and bids me to wrap him in lies.
Shall I make the home and secure it
when evil within it yet hides?
If all that I have is a hammer,
and all that I have is a nail,
I praise God with all that I have, then,
and offer the worship of Jael.
So God will be praised in his temple,
and God will be praised in the home,
and I will do all I am able
to keep it 'til victory comes.
O God of hunger and of want,
of every hollow space,
you made us empty in the dawn:
Come, fill us by your grace.
As vessels from the potter's wheel,
so we were made to hold
and shaped, each one, but to be filled,
as you made all the world.
And from your hand we come the same,
all hungry, all athirst
for all the fruits of sun and rain,
of labor and of earth.
Now empty all we stand and wait
for what your goodness gives,
to savor heaven in the taste
of all that lets us live.
O, bless us with our daily bread,
in fasting and in feast:
It's from the table you have set,
choice wine and finest wheat.
And let us pour your bounty out
as you have poured it first.
O, let your rains on all come down
to fill us in our thirst!
Kate Bluett 