You see into my secrets,
forever open-eyed;
what I have buried deepest,
from you I could not hide.
You see into my failure,
my anger, and my shame;
you know the sins I cherish,
and still you call my name.
O God, I have been silent
while embers burned in me:
I have not wept or cried out,
nor set my anger free.
But you, who hear the stars sing,
hear what I do not say:
You know my heart still hard'ning,
but have not turned away.
Then, Lord, hear my confession
of sins you know full well.
O, hear and give me blessing,
though things unblessed I tell.
Put out the burning embers,
the buried bones renew
as softness I remember
and turn again to you.
I hear the promise whisper
and echo through the days;
it beckons from a distance
down all your winding ways.
You call me, but I linger
and stop to look behind:
What if the jar goes empty?
What if the jug runs dry?
Beyond all reassurance,
beyond the bounds of hope,
your whisper calls me further
and urges me to go
where there is no more plenty,
no solid ground to find,
where every jar goes empty
and every jug runs dry.
Oh, give me then the courage
to go on all unsure,
to catch the Spirit blowing
and let the sails unfurl,
to find when I am empty
and when my heart is dry,
that you are yet unfailing
and mercy still is kind.
Tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to listen to Jesus, but the Pharisees and scribes began to complain, saying, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So to them he addressed this parable. “What man among you having a hundred sheep and losing one of them would not leave the ninety-nine in the desert and go after the lost one until he finds it? And when he does find it, he sets it on his shoulders with great joy and, upon his arrival home, he calls together his friends and neighbors and says to them, ‘Rejoice with me because I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you, in just the same way there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance.
Luke 15:1-32
It makes no sense to go,
to leave your ninety-nine
and search the desert high and low,
one straying sheep to find,
to leave your treasures there
untended in the fold
and wander God-alone-knows-where
one tarnished coin to hold.
All reason cried out, “Stop!”
Obsession drives you thus
to fill and overfill the cup
and pour out more for us.
Why would you do this, Lord?
Why leave a world you'd won
and risk it all to gain still more?
Why break yourself for one?
Would any do the same?
O Savior, let it be
that someone senseless, in God's name,
would find and rescue me!
Though I cannot repay
or even comprehend
the love that tracks my wand'ring way,
oh, find me still! Amen.
The grasses withered in the heat;
the streams have all run dry,
and hope lies shattered in defeat,
yet God still hears our cry.
The walls we lifted, stone on stone,
lie scattered on the sands—
yet see the wonders God has done:
Alive again we stand!
And what we lost, God will restore,
though it may still be long,
for we will live in peace once more
to raise a joyful song.
We sowed the fields with bitter seeds
and watered them with tears,
but we will harvest, rich and sweet,
the sheaves of fallen years.
And all we've lost will come again—
O God, may it be soon!
And let the welcome feast begin,
the withered flowers bloom!
When all our loves return once more,
all sorrows are destroyed,
the desert streambeds overflow
and heaven weeps for joy!
Psalm 126 – Two human figures are looking up, one with parted lips and the other with his left arm stretched out. To the left of the word are two more human figures, with eyes closed and inclined heads resting on their right hands. The latter illustrate v.1, ‘When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream’, and the former, either the word shir (song) of the superscription, or v.2, ‘Then our mouth was filled with… shouts of joy’. By Unknown author – The Parma Psalter, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=26033837
Tell me, Father of creation,
why you sent your son to earth,
but to bless our ruination
with the wonder of his birth?
For you love us as you love him,
love your own begotten son,
and you draw us in to join him
in your living three-in-one.
Leave me, Christ; I am not worthy,
in the rancor of my sins,
not of heaven but too earthly
for your life to dwell within.
Yet you stoop down even lower,
like a harrow in my soil,
dig yourself into the marrow
of the darkness of my soul.
Draw me upward, Holy Spirit,
where my savior reigns above,
in the glory he inherits
in the kingdom built of love.
As he dwells within my body,
draw me deep into your life,
that with Jesus and the Father
I may live with you on high.
Great crowds were traveling with Jesus, and he turned and addressed them, “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. Which of you wishing to construct a tower does not first sit down and calculate the cost to see if there is enough for its completion? Otherwise, after laying the foundation and finding himself unable to finish the work the onlookers should laugh at him and say, ‘This one began to build but did not have the resources to finish.’ Or what king marching into battle would not first sit down and decide whether with ten thousand troops he can successfully oppose another king advancing upon him with twenty thousand troops? But if not, while he is still far away, he will send a delegation to ask for peace terms. In the same way, anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.”
If you will not take up your cross,
you cannot my disciple be,
says he who fell down under his
'til helped by Simon of Cyrene.
If you don't hate your kith and kin,
you cannot follow after me,
says he who loved his Father still
and sought his will in everything.
O kings and princes, build your tow'rs,
but count your bricks before you start:
The splendor of your earthly pow'rs
cares nothing for a longing heart.
Arrange your armies in the field,
if you would best a stronger foe—
or else you must to conquest yield
and sue for mercy evermore.
I am no king or mighty prince—
O Christ, can I your foll'wer be?
I cannot bear the weight of this
unless your mercy carries me!
I cannot wrestle with you here
and win the right to love my own,
but let your mercy draw us near
as one to worship at your throne!
I am my brother's keeper,
for there is no one else
but him who keeps the sheepfold
and loves us as himself.
He comes to me for tending,
unworthy as I am.
I am my savior's shepherd,
who comes as but a lamb.
An infant in a manger,
he entered thus our world,
and walks it in the stranger,
the Christ of God returned.
No den or nest he has here,
no place to lay his head,
but helpless in our hands now
he lies as broken bread.
How can it be, my Jesus,
that I should shepherd you?
I look to you for keeping,
but you're my brother, too.
Then let me set a table,
in spite of all my foes,
where you can rest in safety
and mercy overflows.
We set out on the Red Sea road,
but that was just the start,
for there are years and years to go
before we reach your heart.
We trembled as you parted seas
to make a fearless way;
we walked where Pharaoh's chariots seized,
in safety through the waves.
But still the road runs out ahead,
and still we travel on,
through day 'til stars lift up their heads,
through midnight into dawn.
The road has never doubled back,
not even when we turned,
but runs forever in its track,
as long as stars shall burn.
And every weary traveller sees
a different, winding road,
but still one God sees all of these
and leads them safely home.
Wherever my own road shall run,
and roads of those I love,
O Shepherd, guide my steps thereon,
as long as stars shall move. Amen.
Parz castle ( Upper Austria ). Frescos ( 1580 ) at the facade – Moses crossing the Red Sea. Instead of the pharao the pope is persecuting Moses i.e. the true protestant church. Photo By Wolfgang Sauber – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10383261
My child, conduct your affairs with humility, and you will be loved more than a giver of gifts. Humble yourself the more, the greater you are, and you will find favor with God. What is too sublime for you, seek not, into things beyond your strength search not. The mind of a sage appreciates proverbs, and an attentive ear is the joy of the wise. Water quenches a flaming fire, and alms atone for sins.
My child, hold fast to what you know
through worlds of mystery:
The seed into the ground must go;
the river to the sea.
The sacrifice goes on the pyre;
the ash flies on the wind,
then water quenches flaming fire
and alms atone for sins.
The rich and mighty hold their sway;
the oxen pulls the plow,
but still the poor will have their day
and kings to time will bow.
Then love your neighbor as yourself
and worship God alone,
for flowing streams the flames will quench
and alms for sin atone.
The seed will spring up from the ground;
the seas will fall as rain.
The sun will rise and then go down,
and we will live again.
The sacrifice upon the pyre
will rise and lead us home,
as streams of mercy quench the fire
and living waters flow.
Beneath the surface, there's a seed;
in stillness deep it lies.
All through the winter it may sleep;
in springtime it will rise.
So, hidden in my weary heart
beneath a world of noise,
the ages-endless love of God
lives there, a quiet joy.
The seed that fell down to the ground
will rise to greet the dawn,
to find a day where hope abounds
or where all hope is gone.
Though locusts may devour the crop
or storm and drought destroy,
the ages-endless love of God
will be my quiet joy.
Though I may spring up with the days
or fade into the night,
yet do I hear a song of praise
in darkness or in light.
It sings in me, and I resound
to echo that small voice:
The ages-endless love of God
is still my quiet joy.
Kate Bluett 
