Create an unstained heart in me
and make my spirit new,
for my old heart sits heavily,
and I can hardly move.
No sacrifice do you desire,
no gold or fatted calf,
but lay this heart upon the pyre
and let it turn to ash.
Then wash me, and I shall be clean;
with hyssop make me pure
and pour your waters over me
to make me ever yours.
Though I have sinned against you, God—
my sin before me lies—
have mercy on me in your love
and give me strength to rise.
Give back the joy I knew before;
give music to my voice
and let me hear your song once more:
Let broken bones rejoice.
And I shall sing your praise again,
a new heart beat in time
the endless song: Amen, amen,
when your heart beats in mine.
Into the water I will go
and wash in Jordan's stream.
I'll plunge into the dark and cold
if it will make me clean.
And seven times I'll wash my skin
or seven seven times
if it will cleanse my heart within
and take away my crimes.
My heart and flesh cry out in thirst;
my sickness makes me weak,
'til desert sands to rivers turn,
the waters that I seek.
As you renew the wearied earth,
renew my tear-streaked skin.
Find yet in me some grace and worth
and make me whole again.
When I have plunged into the depths,
come lift me from the waves.
Give back your spirit with my breath,
my wounded soul to save.
And even as I drown, I sing,
and as I weep, I hope,
for you in Jordan's waters sink
and wait there in its cold.
British Museum reference1884,0606.3 Detailed description Plaque; bronze gilt and champlevé enamel: Cure of Naaman in the River Jordan; Latin inscription; three servants; hand of God emerging from clouds; beaded edge pierced with six holes. From an altar-retable. Meuse Valley, c. 1150. By Photo: Andreas Praefcke – Self-photographed, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15665891
To the tune CONDITOR ALME SIDERUM (“Creator of the Stars of Night”):
O Christ, the burning light of God,
the flame of love that Moses saw,
you heard our sorrows and came down
to make of earth a holy ground.
You saw our suffering and death
and counted every tear we'd wept.
You knew the plight of all th'enslaved
and bound yourself into their chains.
Come, take us from th'enslaver's hand
and lead us into Eden's land.
Though all the desert stretch before,
Lord, walk with us forevermore.
Through nights of waiting, days of thirst,
let living springs from dry stone burst.
Let manna all our hunger fill,
and flames of love burn in us still.
Come, save our bodies and our souls:
As bread from heaven, make us whole.
O Christ, who hears his people's voice,
turn all our sorrows into joys.
O promise made to Abraham,
you saved us by your own I AM.
Let every generation bless
God-with-us in the wilderness!
Moses vor dem brennenden Dornbusch, um 1920, Diözesanmuseum Freising, Inv. D 94117 By Gebhard Fugel – Own work (fotografiert in der Ausstellung “Gebhard Fugel 1863-1939. Von Ravensburg nach Jerusalem”. Galerie Fähre, Altes Kloster, Bad Saulgau, 2014), Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32072413
When Cain took Abel to the field
and struck his brother down
he carved a wound that has not healed,
and every stone cried out.
You drowned the earth that wept to you;
you washed it clean in flood,
but still the old wound bleeds anew,
and we are drowned in blood.
You came among us, Christ Amen,
and laid you own life down.
So Cain killed Abel once again,
and every stone cried out.
We pierced your hands and feet and side;
we poured you out in flood,
and there's no place on earth to hide,
t'escape the cries of blood.
For still we raise our voice and hands
to strike each other down.
Still Abel's murdered once again,
and every stone cries out.
O Christ, remove the mark of Cain:
Wash us in mercy's flood,
and heal the wound, O Lamb once slain,
that drowns us still in blood.
By Joe deSousa – I swear…, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=61325900 I’ll never drink again. And where the hell are my clothes? This statue in the Tuilleries Garden by the Louvre is actually titled “Caïn venant de tuer son frère Abel” and shows Cain after killing his brother Abel.
Ask, and then receive.
Seek, and you will find.
How can I believe
you would be so kind?
I am deaf and blind:
How should I perceive
what is in your mind?
How should I conceive?
Eye could never see;
ear could never hear
what the gift would be
is you should draw near.
Mind could not but fear—
how could heart not flee?—
if you should appear,
if you came to me.
Look, O Lord, and see!
Listen, Christ, and hear!
Long my cries will be—
will you yet appear?
Enter in my fear—
stand in dread with me.
Though I shrink, draw near.
Follow though I flee.
So shall I conceive,
filling heart and mind.
So could I believe
God is ever kind.
Though I'm deaf and blind,
yet have I perceived
when you came to find.
Asking, I received.
You could have stayed at peace within the desert;
you could have turned the very stones to bread
when he had gone, and you no more were tested,
but you returned. You came to us instead.
Did you not know you would be tried and sentenced?
And still you came, and here you met your death.
You could have stayed in Nazareth forever,
your mother's son, your father's strong right hand,
master of nails, with naught to fear but splinters,
but you went out into the desert sands.
And did she weep, your mother, when you left her?
And did she know you'd not come back again?
You could have stayed in Egypt, in your exile,
where you were safe though Herod threatened still.
Why did you leave the waters of the rich Nile
for Jordan's banks? What promise to fulfill?
Your mission called, and you came back to Israel,
and there you died, you blood a river spilled.
You could have stayed, O Prince of highest heaven,
among the hosts that endlessly adore,
but you came here alone and undefended
to Jordan's bank, and then its farther shore.
O Christ of God, O true self-giving Shepherd,
you came for us! Stay with us evermore!
This is the light from Bethlehem,
the cloud of Exodus,
the still, small voice behind the wind
revealing Christ to us.
The days all meet on Tabor's height:
The culminating years
here coalesce in dawning light,
and we fall down in fear.
The law and prophecy collide
as light and shade are one
and heaven fills the mountainside:
“This is my chosen Son!”
O Christ transfigured, friend transformed,
what wonders have we seen?
That something greater, something more,
that you have always been.
And yet you linger with us here:
Your work is not yet done.
What we have seen is not yet clear:
The glory of the Son.
Then teach us still as we descend
from Tabor to the grave:
Your road does not at Calv'ry end;
your light will never fade.
Nativity, above, and Transfiguration below, 1025–1050, Cologne By Kölner Meister eines Evangelienbuches – The Yorck Project (2002) 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei (DVD-ROM), distributed by DIRECTMEDIA Publishing GmbH. ISBN: 3936122202., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=153557
Come all who served him in the dawn,
(But fear not, you who turned away.)
and you who joined as time went on.
Come all who served him at midday,
who labored while the sun was high.
(Fear not, though you in shadows stayed.)
Come in, and hear his welcome cry.
Come still, though long you have delayed.
Come now: The sun begins to sink.
(But do not fear, all you who wait.)
A feast is spread with meat and drink:
Come all who joined when it was late.
Come all you first into the field
(But, oh, fear not, who you came last.)
for day to night must always yield.
Come now! The hour is not yet past!
Come all you harvesters and feast.
(Fear not, for he will welcome you.)
The greatest come beside the least.
Come! Come! The day is almost through!
Come now in this eleventh hour
(Fear not—this moment is enough!)
for Christ the bread and Christ the sower
calls you into eternal love!
When, Christ, you come to me in need,
let me rejoice to know
that I the living bread may feed,
and love to Love may show.
That I may do as you have done,
who hungry thousands fed,
for I have been the hungry one,
and, Lord, you gave me bread.
And I have panted in my thirst
as deer for running streams,
when from the rock your waters burst
your love poured out for me.
Estranged, and yet you welcomed me;
ashamed, yet in you clothed.
Imprisoned, and you came to me
that I was not alone.
Then give me ears to hear your call
in all who cry for help,
and as you first gave me my all,
let me then give myself.
For you have given mercy, Lord—
by that alone I live.
You've given me my life, my world;
then like you, let me give.
Through him all things were fashioned,
through Christ, the light from light.
A boundless grace unrationed
and all unhindered might
poured into dust and ashes,
o'erflowing day and night;
the sinews of compassion
in every depth and height.
And, in the Father's image,
these works of flesh and blood,
formed out of bone and kinship,
called by the Father good.
Not all the tides of envy,
nor wrath in all its flood,
the face of Christ have riven
or turned him from their love.
And so he came, full-hearted,
into the world he shaped;
he came and died a martyr
for what his love creates:
the image of the Father
in Abel and in Cain,
and he will not discard us,
but safeguards what he made.
In “Creation of Adam,” Michelangelo provides a great example of the substantive view of the image of God through the mirroring of the human and the divine. By Michelangelo – See below., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15461165
Kate Bluett 