Take, O Lord, This Heavy Burden

To the tune NETTLETON (“Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing”):

Take, O Lord, this heavy burden;
take the armor from my back.
Take my shield, though sure and certain;
give me courage in its lack.
Now no more my sword shall hurt them
who press onward to attack,
for your death has well assured them
mercy drowns the scourge's crack.

Let me stand, then, all defenseless—
loving Savior, grant me peace!
Is this sane or is it senseless,
when our warrings never cease?
Yet you call me from my violence,
from my rage against defeat,
into service, into silence,
seated at your wounded feet.

Give instead, my Lord, your armor
that you wore on Calvary.
Give me love's unbounded ardor;
let my captive heart go free.
I, who served as love's discarder,
beg you as the cross-bound thief:
Grant me, Lord, my great disarmer,
ever at your side to be.

The ethnicity of Jesus in art has been influenced by cultural settings. By See individual images, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27127270

What Is This Light?

What is this light that dawns at last
to pierce my eyes and daze my mind?
These sharpened shadows that it casts
as fleeing darkness falls behind?

Not gone—the night is never gone—
but it retreats before the day,
and I, that had forgotten dawn,
am blind and helpless in its rays.

Come, Lord, who led me through the dark;
come, angels that around me camp:
Do not forsake this lifted heart,
but bear me still the lighted lamp!

My stumblings shall uncovered be;
my faults laid open to the sky.
No more shall darkness comfort me—
walk with me while the sun is high!

Lord, touch my eyes and strengthen them
to bear the vision of the day,
to see the New Jerusalem,
though I will struggle on the way.

And if I cannot make it there,
then bear me as your bore the cross
until I come, your light to share
through every night and every loss.

Sculpture “Jesus healing blind Bartimaeus” by Johann Heinrich Stöver, 1861. St John’s Church, Erbach, Rheingau, Hesse, Germany. Photo By Marion Halft – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=19541671

Shepherd of My Weary Soul

Inspired by Good Shepherd Sunday falling in the middle of everything still being difficult. Maybe wouldn’t work for actually singing during Mass on Good Shepherd Sunday, but in the right circumstances, it could. More appropriate for difficult times or night prayer. To the tune HEINLEIN (“From the Depths We Cry to Thee”):

Shepherd of my weary soul,
see me safely through the night.
Far away from safety's fold, 
still I seek your comfort bright.

Shepherd, give me eyes to see
stars, though light cannot be found,
signs that show you're leading me,
though my fears yet here abound.

Give me ears to hear your voice
calling me throughout the night,
courage for each darkened choice—
let me hear and choose aright!

Though my heart is worn and cold,
kindle me with your bright spark.
Guide my steps on ways untold,
though I walk them in the dark.

Lord, I cannot see your face;
let me sightless be content,
blindly groping through your grace 
still to follow where you went.

If the sun should never rise,
let me follow ever on,
thankful that you made my eyes
though they may not see the dawn.

The good Shepherd, At the Catacomb of Priscilla, Rome. Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=515973

Too Many Places Empty

I thought I saw, on Instagram, a quote saying that what George Floyd’s family really wanted was not Derek Chauvin convicted, but George Floyd home, sharing dinner with them. I can’t find the quote now. But the idea is what inspired this. To the tune PASSION CHORALE (“Oh Sacred Head Surrounded”):

Too many places empty
around our tables, now,
though here we dwell in plenty
where bread and wine abound.
Our brothers are prevented;
our sisters are cut down.
O God of righteous sentence,
where is your justice found?

The mothers weep who bore them
into a world of woes—
Your cup of healing pour them
until it overflows!
You set this feast before them
in sight of all their foes;
O God, come stand here for them
'til streams of justice flow!

Your table laid in heaven
has seats enough to fill:
Lord, gather all our brethren
and let them feast there still.
Cast out the impure leaven
that drives us on to kill;
O God, give us repentance
and bend us to your will!

The Word of Life

You denied the Holy and Righteous One
and asked that a murderer be released to you.
The author of life you put to death,
but God raised him from the dead; of this we are witnesses.
Acts 3:13-15

The Word of life we put to death;
he brought our death itself to life,
filled all the tomb with living breath,
poured out his peace on ancient strife.

Now fear shall no more drive us on:
With joy we run into his arms
where death is but a breaking dawn
and conquered terror kneels disarmed.

Now human conquest bows its head
before the once-dead king of kings
who sets a feast of wine and bread
where all the earth in triumph sings.

Beside his riches, all are poor;
without his freedom, all are bound,
but Christ has opened every door,
and now shall every wealth abound!

Come, then: Put all your swords away.
Lay every weapon at his feet.
Smash all the idols holding sway,
that he in your may be complete.

So fear and power bow before
the Word of life who conquers death,
who lives and reigns forevermore,
and breathes in us with every breath.

Mosaic in the Baptistry of San Giovanni of Florence, ca. 1300, by the Florentine Master. By Florentinischer Meister um 1300 – 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=150949

Come and See, For Christ Has Risen

While they were still speaking about this,
he stood in their midst and said to them,
“Peace be with you.”
But they were startled and terrified
and thought that they were seeing a ghost.
Then he said to them, “Why are you troubled?
And why do questions arise in your hearts?
Look at my hands and my feet, that it is I myself.
Touch me and see, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones
as you can see I have.”
Luke 24:35-48

One for today’s Gospel, to the tune ODE TO JOY:

Come and see, for Christ has risen,
breaking all the chains of death.
Come, receive the peace he's given,
resting on you with his breath.
Take his hand and feel him living,
not a ghost, but bone and flesh.
Cast aside your fear and listen:
He has come again to bless.

Come and see: He stands before you,
here as in the upper room.
Wounded hands and feet implore you:
Bring him here your pain and wounds.
Christ alive will not ignore you;
bride belovèd, greet your groom.
Come to him; he will restore you,
opening your very tomb.

Come, though hearts are torn and aching;
come receive his love divine.
Come, his broken body taking,
though you see but bread and wine.
In this sweet communion making
branches of the living vine,
Christ, the dawn upon us breaking,
shares his light that you might shine.

Attributed to Jacopo Bassano (c. 1510-1592) – The Supper at Emmaus By anonymous – Royal Collection, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=92141882

Beyond the Work of Words

In the same way, the Spirit too comes to the aid of our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit itself intercedes with inexpressible groanings.
Romans 8:26

O God, I do not have the word
to speak a ray of light,
but let my silent prayer be heard
and shine throughout the night.

O Spirit, come and speak for me
the words I do not know,
for light or darkness—let it be
as from your wisdom flows.

O Christ in heaven, sorrow's man,
what comfort can I preach?
As far as stars from earth you stand—
how can my whispers reach?

O Spirit, come and pray for me
in groans too deep for words,
for sorrows that I cannot see—
and may your prayer be heard!

For heaven seems a place too far;
my poor words cannot find,
yet I have touched the Savior's scars,
and God has yet been kind.

O Spirit, come and carry me
beyond the work of words.
By love and mercy, may it be
my silence there is heard!

Cave 69, wreath-bearing dove By Painter: 7th century, Public Domain 2D painting.Photographer: undetermined – [1], Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=99822219

You Entered In

And he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are!
How slow of heart to believe all that the prophets spoke!
Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things
and enter into his glory?”
Luke 24:13-35

For the Easter season, disciples on the road to Emmaus.

You bore the weight of all our hope,
who came at last, great David's son;
hung on the beam, your body broke,
and all our hope has come undone.

How can you now in glory reign,
when, executed as a thief,
you breathed your last in loss and pain?
What glory is there in your grief?

We thought that you would be the one,
but now our hearts are plunged in gloom.
We find, as this new day's begun,
our hopes as empty as the tomb.

Break on our understanding, Lord,
and once more set our hearts aflame:
Show us the promise of your word,
the hope still burning in your name.

Not wealth and might, but love and breath:
By these you conquered hell and sin,
and won the vict'ry over death.
By suffering, you entered in.

This is your glory, this our hope:
Not empire, but another reign
beyond the limits of our scope,
you entered in by loss and pain.

Ivory relief, c. 950–900, Metz, Photo By I, Sailko, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11773222

You Spoke a Name

In response to the killing of Daunte Wright, and the common misspellings of his name. It’s dehumanizing, refusing to respect someone’s name or take care with it. And it’s common, and has to stop. Names are important.

To the tune ERHALT UNS, HERR (“The Glory of These Forty Days”):

O Father of all time and space,
you spoke a word and we became:
one word for all the human race;
for each of us you spoke a name.

Before your word, there nothing was;
you named the light and called forth stars,
and when you formed us from the dust,
you breathed our names and woke our hearts.

The image of your very self,
we share the wonders of your speech:
Our children come forth from ourselves;
we know and give a name to each.

Oh, bless the tongues you formed of earth
to speak each word as of your own,
to know each name was spoken first
in endless grace before your throne.

Pour out that grace upon us, Lord,
to see your handiwork in all,
to hear the echoes of your word
in every name that you shall call.

And when the stars themselves go out,
and silence all creation claims,
then may we raise the joyful shout
to hear you speaking still our names.

The Creation of Light (Gen. 1:1-5) By Gustave Doré – Doré’s English Bible, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=53722928

And Spoke With Love

For Easter season (and today, Divine Mercy Sunday), to the tune LAND OF REST (“I Come With Joy To Meet My Lord”):

We turned from you, O living Lord,
and lost ourselves instead,
yet if you will but say the word,
we, too, rise from the dead.

Though Peter his own faith denied
and wept to feel his shame,
you asked him for his love three times
and spoke with love his name.

Though Thomas spurned what he was told,
you blessed him all the same:
your wounded hands to him you showed
and spoke with love his name.

Though Mary could not recognize
the one she'd come to claim,
you opened up her tearful eyes
and spoke with love her name.

Then speak our names, O living Lord,
and call us from our death.
Created by the spoken word,
we rise upon your breath.