To the person who strikes you on one cheek, offer the other one as well, and from the person who takes your cloak, do not withhold even your tunic. Give to everyone who asks of you, and from the one who takes what is yours do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you…. But rather, love your enemies and do good to them, and lend expecting nothing back; then your reward will be great and you will be children of the Most High, for he himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. —Luke 6:27-38
As you are merciful, O God, and drop down heaven's dew on even my ungrateful heart, let me show mercy, too.
All anyone can ask of me is something you have given— but none of it can set me free and none of it is heaven.
For only you, Omnipotent o'er all that's ever been, when time has folded up my tent can give me life again.
Then if a beggar claims my coat, my shirt I freely give, for we are in the selfsame boat and only want to live.
And if I face an enemy, his face is yours, O Lord. As I would have him to do me, let me do all the more.
For both of us are like to drown in earthly storm and strife. So let your mercy still drop down and bring us back to life!
The green-gold glimmer of a crow-black wing; the grackles in a great Hitchcockian flock; the myriad starlings' single living thing ascending as I turn onto the block; the bright burnt orange an insouciant robin shows against the tawny grass just greening there, reclaiming what was lost to these last snows; the killdeers' clatter as they take the air: have brought the dull and leaden year alive to quiver with each quickening, flashing wing, and earthbound I am lifted right along, borne up by the relentless throbbing drive, the turning, tumbling, rich upthrusting spring awakened by the day's full-throated song.
The sun has long since set, O Lord, and hidden is the light. We long for you to come once more and make these shadows bright.
Come kindle flame in all the hearts that weep and watch and pray, as numberless as heaven's stars that wait to see your day.
And give us eyes to see their glow across all heaven's arch, to find that we are not alone though they are aching far,
and see the space between the stars, the emptiness and cold, may be the streching of your arms to gather in your fold.
Reach out more far, from east to west, and farther, farther still, each lonely star to touch and bless. These empty spaces fill,
'til we find darkness full of lights— the sun's unnumbered parts— and find your glory fills the night in countless burning hearts.
NOTE: This image is a panorama consisting of multiple frames that were merged or stitched in software. As a result, this image necessarily underwent some form of digital manipulation. These manipulations may include blending, blurring, cloning, and colour and perspective adjustments. As a result of these adjustments, the image content may be slightly different from reality at the points where multiple images were combined. This manipulation is often required due to lens, perspective, and parallax distortions. Constellations, By Thomas Bresson – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=31321172
Blessed are you who are poor, for the kingdom of God is yours. Blessed are you who are now hungry, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who are now weeping, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude and insult you, and denounce your name as evil on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice and leap for joy on that day! Behold, your reward will be great in heaven. For their ancestors treated the prophets in the same way. But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are filled now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who laugh now, for you will grieve and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for their ancestors treated the false prophets in this way. —Luke 6:20-26
How blessèd are the branches standing barren; in silent wastelands still they call for rain. A kingdom comes that they will yet inherit, a fertile plain.
But cursèd are the orchard boughs now burgeoned, who even in the drought their verdure keep, who drink from hidden springs and buried currents, their roots sunk deep,
for there will come a day when they must wither, a day when all the barren ones will bloom— a summer day for some, and others winter, and it comes soon.
The seasons turn and turn again unending, and they who laugh for now will someday mourn, the proud and strong to shame and sorrow bending and princes scorned.
But there will come a day when all will blossom: The seasons turn 'til turning time is done, then all shall stand before the God who wrought them, th'unsetting sun.
As every branch is lifted to his glory, the barren and verdant, one and all, rejoice together, God's belovèd forest, where no leaves fall.
All our wells rise up in Zion, flowing outward east and west from the dwelling of the High One to the seas that never rest. Though we wander hill and valley, to the end we come as one when our days are filled and tallied, when the river's course is run.
All our sources rise in Zion, flowing outward north and south from the throne of God almighty, circling all the earth about. Though we're borne on ceaseless currents toward a sea we've never known, yet our hearts have this convergence, each one searching for a home.
As we rose at first in Zion, there at last we'll find our rest— heaven's glory unifying north and south and east and west. Let no name go unremembered in her register of souls: Every one of us was born there; there at last we will be whole.
After he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into deep water and lower your nets for a catch.” Simon said in reply, “Master, we have worked hard all night and have caught nothing, but at your command I will lower the nets.” When they had done this, they caught a great number of fish and their nets were tearing. They signaled to their partners in the other boat to come to help them. They came and filled both boats so that the boats were in danger of sinking. When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at the knees of Jesus and said, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” For astonishment at the catch of fish they had made seized him and all those with him, and likewise James and John, the sons of Zebedee, who were partners of Simon. Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men.” When they brought their boats to the shore, they left everything and followed him. —Luke 5:1-11
Who are you who can call a catch from empty seas to fill our nets, our boats, and all, yet bring me to my knees?
See, I had fished all night my gaping hold to fill, but at the dawning of the light my boat was empty still.
Depart from me, O Lord; I am a sinful man. I'd not have taken you on board if I had known your plan.
For when you gave the word I cast my nets again— and I was caught by what I've heard. Your nets are catching men.
You draw me from my sea— I cower on the deck and don't know if my life will be a voyage or a wreck.
But I'll obey the call to cast these nets once more and offer you, my God, my all— not my catch now but yours.
Kate Bluett 