We wait for you, Emmanuel,
who in the shadowed valley dwell
and in our vigil count the days
until you meet our longing gaze.
Emmanuel, O come, O come,
and make with us your heav'nly home.
We ache for you, Emmanuel,
as all your maddened prophets tell.
We bleed from all our hidden wounds:
Reveal them by your coming soon.
Emmanuel, etc.
We look for you, Emmanuel,
the light that on our Eden fell
and filled us when we walked with God:
Shine now upon our barren sod.
Emmanuel, etc.
We thirst for you, Emmanuel,
O spring unbound by any well,
but rising up from every stone
you fill the deserts of our souls.
Emmanuel, etc.
Now come to us, Emmanuel,
and open wide our prison cells.
Forgive our debts and dry our tears:
O root of hope, come blossom here!
Emmanuel, etc.
The world you spoke first long ago
was broken into shards,
and it is all the world I know,
though it will break my heart.
But now you speak a different world
I cannot comprehend.
How shall it break me open, Lord,
when this old world shall end?
What shall it be, this world you speak,
where night is clear as day
that we may find the road we seek
and safely go our way?
This world you speak, what shall it be,
this breaking dawn on high
to pierce the fog of prophecy
and touch the longing eye?
This world you speak, where music sounds
upon our long-deaf ears
like fallen seeds, and breaks the ground
we watered with our tears,
what shall it be? What shall we see,
whose eyes were closed so long,
when all those weeping silently
break into joyful song?
And in this world, what shall I be?
Shall you remake me, too?
What seeds are breaking forth in me
when you make all things new?
Oh, give me eyes to see your world
and ears to hear its song;
let day break in my heart, O Lord,
while yet the night is long!
Can be sung to the tune CAROL (“It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”):
O daughter Zion, sing for joy;
lift up your wounded heart
and hear at last the saving voice
that echoes in the dark:
It says that love is born anew
and light is dawning clear,
for God is singing over you
and swiftly drawing near.
The enemies before your gates
shall flee before God's might,
and those within—your pride and hate—
shall vanish in his light,
for he has come to drive out fear
that drives us like the wind.
Rise up, for he is drawing near,
and let him enter in!
Rise up and shine with his own light,
for he is Christ the flame
who loves the morning and the night
and burns in them the same.
Take courage, Zion, at the last
and sing with all your heart:
Your shame is burned to dust and ash,
consumed by Christ the spark!
Spray of sparks from a Bessemer converter as air is blown through the molten metal By Alfred T. Palmer – This image is available from the United States Library of Congress’s Prints and Photographs divisionunder the digital ID fsac.1a35063.This tag does not indicate the copyright status of the attached work. A normal copyright tag is still required. See Commons:Licensing for more information., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8094060
When all the vines are trampled,
and scattered o'er the land
the stones that made our temple
no more united stand;
when hope's a dying ember
and signs point to the end,
your promise then remember
and take us by the hand.
Come to us when we falter
and hesitate in fear,
when all our steps are halting
and we are blind with tears.
When we can't hear you calling,
come open up our ears
and lead us to your altar,
O Savior drawing near.
Come, help us to keep going
when mountains tumble down,
and waves to mountains growing
our hopes in sorrow drown.
We walk this road not knowing
the value of our groans,
But you, your mercy showing,
don't let us walk alone.
The Prophet Jeremiah By Michelangelo – 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=155641
The sun in all its glory,
the moon that glows and fades:
This is your mercy toward me
that fills my nights and days,
the very earth that holds me,
the waters running down,
and every word you've told me,
all woven as a crown.
My body like my mother's,
the blood within my veins,
the heart that skips and flutters,
the breath that won't remain:
They hear your whisper call me,
your angel speak my name.
Your shadow falls upon me;
I cannot stay the same.
Now you have turned me over,
have raised me from the dust
and built yourself a tower,
a body from my rust.
And all my world is shaken,
the high stars toppled down,
when in my flesh you quicken
and in my waters drown.
Your name is no less holy
hung on an infant's arms:
the mighty one made lowly
to fill the empty heart.
Your promise you remembered
though long the years have been,
and all creation trembles
now you have called it kin.
When shall you come, a thief within the darkness,
marauding Lord, to catch me unawares?
My foolish heart locks doors and puts the bars up
and guards the house; my trustless soul prepares.
For I am one who knows betrayal's sharpness:
I am a thief. Come to my door who dares.
You came here once and fell beside the highway
beneath the blows of murderers and thieves.
We waited long in dim and shadowed doorways,
with hardened hearts and daggers up our sleeves.
We spilled your blood and scattered to the byways,
before the wind, so many fallen leaves.
And will you come, a lamb that longs for slaughter?
Come yet again, a dead but holy fool
to fall as prey to your own sons and daughters
(the fate of lambs where ewes and rams are cruel)
among the rocks, your blood poured out as water?
It bubbles up, an overflowing pool!
I hide away, a thief within the shadows;
I bar the door and hope you pass me by—
to no avail. You shatter all the windows
and stream inside, an ever-breaking light.
So here we stand, two lambs in endless meadows:
You walk ahead, I follow on behind.
Jerusalem, your streets are standing empty,
your children led away as spoils of war.
The walls that stood between you and the desert
have crumbled now, protecting you no more.
You say you've been abandoned by the Father,
though you had slain the best within your flock,
but you laid down your infants on the altar
and poured you people's blood upon the rocks.
When shall God look again upon your fasting
and offer you rewards to keep his ways?
When you have turned the deserts into pastures
and made it so your sheep may safely graze.
When you have turned the waste into a garden,
undammed the stream to let the flowers bloom,
oh, then and only then shall you have pardon.
Then light shall break upon you in your gloom.
Cast down your princes; lift up all your lowly,
and make at last a smooth and level way.
Throw out your idols—love your Maker wholly,
and see again the dawning of your day.
Jerusalem, long have you wept,
repenting of your ancient wrongs.
The sorrows that have never slept
you wail aloud in every song:
Your helpless children torn from you,
your sobbing drowned in shrill alarms,
the swords that ran your heroes through,
the tears that fell through empty arms.
But now rise up and scale the heights:
Your eyes, that endless tears have known,
are dazzled in the dawning light
to see your children coming home.
They come to you on level roads,
on highways over gorges filled
with mountains that have toppled low,
where flowing streams their grace have spilled.
Grief made a wasteland of your hearts,
but look again: New verdure blooms
among the shattered stones and shards,
and new light shines amid the gloom.
Rise up and see, Jerusalem,
your children fill your aching lack.
Now glory in the sight of them
and praise the God who gives them back.
To the tune NON DIGNUS (“O Lord, I Am Not Worthy”):
Come, Light; dispel our darkness
and drive our gloom away.
Shine on the brokenhearted
and bring us into day.
Speak, Word, into our silence
and let the echoes ring.
Still all cries of violence
and teach our hearts to sing.
As grace on grace come fill us,
unfailing stream that flows
from God's eternal stillness:
Come, overflow our souls.
God's only Son, begotten
before the deeps of time,
come claim all we've forgotten
and bring them into life.
Come, wellspring of creation:
Your wonders wait for you.
Come with their restoration—
oh, come; make all things new!
And in the endless dawning
of your now-breaking day
rise in our hearts as morning,
and ever shining stay.
The darkness is the distance
that lies between the stars,
the eons or the instant
before we see the spark,
the womb of all existence:
and like the sea it parts
and catches, as in crystal,
the light that pierces hearts.
As deep as every ocean
and fathoms past our ken,
the source of all has spoken,
has sounded its Amen.
What set the stars in motion
and made the planets spin
now breaks the night sky open
and softly enters in.
And lo! The night is glowing;
the darkness is as day,
a stream of radiance flowing
where God has made a way.
These depths of beauty showing,
surrounding every ray:
the night its love bestowing
on Christ upon the hay.
Kate Bluett 