Summer Thunder

When you rend the skies asunder
and the earth dissolves in fire,
will it sounds like summer thunder
when the wind is rising higher?
When we see your lightning flashing
as the clouds are turning black,
will we greet the rain with laughter
like it's mercy coming back?

As the angels weep for glory
and they gather 'round your throne
crying, Holy, holy, holy,
like cicadas' endless drone,
will you take a coal that's burning—
just a Texas summer day—
purify all that's unworthy,
set our hearts and minds ablaze?

Until then, O lord and savior,
let the mockingbird still sing;
let the chorus of cicadas
tell the summer you are king.
Though the grasses start to wither—
for they fade away like us—
we will praise you while we're still here,
'til your storm kicks up our dust.

Annual cicada. By Bruce Marlin – Own work http://www.cirrusimage.com/homoptera_cicada_T_linnei.htm, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=671173

Cries

When justice streams from heaven, will it burn
or drown the world as in a second flood?
Will we have time to run for cover first?
The mountains melt like wax before the Lord,

whose truth shall spring up from the tired ground,
obliterating what we thought was safe.
Was it on rock or sand we built the house?
He comes, he comes, the reckoner of days.

For he has heard the wailing of the poor—
Weep then, you rich, at your impending doom.
He comes to give us each our sure reward,
and how can earth not quake when heaven stoops?

Yet all these things will pass and silence fall,
and every knee shall bend before his might,
but ere he judges, God will stoop still more
to mourn the passing of each blameless light.

Unshroud the dead; let him see every face,
and tremble, heaven, as he sees who died.
Roll back the stones, disturbing every grave,
and let him see their hands, their feet, their sides.

O angels, turn your faces; do not look.
O six-winged seraphs, hide your flaming eyes.
Earth would dissolve in fire if it could,
not to be there when its creator cries.

By Józef Chełmoński – http://www.pinakoteka.zascianek.pl, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=292402

On the Ground

Jesus said to his disciples:
“When the Son of Man comes in his glory,
and all the angels with him,
he will sit upon his glorious throne,
and all the nations will be assembled before him.
And he will separate them one from another,
as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.
He will place the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.”
Matthew 25:31-46

How shall I see the Son of Man
descending on the clouds
if seeing him has not begun
down here amid the crowds?

If eye's not seen and ear's not heard
his voice from day to day,
how can I hear the living Word
or see what he will say?

Good Shepherd, touch my ears to hear—
O, heal me if you will—
your quiet voice through loudest fears,
for you are speaking still.

Give me a spark to light my lamp:
Let my blind eyes have sight
to search for you here where I stand—
or make my darkness bright.

Give me the courgae that I need
to seek where you are found,
to shelter you, to clothe and feed
and serve you on the ground.

To love you here and now, my Lord,
with love you first have giv'n,
to see your glory shining forth
on earth as 'tis in heav'n.

Tympan central du Portail Royal de la cathédrale de Chartres: Christ en gloire dans une mandorle. By Vassil – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6349219

Buried

Then the one who had received the one talent came forward and said,
‘Master, I knew you were a demanding person,
harvesting where you did not plant
and gathering where you did not scatter;
so out of fear I went off and buried your talent in the ground.
Here it is back.’
Matthew 25:14-30

Give me the courage now, O Lord,
before you come, before that day,
to dig up what in fear I hoard
and scatter it along my way.

To drag my coins into the light,
to dig up all my buried gold,
before you come, a thief at night:
Give me the courage to be bold,

to take the little that I have
and not to bury but to plant—
to share what I would rather save
and let it fall from open hands.

And if it all should go from me,
if nothing to my hand returns,
then am I in good company,
for you came here with nothing first.

But let it be a mustard seed
that you have planted in my soul:
Oh, let it grow and let it spread
to something better far than gold.

And what I harvest, let me sow
that others may yet gather more,
and let your bounty grow and grow
that all may feast with you, O Lord.

The Parable of the Talents, depicted by artist Andrei Mironov. Oil on canvas, 2013 By Андрей Николаевич Миронов (A.N. Mironov) – Own work, Andrey Mironov See also ticket:2015070410013036http://artmiro.ru/photo/religija_zhanrovaja_kartina/pritcha_o_talantakh/4-0-398, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=30528194

Wedding

Then he said to his servants, ‘The feast is ready,
but those who were invited were not worthy to come.
Go out, therefore, into the main roads
and invite to the feast whomever you find.’
The servants went out into the streets
and gathered all they found, bad and good alike,
and the hall was filled with guests.
Matthew 22:1-10

The king has called his servants,
sent missives out:
The world shall cease its turning,
the stars burn out.

This shall be how the world ends:
not with a bang—
ah, no, but with a wedding
for Christ our king!

And look, the invitation:
It has your name.
Cast off your hesitation;
prepare the way!

Go not about your business:
There is no time!
The groom is all impatience
to drink new wine.

Put on your snow-white garment,
your wedding gown;
the firstfruits of the harvest,
your bridal crown.

Get up!  Come to the wedding!
Come to the feast!
Christ has made all things ready:
Sit down and eat.

Parable of the Great Banquet by Brunswick Monogrammist (circa 1525), location: National Museum, Warsaw By Brunswick Monogrammist – cyfrowe.mnw.art.pl, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23207722

Eclipse: October 14, 2023

The noonday sun is darkened;
the moon devours its light 
as angels come to harvest,
for now the time is ripe.
We stand before their sickles
well knowing we will fall:
The Valley of Decision
will swallow us up whole.

Forgive us all our failures:
Great Judge, pardon our crimes!
Your hand alone can save us
here at the end of time.
We know that we're unworthy,
but still we kneel and ask:
Grant us, O Christ, your mercy
on this, the day of wrath.

But if tomorrow's coming,
if we have one more day,
let it be, Sun of Justice,
the dawning of your rays.
And let this shadow change us,
this darkness make us new,
that we'll no more be strangers,
but that we'll love like you.

Annular solar eclipse By Smrgeog – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=19656057

Vineyard

Now, inhabitants of Jerusalem and people of Judah,
judge between me and my vineyard:
What more was there to do for my vineyard
that I had not done?
Why, when I looked for the crop of grapes,
did it bring forth wild grapes?
Now, I will let you know
what I mean to do with my vineyard:
take away its hedge, give it to grazing,
break through its wall, let it be trampled!
Yes, I will make it a ruin:
it shall not be pruned or hoed,
but overgrown with thorns and briers;
I will command the clouds
not to send rain upon it.
The vineyard of the LORD of hosts is the house of Israel,
and the people of Judah are his cherished plant;
he looked for judgment, but see, bloodshed!
for justice, but hark, the outcry!
Isaiah 5:1-7

When justice turns to bloodshed,
when outrage does not cease,
when we fear not your judgement,
how can we speak of peace?

We claim to be your vineyard
while trampling down your vines,
but you will tread the vintage
we have so long denied:

To shatter all our strongholds
and leave us in the ruins,
unless we turn from bloodshed
and let ourselves be pruned.

The vines that we have trampled,
that should have been our feast,
were you, O gentle master,
in all your last and least.

Do not destroy the vineyard—
We still can bear good fruit!—
but teach us your new vintage.
Train us to grow anew.

So may our hearts be grafted
into your holy vine
that we become your branches
and bear your holy wine.

The Red Vineyard, 1888 by Vincent van Gogh, is the only van Gogh painting sold during his lifetime By Vincent van Gogh – History of the Red Vineyard by Anna Boch.com, 2nd upload: wikipaintings, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3073079

The Storm

A mash-up of Psalm 29 and Texas weather:

The cedars of Lebanon splinter;
they crack at the sound of your voice.
The mountains bow down and the shiver;
the depths rise up high and rejoice.

The crowds in your temple cry, “Glory!”
Ecstatic, the wilderness shakes.
You come, and earth dances before you
and revels 'til everything breaks.

Your voice in the flashes of lightning;
your thunder that groans in the ground:
All praise to our God, who is mighty,
our terrified hearts wail aloud.

The trees cast their leaves down before you,
then lift their bare branches and sing.
We fall to our knees and adore you:
Praise God at the end of all things!

Project Vortex – on the fringe of a downburst. Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=408693