Carved

We carved a road through knowledge
into the land of death,
but Christ that road has hallowed
and blessed it with his steps.

We wrought it with temptation;
we plucked it from the tree,
but Christ has walked that highway
like dry land through the sea.

We should not have been mortal—
would not, had we not sinned.
We opened up that portal,
but Christ has entered in.

Our flesh was meant for heaven,
as all the wondrous earth.
Christ, knit with his creation,
draws heaven to the dirt.

So all the earth he's drawing;
he's dragging us on high—
we clutch his muddly garment—
right through the needle's eye.

And all that we have ruined
in him will be restored.
The road through death is new-made,
and Christ shall bear us forward.

By Michelangelo – http://www.heiligenlexikon.de/Fotos/Eva2.jpgTransferred from de.wikipedia to Commons by Roberta F. using CommonsHelper., 9 September 2007 (original upload date), Original uploader was Nitramtrebla at de.wikipedia, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7556462

Gently

The hands stretched out upon the cross

held nothing in their grasp,

but offered all things back to God

with Jesus' final gasp.



So may my hands be open, Lord,

my fingers be uncurled

to love the ones I cannot hold

abroad within the world.



The heart of Christ drained all he had;

it emptied heaven out,

and raining on the good and bad

became an endless fount.



So may my heart be generous—

as you are to all things—

to love the unjust with the just

and find your flowing spring.



For you have loved me gently, Lord,

through all my senseless fright,

through every waking whispered word,

a mother in the night.



So may I mother all of them

as rain and sun shall fall.

Though but a single drop I am,

yet may I give it all.

Crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth, medieval illustration from the Hortus deliciarum of Herrad of Landsberg, 12th century By Herrad of Landsberg – Hortus Deliciarum, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=31489656

End

For Good Friday:

The kiss that is love's mockery;
men in a garden, armed;
the night-crow of the cockerel;
the rending of the heart:

The road that starts from Eden
and opens up the sea
to still the heart's red beating
will end on Calvary.

And we will stand there watching,
full drunk on our own tears,
while “Lema sabachthani?”
falls only on deaf ears.

The sky has turned to midnight
while yet the sun's at noon,
and mothers swaddle infants
to lay them in the tomb,

for life itself is dying
and light itself burns out.
The Word of God is silenced,
and oh, the stones cry out!

Icon of the Crucifixion, 16th century, by Theophanes the Cretan (Stavronikita Monastery, Mount Athos) By Theophanes the Cretan – Holy Monastery of Stavronikita, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1288231

When Mercy Reached From Heav’n to Earth

When mercy reached from heav'n to earth,
forgiveness stretched out east to west,
the grass that springs up from the dirt
grew to a garden of the blest.

The barren ground of Calvary
now bears an ever-blooming rose.
The gates of Eden swinging free
encompass every flow'r that grows.

And we who sprang up with the dawn
to wither in the gath'ring dusk
find that we blossom on and on,
bear fruit that overflows the husk.

How can it be that we should bear
the grain of heav'n from earthly roots
unless the vine, with tender care,
entwines itself about our shoots?

O mercy, come to soak the ground
and drench the furrows where we sleep.
The heav'nly love that you pour down
will wash and wake the fallen seeds.

O Christ the blossom, Christ the vine,
transform the grasses into trees
where all the birds their shelter find
within the living shade of peace.

Holy church Maria of the Castle, Olivenza (Spain) By José Luis Filpo Cabana – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=44932624

When Cain Took Abel

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.

Lament

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

Oh, Father, do you hear the cries?
The blood of Abel soaks the ground.
The voices of the stones would rise
if human voices make no sound.

In Ramah, women wail aloud:
Their missing children do not hear.
Beneath the bootheels of the proud
the lowly eat the bread of tears.

And Christ, who came to save his bride,
is hanging, dying on the tree.
The priests pass by on th'other side
and will not turn their heads to see.

Oh, hanging Christ, turn not your face,
God who refused to stand far off.
Oh, drown this world in floods of grace
and raise us on its waves aloft.

And with your love pierce all our hearts:
Lord, open up our hands and side
to take the gifts your grace imparts
and pour them forth to join your tide.
Amen.

The Crucifixion; Jesus dies on the cross – John 19:25 Found here: https://blog.emergingscholars.org/2017/04/good-friday-jesus-dies-on-the-cross/

Good Friday: Psalm 67

Reading Psalm 67 this morning, and thinking of today “yielding a harvest,” and then writing this:

The light of Jesus' face
shines down on us, oh Lord,
that all the earth may know your ways
and learn your saving word.

The peoples praise you, God—
may all the peoples praise!
A shoot rose up from Jesse's rod,
redeeming our last days.

The nations shall be glad,
as one shall raise their voice
to glorify the Son of God,
now shorn of all his joys.

The peoples praise you, God—
may all the peoples praise,
for Christ is captured, stripped, and flogged
to walk Golgotha's ways.

You make the earth bear fruit:
That barren stem cut down
stands up again and now takes root
and bears a thorny crown.

The peoples praise you, God—
may all the peoples praise,
for Jesus now is lifted up
to heal all us who gaze.

Give us your blessing still—
Oh, Lord, bless all the earth!
For Christ, your son, today fulfills
the mission of his birth.

The peoples praise you, God—
may all the peoples praise,
for Christ is lifted heavenward,
redeeming all our days.

Icon of the Crucifixion, 16th century, by Theophanes the Cretan (Stavronikita Monastery, Mount Athos) Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1288231

Via Crucis

From Eden where we walked with God,
to Egypt and the driver's lash,
the raging sea we walked dry-shod,
the waves we walked when thunders clashed,

each step reveals us more and more:
We cannot walk without his hand
or know, unless he goes before,
where we should walk or safely stand.

And yet this road goes on and on,
and he who leads turns not aside.
He walks unflinching 'til 'tis done,
but will we, likewise, walk beside?

For this road leads to Calvary;
though we turn back we but delay
our blossoming upon that tree
that comes to all ere break of day.

And though we stumble, so did Christ
who prayed the cup might pass him by.
He feared his being sacrificed,
and yet consented still to die.

Take courage, then, though we must bleed,
for there beside us on the cross
in every step, in every need,
Christ bleeds with us in every loss.

Kreuzweg in der Kirche St. Pantaleon – Reuth am Wald, Photo By DALIBRI – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=51079449

Silence

The stones that swallowed Abel's blood
cried out their shame to God.
The Father who had called them good
stooped down to earth and heard.

But now he sits on heaven's throne
and, grieving, hides his eyes
as blood and water soak the stone
beneath the man who dies.

When Isaac on the altar lay
and feared his father's hand,
the Father spoke a word to stay
and spared the sinless man.

But now he turns and stops his ears;
this day he will not see.
Who hears all prayers will now not hear,
“Hast thou forsaken me?”

Turn back again! O Lord, how long?
Three hours, and then three days?
Until you hear the rising song
of him who lives to praise?

Then silence, stones! And Christians, mum!
Until that great sunrise
when Christ restores the deaf and dumb
and cheers his Father's eyes.

One of the most moving moments of the Palm Sunday liturgy, in my opinion, is that pause in the middle of the Gospel reading when, Christ having given up his spirit, we all kneel in shock and silence. We didn’t do that yesterday, so I wrote about it today.

From a 14th-15th century Welsh Manuscript By Unknown author – This digital image can be seen in its original context hereThis image is available from the National Library of WalesYou can view this image in its original context on the NLW Catalogue, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=41642794

The Good Thief

We had this reading yesterday:

Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying,
“Are you not the Christ?
Save yourself and us.”
The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply,
“Have you no fear of God,
for you are subject to the same condemnation?
And indeed, we have been condemned justly,
for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes,
but this man has done nothing criminal.”
Then he said,
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
He replied to him,
“Amen, I say to you,
today you will be with me in Paradise.”
Luke 23: 35-43

Our deacon mentioned in his homily that Christ’s reply to the penitent criminal is actually surprising for a man in agony–something I hadn’t considered before, but with which I am familiar. I can’t even answer patiently when I’m hungry, much less in pain. And that got me thinking. And then I wrote:

  His hands bound to the beam
 cannot reach out for grace,
 but close beside him, mercies stream
 to fill this deathly place.
 How easy to blaspheme,
 spit on the stricken face
 of him who came but to redeem
 the wounded human race.
 
  Here, where all fear has fled,
 where life and judgment meet,
 where all should be despair and dread,
 here is the mercy seat.
 And so, he bows his head
 in fealty, not defeat,
 to worship once before he's dead
 and shed his long deceit.
  
 Here do the weeping eyes
 fix all their gaze on him--
 him whom all goodness should despise--
 and welcome him to heav'n.
 Utter the sacrifice,
 complete the gift is giv'n:
 one faulty soul the giver's prize,
 one whole world here to win.