Emmaus

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?”
Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets,
he interpreted to them what referred to him
in all the Scriptures.
As they approached the village to which they were going,
he gave the impression that he was going on farther.
But they urged him, “Stay with us,
for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over.”
So he went in to stay with them.
And it happened that, while he was with them at table,
he took bread, said the blessing,
broke it, and gave it to them.
With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him,
but he vanished from their sight.
Luke 24:13-35

When I am in the dark
and cannot see the morn,
let there be one who comes, O God,
and wakes me to the dawn.

When I have lost all heart
and taken my way home,
let there be one who can impart
new mercies and new hope.

I know I am a fool
and slow to understand;
let there be one whose word is true
to come and take my hand.

And when the road is long
and weary as the day,
let thre be one when night comes on
who says that he will stay.

Who opens my sad eyes
to joy beyond this dread.
Let there be one I recognize
in breaking of the bread.

And when I take a part,
oh, let my blind heart see.
Let there be one who lifts the dark:
Let there be Christ for me!

Supper at Emmaus, Caravaggio, 1606, Milan – Web Gallery of Art: Image Info about artwork, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=509489

Sing

For Holy Thursday, to the PANGE LINGUA:

Sing, my tongue, the saving wonders,
mysteries too great for words.
Sing, through all your stops and blunders,
though the most remains unheard.
Though your voice is drowned in thunders,
sing like any spring-struck bird.

Sing through all your earthly sorrows,
through the shadows that appall.
Christ's own earthly singing borrow:
Loudly on the Father call,
though you know you die tomorrow,
though your words will silent fall.

Though he knew what he would suffer,
Christ at supper sang the hymns.
Knowlingly himself he offered
for the flock that fled from him.
Every word of law and prophet
in his song new voice is giv'n.

Then, my tongue, through notes that falter,
sing a love too great to tell.
Sing the joys that fill the psalter;
sing the sorrows of the knell.
Christ is laid upon the altar:
Ring creation as his bell!

A Kremikovtsi Monastery fresco (15th century) depicting the Last Supper celebrated by Jesus and his disciples. The early Christians too would have celebrated this meal to commemorate Jesus’ death and subsequent resurrection. By Edal Anton Lefterov – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15129262

Cast Out From Every Eden

For Holy Thursday:

Cast out from every Eden,
adrift on every flood,
sold into our own Egypts,
we cried out to our God
who came to share it with us,
to dwell in flesh and blood:
The bread of our affliction
becomes the feast of love.

Our bodies fail and falter:
His own is just as weak.
We die, as we were born to:
He watches us and weeps.
Eternal and immortal,
he joins us in our death,
but on the night before it
he shares our broken bread.

So hunger turns to fullness,
and peace transforms our strife;
our darkness is refulgent,
and death becomes our life.
And we can be as God is,
who fills us, flesh and soul:
Mere bread becomes the body
that makes our being whole.

The Last Supper by Dieric Bouts – Web Gallery of Art: Image Info about artwork, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15451860

Flesh and Blood

Flesh and blood for flesh and blood,
wounded for the wounded ones.
Mercy poured on us in flood:
From the chalice rim it runs.

God-with-us, incarnate Word,
hands and eyes and breath like ours,
stands here on the spinning world,
keeping time with our own hearts.

As if this were not enough—
skin-shawled heaven walking earth—
still in overflowing love
you remain, defiant of death.

From your fullness we receive
gift on gift and grace on grace.
More than mind or heart conceive,
soul and body have a taste.

More than hope could dare or dream,
now we hold you, masked as bread:
you who led us, who redeemed,
taken as the world is fed.

You who made us flesh and blood
shared with us this lifelong need.
We have shared in heaven's food:
Make us bread, your world to feed.

Pilgrim Hearts

On the Eucharist, to the tune LAND OF REST:

We search for you with pilgrim hearts
and hunger for your grace.
We seek you, Lord, both near and far:
When will we see your face?

So weary when we took the road,
where will we find our rest?
Draw near to us, our hidden God,
and show yourself at last!

Oh, set a table on the way—
your feast alone redeems—
worth more than we could ever pay,
near your refreshing streams.

And call the weary pilgrims in
where mercies never cease
to rest from all their anxious din,
in comfort and in peace.

The wonder of this aching world
is this, your wedding feast,
where you kneel down—creation's Lord!—
to wash the pilgrims' feet.

So all our wand'ring ways have led
your weary trav'lers here
to know you in the broken bread,
our savior, ever near!

Early Christian painting of an Agape feast. Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=566566

We Work the Soil

A combination of Ordinary Time readings from Genesis and thinking about the Eucharist:

We work the soil, to reap its thorns and thistles;
we toil until we join the buried seed.
We sweat the days from birth to our dismissal,
and what we long for, we can never eat.

There is no bread that satisfies our hunger;
there is no wine can slake our endless thirst
until we taste the dirt we're buried under,
until the dust we came from comes to dust.

For we have poured out blood upon these furrows,
and thereof we have eaten bitter grains.
The firstfruits that we offered God were sorrows;
resentful and downhearted, we were Cain.

And this is the compassion of our maker,
the light that guides us into ways of peace:
He shapes himself of sod to be our savior;
the master serves his servants at his feast.

Not just the wheat Cain burned upon the altar,
but Abel's lamb disguised as simple bread.
So God accepts Cain's once-imperfect offering,
and Cain at last, at last can lift his head.

The dust we taste is not our bread forever,
and sorrow is not all we're doomed to eat.
Our seeds will finally grow to something better;
our bitter plantings blossom into sweet.

Cain and Abel, 15th-century German depiction from Speculum Humanae Salvationis By Unknown author – Title of Work: Speculum Humanae Salvationis Production: Germany; 15th century.Source: http://www.imagesonline.bl.uk/britishlibrary/controller/subjectidsearch?id=10614&startid=11550&width=4&height=2&idx=2, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34028272

Where Could We Ever Find Enough?

Jesus spoke to the crowds about the kingdom of God,
and he healed those who needed to be cured.
As the day was drawing to a close,
the Twelve approached him and said,
“Dismiss the crowd
so that they can go to the surrounding villages and farms
and find lodging and provisions;
for we are in a deserted place here.”
He said to them, “Give them some food yourselves.”
They replied, “Five loaves and two fish are all we have,
unless we ourselves go and buy food for all these people.”
Now the men there numbered about five thousand.
Then he said to his disciples,
“Have them sit down in groups of about fifty.”
They did so and made them all sit down.
Then taking the five loaves and the two fish,
and looking up to heaven,
he said the blessing over them, broke them,
and gave them to the disciples to set before the crowd.
They all ate and were satisfied.
And when the leftover fragments were picked up,
they filled twelve wicker baskets.
Luke 9:11b-17

Where could we ever find enough
to feed the hungers here?
No food could satisfy but love
unfading through the years.

But oh, our hearts are far too small
and fickle as the tide.
How could so little feed us all?
What feast could we supply?

What meagreness we have, you take
to bless beyond our ken,
and though it hurts, this bread you break:
You feed the thousands then.

Our hearts and hands, our bread and wine
all scattered far as crumbs:
Though these, you share your life divine.
Like this, your kingdom comes.

And though we fear to starve on crusts,
we feast beyond our hopes.
Your gift is more than all our trust;
your goodness overflows.

Then, Christ, the giver of the bread,
take all that you have made
and give us 'til the world is fed
on what you bless and break.

А. Иванов. Умножение хлебов By Alexander Ivanov – http://religionart.narod.ru/gal9/photo45.htm, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9087582

Broken Bread

As Jesus passed by,
he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the customs post.
He said to him, “Follow me.”
And he got up and followed him.
While he was at table in his house,
many tax collectors and sinners came
and sat with Jesus and his disciples.
The Pharisees saw this and said to his disciples,
“Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”
He heard this and said,
“Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do.
Go and learn the meaning of the words,
I desire mercy, not sacrifice.
I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”
Matthew 9:9-13

Christ, the broken bread of heaven,
dines with sinners at his side:
Flawed, impure of heart and leaven,
yet their hope is not denied.
From his table, none are driven;
in his mercy they abide.

Who are we that hear him calling?
Sinners, as the ones before.
Weak and helpless, barely crawling, 
still we see him at the door.
Reaching for him, we are falling:
He will raise us from the floor.

Not the strength of all the mighty,
not the whole world's gathered wealth,
naught restores the restores the souls we've blighted,
nurses wounded hearts to health,
'til he calls: We are invited
where the shepherd gives himself.

Not the sacrifices offered,
not the blood of countless sheep,
but the gift of Christ the shepherd
will our lives in mercy keep.
Underneath his cloak we're sheltered,
where we rest secure and sleep.

Can be sung to ST. THOMAS/TANTUM ERGO.

The Meal in the House of the Pharisee (Le repas chez le pharisien) By James Tissot – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.120_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10195965

Corpus Christi

To the tune AURELIA (“The Church’s One Foundation”):

The jar will not go empty;
the jug will not run dry
until, to earth descending,
God opens up the sky.
The orphan's prayers ascending,
the widow's anxious cry
he hears, and, his life ending,
he brings all else to life.

His Father's love fulfilling,
he gives his livelihood,
his very lifeblood spilling
for us and for our good.
Our cries of hunger stilling,
he gives himself as food.
A sacrifice full willing
pours out his grace in flood.

Come, then, all you who hunger,
receive from him and eat
the bread of endless wonder,
the wine of words so sweet.
You cannot tear in sunder
this gift for all your need,
for Christ entire lies under
the bread and wine you see.