There’s No Highway Through This Desert

I have stood here in the wasteland
with the Red Sea at my back,
and the army that had chased me 
was a ripple in the wrack.

I have walked here as a pilgrim,
held your wisdom ever dear,
sought your face across the distance—
I have wandered forty years.

There's no highway through this desert
and no river in these sands.
I am lost where winds are endless,
looking for a promised land.

But you've said a day is coming
when the highway will appear,
when the river will come running—
O my God, let it draw near!

Lay a level road before me
as you laid one through the sea.
Turn the desert into orchards;
let the famished come and eat.

Until then, O God, I wander
waiting for the feast to come.
Part the sands as you did water:
Lead the weary exile home.

An inferior mirage seen in the Mojave Desert in a Nevada spring By Brocken Inaglory – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10842357

Waves

I was not there to watch you shut
the sea within its doors,
to see you lift the mountains up
and bind the earth with shores,
but I have seen the ocean swells
rise up and break and fall,
that something of your mercy tells
beneath the gull's wild call.

For we are past the solstice now,
and summer's hold must break
though cruelty will have its hour
and Pharaoh holds his sway.
They rise and grow; they crash and sink
like waves upon the shore.
There is a time for everything—
so peace will come once more.

You set the limits of the sea
and you can part its waves,
just as you set the pris'ners free
and open up our graves.
You cast the mighty from their thrones
to crash upon the sands:
Though now we walk through waves unknown,
we still are in your hands.

Breaking wave in Porto Covo, Portugal By Alvesgaspar – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=36434062

Exodus

Like Moses in the desert,
barefoot before the flame,
or Samuel in the temple,
I did not know your name.
But you knew mine and called it,
O God of Abraham:
I come now as you draw me
to touch the great I Am.

Not to some distant mountain—
I would not know the way—
yet stones are springing fountains
in my mundanest days.
I have no mystic vision;
no angels fill my sight.
You are more deeply hidden,
but still I have your light.

Yes, I have walked this desert
and fallen in its traps,
but guide me, O my shepherd:
I have no other map
than lines across your body,
like veins that show through skin.
They lead me to your heartbeat:
O, let me enter in.

Henry Daras : Le buisson ardent.Musée d’Angoulême, Charente (France). By JLPC – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18059038

Guide

Where is the one who divided the waters before them—

winning for himself an everlasting renown—

Who guided them through the depths,

like horses in open country?

As cattle going down into the valley,

they did not stumble.
—Isaiah 63:12-14

You led your people through the waves,
your children through the depths
like horses on the open plain
who run for joy itself.
Then lead me as your led the herd—
oh, let me stumble not!—
by light and dark, by breath and word,
through death to life, O God!

And when you lead me through the depths
and chasms of my fear,
not only lead but draw my steps
and walk forever near,
that in the night of my abyss
I shall not want for light,
but as in all things so in this,
I find you still my guide.

So if I cannot see the way,
your mercy's flame still burns.
Though I am dark, yet there is day,
and always it returns.
I trust these dark and fearsome deeps 
are open to your sight,
then if you will my journey keep,
I'll run on through the night.

Wild Horses on the Range By Bureau of Land Management – http://www.wildhorseandburro.blm.gov/photo_gallery/photo81.htm, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4746172

The Red Sea Road

We set out on the Red Sea road,
but that was just the start,
for there are years and years to go
before we reach your heart.

We trembled as you parted seas
to make a fearless way;
we walked where Pharaoh's chariots seized,
in safety through the waves.

But still the road runs out ahead,
and still we travel on,
through day 'til stars lift up their heads,
through midnight into dawn.

The road has never doubled back,
not even when we turned,
but runs forever in its track,
as long as stars shall burn.

And every weary traveller sees
a different, winding road,
but still one God sees all of these
and leads them safely home.

Wherever my own road shall run,
and roads of those I love,
O Shepherd, guide my steps thereon,
as long as stars shall move. Amen.

Parz castle ( Upper Austria ). Frescos ( 1580 ) at the facade – Moses crossing the Red Sea. Instead of the pharao the pope is persecuting Moses i.e. the true protestant church. Photo By Wolfgang Sauber – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10383261

O Christ, the Burning Light of God

But the LORD said,
“I have witnessed the affliction of my people in Egypt
and have heard their cry of complaint against their slave drivers,
so I know well what they are suffering.
Therefore I have come down to rescue them
from the hands of the Egyptians
and lead them out of that land into a good and spacious land,
a land flowing with milk and honey.”
Exodus 3:1-8a, 13-15

To the tune CONDITOR ALME SIDERUM (“Creator of the Stars of Night”):

O Christ, the burning light of God,
the flame of love that Moses saw,
you heard our sorrows and came down
to make of earth a holy ground.

You saw our suffering and death
and counted every tear we'd wept.
You knew the plight of all th'enslaved
and bound yourself into their chains.

Come, take us from th'enslaver's hand
and lead us into Eden's land.
Though all the desert stretch before,
Lord, walk with us forevermore.

Through nights of waiting, days of thirst,
let living springs from dry stone burst.
Let manna all our hunger fill,
and flames of love burn in us still.

Come, save our bodies and our souls:
As bread from heaven, make us whole.
O Christ, who hears his people's voice,
turn all our sorrows into joys.

O promise made to Abraham,
you saved us by your own I AM.
Let every generation bless
God-with-us in the wilderness!

Moses vor dem brennenden Dornbusch, um 1920, Diözesanmuseum Freising, Inv. D 94117 By Gebhard Fugel – Own work (fotografiert in der Ausstellung “Gebhard Fugel 1863-1939. Von Ravensburg nach Jerusalem”. Galerie Fähre, Altes Kloster, Bad Saulgau, 2014), Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32072413

You Have Led Me Through the Desert

The people struck their tents to cross the Jordan,
with the priests carrying the ark of the covenant ahead of them.
No sooner had these priestly bearers of the ark
waded into the waters at the edge of the Jordan,
which overflows all its banks
during the entire season of the harvest,
than the waters flowing from upstream halted,
backing up in a solid mass for a very great distance indeed,
from Adam, a city in the direction of Zarethan;
while those flowing downstream toward the Salt Sea of the Arabah
disappeared entirely.
Thus the people crossed over opposite Jericho.
While all Israel crossed over on dry ground,
the priests carrying the ark of the covenant of the LORD
remained motionless on dry ground in the bed of the Jordan
until the whole nation had completed the passage.
Joshua 3: 13-17

To the tune NETTLETON.

You have led me through the desert;
you have held me through the years.
Every step, you have been present;
when I sought you, ever near.
When I strayed, you still were faithful;
when I fell, you, too, sank down,
not in wrath and not in failure,
but to lift me from the ground.

Lead me ever in your mercy,
through the day and through the dark.
Through my hunger and my thirsting,
show me yet your guiding spark.
If I never see your glory,
never reach the promised land,
if all other go before me,
still you have me in your hand.

When you lead me to the Jordan,
when you roll the river back,
give me courage for the journey
as you've given all I lack.
Let me trust again your goodness
and the wonders you have shown
still to bring me to the fullness
of the mercy I have known.

*Joshua and the Israelites crossing the Jordan* (Gustave Doré) Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=298035

You Open Up Your Hands

So they said to him,
“What sign can you do, that we may see and believe in you?
What can you do?
Our ancestors ate manna in the desert, as it is written:
He gave them bread from heaven to eat.”
So Jesus said to them,
“Amen, amen, I say to you,
it was not Moses who gave the bread from heaven;
my Father gives you the true bread from heaven.
For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven
and gives life to the world.”
John 6:24-35

You open up your hands
and pour your blessings down:
The strength to walk these desert lands
lies scattered on the ground.
We gather what you send—
Lord, help us turn from doubt
to trust tomorrow, once again,
your manna will abound.

The vale our road leads through 
is full of fears and harms,
but Father, you are ever true
through all of our alarms.
Not Moses, but from you
the bread of heaven comes;
then by its fullness, draw us to
the welcome in your arms.

And though we may rebel
upon this lifelong road,
still we must all these wonders tell
in every place we go:
how rocks become our wells
and springs burst forth from stones,
and daily bread from heaven fell
to bring us to your throne!

The Gathering of the Manna (color) By James Tissot – Jewish Museum, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8849141

Exodus

I took a road not meant for me,
a pathway not my own
where dry land carved into the sea,
and sank like any stone.

A galewind blew throughout the night;
the waters stood like walls,
but when I chased the burning light,
the seas began to fall.

And though I'd thought the way was dry,
I sank into the mud.
Those fortress walls that stood so high
came down on me in flood.

So now I hear deep call to deep:
The breakers and the waves
are roaring, roaring me to sleep
in praise of God who saves.

And now I know that you are God—
would that I'd known before
without the touch of staff and rod,
without the stormwinds' roar.

But I will sing your triumph, too,
from here beneath the sea,
for now I know it must be true:
You'll make a way for me.

Moses commands the return of the Red Sea. A print from the Phillip Medhurst Collection of Bible illustrations in the possession of Revd. Philip De Vere at St. George’s Court, Kidderminster, England. By Philip De Vere – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=44628620

As We Have Been

Thus says the LORD:
“You shall not molest or oppress an alien,
for you were once aliens yourselves in the land of Egypt.
You shall not wrong any widow or orphan.
If ever you wrong them and they cry out to me,
I will surely hear their cry.
My wrath will flare up, and I will kill you with the sword;
then your own wives will be widows, and your children orphans.”
Exodus 22:20-23

As we have suffered grief and loss,
so we have orphans been.
As you lost Jesus on the cross,
God, gather orphans in.
  
 As we have lost some strong support,
 we, widowed, stood alone.
 Christ, bound bound to pillar for men's sport,
 hold widows all your own.
  
 As we have wandered lost and lorn,
 were strangers in the land,
 so, Spirit, flown with Christ new-born,
 hold strangers in your hand.
  
 As we would love ourselves, oh Lord,
 who loves us first and still,
 so when we hear your saving word,
 let us by grace fulfill:

to love the outcast and the lost
 as we your love have seen;
 to love all those—beyond all cost—
 who are as we have been.
  
 Our Father, Son, indwelling Dove,
 give us your love, your grace.
 Give us yourself that we may love
 all those who bear your face. Amen