Lilies

Learn from the way the wild flowers grow.
They do not work or spin.
But I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor
was clothed like one of them.
If God so clothes the grass of the field,
which grows today and is thrown into the oven tomorrow,
will he not much more provide for you, O you of little faith?
So do not worry and say, ‘What are we to eat?’
or ‘What are we to drink?’ or ‘What are we to wear?’
All these things the pagans seek.
Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.
But seek first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness,
and all these things will be given you besides.
Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself.
Sufficient for a day is its own evil.

—Matthew 6:24-34

Don't worry for tomorrow,
but let it go its way.
Sufficient is the sorrow
that comes in every day.

This one has got its evils
enough for you to meet.
Your sowing and your reaping
cannot delay its grief.

Then let your hands be open,
come laughter or come dread;
your reaping and your sowing
shall be your daily bread.

Consider well the lilies,
how gorgeous they appear:
Not all the threat of winter
can make them bow to fear.

Though to the year they've fallen
and faded into death,
they know the spring is coming,
and they shall rise again.

And so their blossoms open
that cannot last the day,
their hope forever sowing
beyond the leaves that fade.

François Barraud: Nature morte de fleurs aux lys, 1934 – http://www.sikart.ch/ImgRenderer.aspx?id=6004010, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10277705

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

Spring Flowers & Samaritan Woman

Two today, about not being abandoned. Yes, even us. Yes, even now. The first, “Spring Flowers”, can be sung to the tune of “The Church’s One Foundation.”

In every flow'r that rises
from spring's downtrodden mud
the hopes our heart now prizes
lie nourished by the flood.
The end of winter's crisis
is swaddled in each bud:
the seeds of sacrifices
fed by our savior's blood.

For Christ is here beside us
in every cry of fear,
through doubts that now betide us
is counting every tear.
The shepherd who espied us
when lost in anxious drear
comes closer now to guide us
and draw us still more near.

Who died for our own rising
will not leave us to mourn
but in his sacrificing
grants that we are reborn:
Alive in his baptizing
with new robes to be worn.
New hope springs up, surprising;
new flow'rs the spring adorn.

The second, “Samaritan Woman,” comes from the Gospel for last Sunday.

Well, there you go: You know what I have done.
My life's great failures summed up in one phrase—
“Go, fetch your husband.”—though you know I've none.
My sin, I think, 's the only thing that stays.

But you have not yet left; you sit there still
and speak to me of spirit and of truth
'til I forget the jug I came to fill
and drink the first words my great thirst to soothe.

I can still meet the Father, even here
and even me; I am not cast aside,
but like a dipper when the well is near
I can bear him, can have some good inside.

And you, the wellspring: If I trace your source
I can approach—yes, even I—the life
that flows through every river in its course
and love it like a good and faithful wife.

He will not leave us orphans. Really, really not. Even if we’re afraid.