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

Save Us, O God

So the LORD said:
“I will wipe out from the earth the men whom I have created,
and not only the men,
but also the beasts and the creeping things and the birds of the air,
for I am sorry that I made them.”
But Noah found favor with the LORD.

Genesis 6:5-8, 7:1-5, 10
Save us, O God: The waters rise
to drown the earth in flood,
as thunder drowns the heartrent cries
of creatures you called good.

Relent, O God; have mercy yet—
Our lives are but a day.
What could it take to clear the debt
before we're swept away?

Bring back, O God, what we have lost
beneath this flood of tears.
Though we could never bear the cost,
redeem the squandered years.

Renew, O God, the world you made:
Split land from sea again.
Though all your works we have betrayed, 
we, too, come from your hands.

Forget, O God, what we have done;
remember not the past,
but bring your sons and daughters home
through storm and flood at last.

Restore, O God, all humankind,
and let the waters part.
Let earth rise up again to find
the mercies of your heart.

12th-century Venetian mosaic depiction of Noah sending the dove By Anonymous Master – basilica san marco, venice, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4147510

New-Create Me

New-create me, God my Father;
heav'n with earth in my alloy.
Sweep your winds across my waters;
shape my formlessness and void.

Set the land and sea in order;
separate the dark and light.
Let each evening have its morning;
let my days lie down in night.

Stars like heartbeats mark the moments;
arcs of sunlight count the breath.
Part the waters with your doming:
blood and tears and gall and sweat.

Earth and ocean, set them teeming
with the life that you supply:
Creatures on your mercy leaning,
fruitful, may they multiply.

I am one, your own creation:
Plunge your hands into my earth.
Plant a garden in my chaos;
grow your plenty in my dearth.

Make me, God; remake me ever:
work and sabbath, drought and flood.
Shape your new earth and new heaven;
see your work and call it good.

The first day of creation, by Jean Colombe from the Heures de Louis de Laval [fr] – This file comes from Gallica Digital Library and is available under the digital ID btv1b52501620s/f12.item, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=39323912

Rejoice, O Daughter Mary

One for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception:

Rejoice, O daughter Mary,
O Zion, full of grace,
for in yourself you carry
the dawn of endless day.
And he who dwells within you,
who makes your darkness bright,
is all your hope's fulfillment
and heals the serpent's bite.

The shadow of the Most High
will douse the sword of flame.
Your son will be called Holy
and end the years of shame.
Then what we learned in Eden
that struck us at our roots,
with that he will redeem us:
The seed puts forth new shoots.

Our very death is hallowed,
for he will share its stings,
and we, who dwell in shadow,
shall find it is his wings.
The little one you carry
is God who hears our voice.
Rejoice with us, O Mary,
O mother of our joy!

Berthold Furtmeyr , “Tree of Death and Life”, Salzburg Missal (15th century) By Berthold Furtmeyr, Miniaturmaler des 15. Jahrhunderts – http://www.rpi-virtuell.de/arbeitsbereiche/artothek/impulse/paradies/furtmayr/furtmayr.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11425618

Being Dust

The whispered words were, “Let there be,”
that filled the earth with us.
“Return,” the whisper next shall be,
and we shall all be dust.

A thousand years within your sight
are breezes come and gone, 
a restless stirring in the night
that vanishes at dawn.

So we shall fade, so we shall pass,
a sigh upon the wind
caressing new-mown stems of grass,
that shall not come again.

Yet there is this: Your Spirit breathes
and stirs the fallen dust.
An ordinary wonder weaves
through every grain of us:

That anyone could love the mote
caught in the sunny beam
or settled in the grime to coat
the world that you let be.

Then let us love each other's dust
as you have loved it first.
Your Spirit blown in each of us
shows us what dust is worth.
Dust dancing in the sunlight in an old riding hall By E.mil.mil – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=36177296 OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA