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

Sing, My Tongue, His Body’s Glory

Riffing on the PANGE LINGUA:

Sing, my tongue, his body's glory:
God incarnate, Jesus Christ.
Sing his precious blood outpouring;
sing of his self-sacrifice.
He, the cross of shame adorning,
gives us back our paradise.

Born of Mary, man from woman,
God from glory came to earth.
Angel hosts adored the human,
sang the wonder of his birth.
Now the reason for his coming
we, astonished, here observe:

Bowing to the word that Moses
had received on Sinai's height,
he, the Word of God, unfolds it,
brings its mysteries to light,
finishes the ancient foretaste:
Death shall not pass o'er tonight.

Now the body born of Mary,
this he gives, disguised as bread;
takes the cup and, blessing, sharing,
gives his lifeblood to his friends;
all unstinting, all unsparing,
gives his all before his end.

Given once and gift forever,
on the altar he has lain,
joining what our sin had severed:
earth and heaven, one again.
Heart and mind and flesh together
sing of him, the lamb once slain.

So we kneel in adoration
here before the Son of God,
weeping in our jubilation
at the nature of his love.
Father, Spirit, Son in union,
we adore with flesh and blood.

*The Last Supper*, by Tintoretto, 1592–1594 – Web Gallery of Art: Image Info about artwork, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15542295

Ubi Caritas

You can chant this to the Ubi Caritas; it’s more of a riff than a translation. For one thing, I got the Latin wrong as I was thinking it over: I was thinking “et vera” instead of “est vera.” And I don’t speak Latin, anyway. But I like the riff, so here it is:

Where there is love and there is truth, you will find God.

For so in Christ we have been gathered, in God-with-us:
Divinity became our brother in human flesh.
We bore God's image; now he bears ours, who makes us one,
so let us now love with truthful hearts in Christ the Son.

And as the body's undivided, so, too, our minds
must be in truth and love united, honest and kind.
As he laid down his heav'nly glory, we lay aside
our bitter hate and angry storming, for love of Christ.

So now we gather with the blessed who've gone before
and pray we may inherit heaven and share their joy.
We see the face of Christ reflected in each one here;
may we see Christ himself directly forever there.  Amen.

Orthodox icon of Christ washing the feet of the Apostles (16th century, Pskov school of iconography) By anonimous – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3694589

Caritas

Lord Jesus, we are weary,
and there are miles to go,
with darkness ever nearing
and midnight hours of woe.
When we cannot see clearly,
your grace and mercy show,
and how you love us dearly,
and what we, too, must do.

Take up the cloth and water;
kneel down before each seat,
to wayward sons and daughters,
and wash their dusty feet.
A flock unblemished gather—
made spotless by your deed—
that you may give the Father
his gift to you complete.

But, Lord, I am not worthy
that you should kneel to me,
nor yet to be your servant—
what else, then, shall I be?
Your own, past all deserving
(your love has made so free)
made for you, kneeling, serving
in truth and charity.