Staring At the Heavens

When they had gathered together they asked him,
“Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?”
He answered them, “It is not for you to know the times or seasons
that the Father has established by his own authority.
But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you,
and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem,
throughout Judea and Samaria,
and to the ends of the earth.”
When he had said this, as they were looking on,
he was lifted up, and a cloud took him from their sight.
While they were looking intently at the sky as he was going,
suddenly two men dressed in white garments stood beside them.
They said, “Men of Galilee,
why are you standing there looking at the sky?
This Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven
will return in the same way as you have seen him going into heaven.”
Acts 1:1-11

To the tune AURELIA:

We're staring at the heavens
to see the Lord's return,
but to the earth we're given,
to serve as he has done:
Not with the wings of angels
or soul's unbodied flame,
but with th hands he made us
to labor in his name.

For Jesus came incarnate
from heaven to the earth:
like ours, his human body;
like ours, his helpless birth.
Though heaven witnessed to him,
his suffering and death,
it's here on earth we knew him
who gave us life and breath.

So let us not stand staring
and watching empty skies,
but let us go forth daring
to witness to the Christ:
our feet in faithful roving,
our hands in mercy's work,
our hearts and minds in loving
God's images on earth.

*Ascension of Christ* by Adriaen van Overbeke, c. 1510–1520 – https://www.christies.com/lotfinder/Lot/antwerp-school-circa-1510-1520-the-ascension-of-5790472-details.aspx, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=83155533

Breath

You spoke my name, and I began;
you breathed your life into my clay,
and by that breath alone, I am:
a word you've chosen still to say.

Not mine alone, but your breaths, too,
from that first cry in Bethlehem,
in every moment make me new—
and you alone can number them.

The widow's son and Lazarus
and Jairus' daughter lost in death:
You came to them (to all of us)
and gave them back the living breath.

You breathed your last upon the cross
and first again on Easter morn.
You sobbed and screamed through helplessness
as one of us since you were born.

My panting, gasping, choking days,
my yawns and drawn-out sighs of night:
You know them all, the songs of praise
and shouting at a world not right.

So let my every breath be yours,
for you have hallowed each of them,
and breathe upon me, living Lord,
that I may have your peace in them.

Alsace, Bas-Rhin, **Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Strasbourg** (PA00085015). Bas-côté sud, Verrière “Résurrection du Christ” (4eBc): Jésus apparaît aux disciples By © Ralph Hammann – Wikimedia Commons – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14571792

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 Could Have Stayed

To the tune FINLANDIA:

You could have stayed at peace within the desert;
you could have turned the very stones to bread
when he had gone, and you no more were tested,
but you returned.  You came to us instead.
Did you not know you would be tried and sentenced?
And still you came, and here you met your death.

You could have stayed in Nazareth forever,
your mother's son, your father's strong right hand,
master of nails, with naught to fear but splinters,
but you went out into the desert sands.
And did she weep, your mother, when you left her?
And did she know you'd not come back again?

You could have stayed in Egypt, in your exile,
where you were safe though Herod threatened still.
Why did you leave the waters of the rich Nile
for Jordan's banks?  What promise to fulfill?
Your mission called, and you came back to Israel,
and there you died, you blood a river spilled.

You could have stayed, O Prince of highest heaven,
among the hosts that endlessly adore,
but you came here alone and undefended
to Jordan's bank, and then its farther shore.
O Christ of God, O true self-giving Shepherd,
you came for us!  Stay with us evermore!

By Grigory Gaagarin – http://lj.rossia.org/users/john_petrov/680833.html#cutid1, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1780791

The Image of the Father

Through him all things were fashioned,
through Christ, the light from light.
A boundless grace unrationed
and all unhindered might
poured into dust and ashes,
o'erflowing day and night;
the sinews of compassion
in every depth and height.

And, in the Father's image,
these works of flesh and blood,
formed out of bone and kinship,
called by the Father good.
Not all the tides of envy,
nor wrath in all its flood,
the face of Christ have riven
or turned him from their love.

And so he came, full-hearted,
into the world he shaped;
he came and died a martyr
for what his love creates:
the image of the Father
in Abel and in Cain,
and he will not discard us,
but safeguards what he made.

In “Creation of Adam,” Michelangelo provides a great example of the substantive view of the image of God through the mirroring of the human and the divine. By Michelangelo – See below., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15461165

In This is Love

Beloved, let us love one another,
   because love is of God;
   everyone who loves is begotten by God and knows God.
Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love.
In this way the love of God was revealed to us:
God sent his only-begotten Son into the world
   so that we might have life through him.
In this is love:
   not that we have loved God, but that he loved us
   and sent his Son as expiation for our sins.
1 John 4:7-10

In this is love: Oh, not that I have loved,
but love itself sent love itself for me.
A jailer followed everywhere I roved,
and when I let him bind me, I was free.

In this is love: That in a wounded world
a healer came to bleed where I was cut.
Both his and mine is now my every hurt,
and mine his healing flowing in my blood.

In this is love: That what I cannot see
arrays itself in everything I can,
and when this fails at captivating me,
strips off its plumes and comes as but a man.

In this is love: That I can strike his face
and pluck his beard and trample on his name
and turn again in that same second's space,
and find that yet in love I do remain.

For this is love: This all-encompassing,
where any love I have is love for him.
Though I am bound forever in this ring,
'tis as beloved in her lover's arms.

First Epistle By Presbyter John, a monk – Codex Harleianus_5537 (minuscule 104 in the numbering Gregory-Aland), Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7984526

That Night

To the tune STILLE NACHT (“Silent Night”):

Weeping night, birthing night,
Mary calls: mother's plight.
In her labor she wails and she moans;
with the effort she cries and she groans
while the world is made new,
while the world is made new.

Troubled night, shocking night,
shepherds quake at the sight—
Heav'n dissolves in an ocean of fire,
deafens earth with its thundering choir—
yet they rise in their fear,
yet they rise in their fear.

Questing night, gasping night,
magi reel, take to flight.
This new star upends all they have known:
journey far to the newborn king's throne,
they will set out at once, 
they will set out at once.

Breathless night, searching night,
we are called to his side:
Helpless godhead, he weeps with our tears;
word eternal steps into our years.
All our sorrows are his,
all our sorrows are his.

Aching night, longest night,
yet it ends, morning bright.
Bound in linen, Christ lies in the stone;
he will wake when his hunger has grown.
Dawn breaks over us all,
dawn breaks over us all.

By Franz Xaver Gruber – Stille-Nacht-Gesellschaft, meinbezirk.at, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=83372286

Enfleshing

Knit in inner darkness, hidden in the womb,
heaven in your body 'til it lay entombed.
Flame within the ashes, spirit in the dust,
sunlight bound in grasses, iron sheathed in rust.

Christ, you came enfleshing words no ear had heard,
heav'n and earth enmeshing in your body, Lord.
Naked at your coming under shining stars,
naked at your going, man of love and sorrows.

All you had was Eden: fingerprints in earth
wound about with linen at your bloody birth.
All you had was only flesh from start to grave,
yet for our belonging, all you had you gave.

Ash aflame and rising, dust by spirit moved:
Death itself surprising, life again you proved.
Breathe into our bodies; raise them to your height;
knit like you in darkness, fill them with your light.

If you fudge the third line of each verse, you can sing this to NOEL NOUVELET.

Sacra famiglia (1610) By Giulio Cesare Amidano – Gonnelli, Florence, 12.12.2013, lot 21 via Arcadja auction results, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=69611179

Walk With Me

David Lee set this to music; you can find a PDF and MP3 here.

You, who walked the city streets and highways,
you, whose feet were covered in their dust,
walk with me through all my twisted byways;
take with me the steps I know I must.

You had not the shelter of the foxes;
you had not the comfort of the nest:
Walk with me the roads that lead through darkness;
be for me my shelter and my rest.

Word of God, that dwelt untouched above me,
Jesus, sinking in the mud of flesh,
walk with me and let me feel you love me.
Touch me still and fill my every breath.

You, who walked the valley of the shadow,
every step along the vale of tears,
walk with me and make this journey hallowed
through the darkened garden of my fears.

Son of God and image of the Father,
Christ Incarnate, wrapped in flesh and blood,
walk with me 'til I can walk no further.
Guide me by your never-ending love.

You Bid the Sky

The Spirit drove Jesus out into the desert,
and he remained in the desert for forty days,
tempted by Satan.
He was among wild beasts,
and the angels ministered to him.
Mark 1:12-15

For today’s readings, which range from Noah in the Flood to Jesus in the Desert:

 You bid the sky bring forth its birds,
 the earth its creeping, coursing beasts,
 with no more force than of your words.
 You gave them riches for their feasts.
  
 You set your bow among the clouds,
 a vow to every living thing
 that never more would floods drown out
 the world of voices meant to sing.
  
 And then—oh, wonder more than all!—
 you came in flesh made like their own,
 that creatures made but by your call
 might feel your touch in flesh and bone.
  
 Then in the desert, far from floods,
 you dwelt sun-drenched among the wild,
 preparing heart and soul and blood
 for years of toil and days of trial.
  
 Not as the hunter, proud and strong,
 but humble, hidden well as prey,
 you left your bow and journeyed on
 to meet your dreadful, final day.
  
 O Christ, who bore destruction here
 as mortal as the meanest beast,
 teach us to join you without fear
 in death and in your heav'nly feast.