Now Are the Mighty Fallen

“Alas! the glory of Israel, Saul,
slain upon your heights;
how can the warriors have fallen!
Saul and Jonathan, beloved and cherished,
separated neither in life nor in death,
swifter than eagles, stronger than lions!
Women of Israel, weep over Saul,
who clothed you in scarlet and in finery,
who decked your attire with ornaments of gold.
How can the warriors have fallen–
in the thick of the battle,
slain upon your heights!
I grieve for you, Jonathan my brother!
most dear have you been to me;
more precious have I held love for you than love for women.
How can the warriors have fallen,
the weapons of war have perished!”
2 Samuel 1:19, 23-27

Now are the embers darkened,

and dimly sinks the night;

stars fall from zenith softly,

to be swallowed by the light

that cracks the east like heartache

and seeps across the skies.

Now are the mighty fallen

to silence on the heights.



How can the day be dawning?

Morning has come too soon.

I'd swear I hear you calling—

how can you light be through?

How could there still be birdsong

when every song was for you?

Now are the mighty fallen,

and I am falling, too.



Strongest you were, and stronger

than lions in their pride,

swifter than hawks or thunder

or lightning as it dives,

gone now like any other,

fragile as every life.

Now are the mighty fallen;

blind are my weeping eyes.



Now you are gone, my brothers;

gone are the fathers, too.

Grinly now stand the mothers,

with sisters they're grieving you.

Now children rend their garments,

learning to weep too soon.

Now are the mighty fallen;

now we are fallen, too.

David Composing the Psalms, Paris Psalter, 10th century By anonymous – Paris psalter (BnF MS Grec 139), folio 1v, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=807679

Canticle

Based on the Canticle of Zechariah:

How long, O Lord, must I pray
and weep to deafened skies?
How long until the light breaks,
and when will your sun rise?
Our guns unleash their thunder;
our rockets blazing bright,
we split the skies asunder,
but this is not your light.

How long until you hear us,
until you look down low?
O Mercy, now draw near us
who in the shadows groan!
We wail along with sirens
as rubble fills the streets,
and afterwards, the silence
is not the sound of peace.

We long have dwelt in shadows:
of death, of doubt, of fear.
O God, in your compassion,
draw near to us!  Draw near!
Unlock the door that bars us;
free us and guide our feet
on paths you lay before us
into the way of peace.

Estatua en mármol de San Zacarías, ubicada en la iglesia de San Juan en Arévalo, Ávila. Está datada a mediados del siglo XII. By Ángel M. Felicísimo from Mérida, España – San Zacarías en Arévalo, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=107065485

Pietà

Did Eve hold Abel thus,
ev'n as she ached for Cain?
Was it for this she came of dust,
for this bore them of pain?

So Mary holds her son,
a swordpoint in her heart.
All prophecies are clanging gongs,
and silent stone cries out!

Yet even to this end,
our second-oldest tale,
even to this does God descend,
where weeping mothers wail.

So shall he fill the first,
our coming from the dust.
So shall he raise us from the dirt
who has lain there with us.

And tears shall turn to floods
that make the deserts bloom.
There will be no more Niles of blood,
when death has been entombed.

But, oh, how long, how long
shall Eve for Abel weep,
shall Mary hold her lifeless son,
and God his silence keep?

Michelangelo Buonarroti’s La Madonna della Pietà in Saint Peter’s Basilica, 1498–1499. Pontifically crowned by Pope Urban VIII in 1637. By Stanislav Traykov – Edited version of (cloned object out of background) Image:Michelangelo’s Pieta 5450 cropncleaned.jpg), CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3653602

Unanswerable Questions

Almighty God, when you condemn,
shall you convict the innocent?
Shall all your wrath rain down on them
when you mete out our punishment?

The infants dashed upon the rocks
as recompense paid to their kin:
Were they not lambs within your flock?
What was the nature of their sin?

All Sodom's wives and daughters, too:
Were they not worthy of your grace
for what their menfolk met to do?
Did not your likeness wear your face?

So now, the spotless lambs cry out:
What has your perfect justice wrought?
If Lot could get his family out,
why not these others, O my God?

And he, most innocent of all,
most Spotless Lamb, could he not live?
He that is down need fear no fall,
unless the Fall is all there is.

My sin can kill those yet unborn,
and still you let me sin and sin.
Why leave the wretched world forlorn
to draw the wretched sinners in?

What, then?  Will you redeem the blood
that cries aloud from every stone?
Or shall it be the second flood,
condemning what the world has done

while all the rest of us ride high
upon the crossbeam of the ark?
How long, O Lord?  And why?  Say why
you sit in silence, in the dark.

*Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah*, tempera and varnish on cardboard, 1929-30, High Museum of Art, By Henry Ossawa Tanner – High Museum of Art, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=28838167

Storm of Tears

To the tune BEACH SPRING (“As a Fire Is Meant For Burning”):

We are wound in Rachel's weeping,
Ramah drowning in her cries,
keening for the dead now sleeping
and the light fled from their eyes.
Standing with her, vigil keeping,
still we fall before her sighs:
Who withstands the sickle's reaping
while the heaps of bodies rise?

As we planted, we must harvest
evil's seed that sprouts and flow'rs.
All we dearest hold and hardest
falls to feed the earthly pow'rs.
Signs and portents, light and darkness:
Do we face our final hours
when the sky is swept and starless
and the greed of death devours?

So the wailing wind has swept us
in its terror and its grief,
and the storm is hard against us
as we sail the churning seas.
Yet he comes, the Christ, to help us:
frail as we are, clothed in needs.
Calm he walks, though storms beset us;
he has come to be our peace.

Christ, command the tempest storming
cease its warring and its strife.
Comfort all who go in mourning;
raise the widow's son to life.
And when Rachel sits bemoaning
at your tomb, her soul revive.
Lead her into your bright dawning;
sailing with your storm-tossed bride.

*Christ Walking on the water* By Julius Sergius von Klever – https://www.flickr.com/photos/100392349@N05/9558295431, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=42144936

Lament

To the tune ERHALT UNS, HERR (“The Glory of These Forty Days“).

Oh, Father, do you hear the cries?
The blood of Abel soaks the ground.
The voices of the stones would rise
if human voices make no sound.

In Ramah, women wail aloud:
Their missing children do not hear.
Beneath the bootheels of the proud
the lowly eat the bread of tears.

And Christ, who came to save his bride,
is hanging, dying on the tree.
The priests pass by on th'other side
and will not turn their heads to see.

Oh, hanging Christ, turn not your face,
God who refused to stand far off.
Oh, drown this world in floods of grace
and raise us on its waves aloft.

And with your love pierce all our hearts:
Lord, open up our hands and side
to take the gifts your grace imparts
and pour them forth to join your tide.
Amen.