Counted

“For I tell you that this Scripture must be fulfilled in me,
namely, He was counted among the wicked;
and indeed what is written about me is coming to fulfillment.”
—Luke 22:14-23:56

We had Eden, but we lost it,
and our lives as leaves are flown.
Now a chasm—Lord, you crossed it—
lies between us and your throne.
You are counted with the fallen,
flesh of flesh and bone of bone.

Now into creation's burden
you have come to bear its griefs,
and at last to crush the serpent
died, a leaf among the leaves.
You were counted with the worthless,
as a thief among the thieves.

Knowing this would mean your slaughter,
still you filled the wounded world.
Even the rope that Judas knotted
had you woven in the cord.
You were counted with the godless,
and you took their death as yours.

Even the leaf by winter withered
clinging empty to the vine
you will draw into your kingdom
when you drink the brand-new wine.
You were counted with the sinners:
Count us, Lord, with the divine.

Ecce Homo, Nuno Gonçalves, 15th century By Unknown author – [1], Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6014228

Alabaster Jar

When he was in Bethany reclining at table
in the house of Simon the leper,
a woman came with an alabaster jar of perfumed oil,
costly genuine spikenard.
She broke the alabaster jar and poured it on his head.
Mark 14:1-15:47

The carven alabaster,
a jar of sweet perfume,
rains out upon the master
anointing for the groom.
But once the flask is open,
no more can it be shut.
The hollow must be broken,
entirely poured out.

So Christ the living chalice
that holds the love of God,
not only tipped but shattered,
pours water from the rock.
And we are rendered speechless
as all the house is filled
with wonder at the fragrance
when that perfume is spilled.

We weep when it runs empty,
the sweetness all poured out;
we mourn to see his ending,
and all our tears drop down.
Though broken in his body,
anointed for the tomb,
still Christ pours out like water
the flood that makes us new.

Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Berlin. Berlin, Berlin. Germany. Schilderij, Christus in het huis van Simon de farizeër, Dierick Bouts, ca 1465-1470. Painting. Christ in the House of Simon the Pharisee. Dierick Bouts. Ca 1465-1470. . Dieric Bouts (ca 1410/1415-1475). pmrmaeyaert@gmail.com. © Paul M.R. Maeyaert. © Paul M.R. Maeyaert. Ref: PM_152261_D_Berlin. DO NOT CHANGE THE FILE NAME. NE PAS CHANGER LE NOM DE FICHIER. By PMRMaeyaert – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=144874337

A Gentle Lord

For the Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A:

The one who cast down chariots
and parted waters in the sea
comes to us riding on a colt
to set the bound and captive free.

He comes to us a gentle Lord
to bless the bread, the cup to fill.
He breaks the bow and bends the sword
and bids us know him and be still.

Not to the mighty but the weak,
not to the great but to the small
does Christ the tender shepherd speak,
does he reveal the Father's all.

Not to the wise and learnèd ones
but to the children and the lambs
does Jesus show what God has done
and leads them to the great I Am.

Lift up your heads, you mighty gates;
cast off the yoke of your success,
for patiently he stoops and waits
to lay on us his yoke of rest.

He hides his wisdom from the wise,
so let us lift our heads and see:
In wars unfought and burdens light
our shepherd leads us into peace.

Entry into Jerusalem, by Giotto, 14th century. By Giotto – Unknown source, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2941674

Pilate’s Wife

While [Pilate] was still seated on the bench,
his wife sent him a message,
“Have nothing to do with that righteous man.
I suffered much in a dream today because of him.”
Matthew 27:19

Lately in a dream I saw him
riding on the coming storm.
Harnessed lightning drew him onward
like a son of Saturn born.

Mother Earth with dread was shaking
at the thunder of his touch;
Atlas' mighty shoulders shaking
fumbled heaven's every torch.

So they fell like sparks in shadows,
briefest flashes in the dark—
darkness deepened past all fathoms,
swallowing my stricken heart.

There I saw the son of Saturn
binding Pluto in his chains,
turning back the ship of Charon,
emptying death's great domains.

Then he turned on me his notice:
Jupiter shed his disguise,
spoke of love in words I knew not,
drowned me in his mortal eyes.

So was I Semele burning
in the glory I was shown.
Now I send you urgent warning:
Leave the righteous man alone.

The Message of Pilate’s Wife (1886–94) by James Tissot (Brooklyn Museum) – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.260a_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10957662

Hosanna!

For Palm Sunday:

When horse and chariot sink into the sea
while shattered armies scatter on the run,
he rides a beast of burden in the street.
Hosanna to the king, to David's son!

While idols crack beneath the people's gaze
and watch their nations crumble, blind and dumb,
he enters on the noise of children's praise:
Hosanna!  Blessèd is the king who comes!

When holiness is bought and sold for alms,
salvation is a reckoning of sums,
he rides on borrowed robes and foraged palms:
Hosanna!  In the name of God he comes!

And we shall crown him as a victor king
and see him lifted up in all his might
as from his fullness we take everything.
Hosanna!  Oh, hosanna in the height!

He comes to found a kingdom of the poor,
to show the face of God to all the world,
to cancel every debt.  Lift up, you doors!
Hosanna!  Oh, hosanna to the Lord!

Palmesel (figure of Christ on a donkey, mounted on a wheeled platform). Art from Southern Germany, perhaps Swabia. By Marie-Lan Nguyen (2012), CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18285774

Shout For Joy, Take II

Not entirely happy with my last piece, I am splitting it up into two songs. Here is the first, to the tune NETTLETON (or ODE TO JOY still works):

Shout for joy, O daughter Zion!
See at last your king has come!
On an ass rides Judah's lion;
horse and chariot both are done.
Now the warrior's bow is banished
from his reaches, sea to sea.
War forevermore has vanished;
now at last there will be peace!

But the road before is weary;
but the hill he climbs is steep.
Soon the crowds will turn from cheering;
Christ a greater vict'ry seeks.
Not by conquest shall he conquer;
not by war can war be stilled.
Shout “Hosanna!” at the wonder:
Death by death alone is killed.

This the road that lies before him:
He surrenders all to love.
Come, apostles, lay your swords down,
for his kingdom lies above.
Soon this world in fire dissolving
shall with heaven be made new.
Christ our life shall rule in all things;
peace at last shall reign in truth!

*Entry into Jerusalem*, by Giotto, 14th century. – Unknown source, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2941674

Shout For Joy, O Daughter Zion!

For Palm Sunday, to the tune ODE TO JOY:

Shout for joy, O daughter Zion!
See at last your king has come!
On an ass rides Judah's lion;
horse and chariot both are done.
Now the warrior's bow is banished
from his reaches, sea to sea.
War forevermore has vanished;
now at last there will be peace!

Lift your heads, you mighty portals:
Let the king of glory in.
Who is he, a mighty warlord?
No, an off'ring for our sin.
He shall fall as free as manna
that his vict'ry may be won.
Line the roads and shout, “Hosanna!
Blessed is great David's son!”

Raise aloft your songs and branches;
lay your cloaks before his feet.
Shield him from the dust and ashes
once before his death he meets.
Come, Jerusalem, embrace him;
gather to him while you can.
Lift your palm leaves high and praise him!
Come and see: Behold the man!

Palmesel (figure of Christ on a donkey, mounted on a wheeled platform). Art from Southern Germany, perhaps Swabia. Photo By Marie-Lan Nguyen (2012), CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18285774

Swords and Clubs

At this they laid hands on him and arrested him.
One of the bystanders drew his sword,
struck the high priest’s servant, and cut off his ear.
Jesus said to them in reply,
“Have you come out as against a robber,
with swords and clubs, to seize me?
Mark 14:1-15:47

They come for you with clubs and swords,
so we draw ours—the ancient way—
but, meek before these earthly lords,
Christ tells us, “Put your swords away.”

Oh, we would fight for you, great God!
And we would triumph in your name!
The hand that strikes you with the rod,
we strike it off, to spare your shame.

But this is not the peace you sow—
Lord, we have ears but have not heard!
A lamb before the shears you go
and utter not a single word.

This is the ancient war you wage:
The only sword you draw is death,
and with it calm the storms of rage
and pass away, a fading breath.

Oh, touch our ears to hear at last
the words you tell us still today,
to turn from all our violence, lest
the violent bear us all away.

The Arrest of Christ, c. 1450-1460, By Dieric Bouts – Web Gallery of Art: Image Info about artwork, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14882508

Come To Us, O King and Savior

Based on Sunday’s first reading from Zechariah, and on Psalm 72. To the tune HYFRYDOL (“Love Divine, All Loves Excelling”).

Come to us, O king and savior!
Come, at last: Begin your reign.
Banish fear from us forever;
break the bow and bolts of pain.
Come, O savior, come, deliver
earth from death's oppressing chain.
From your never-ceasing river
to the seas spread your domain!

Come, O Jesus, meek and humble,
storm our city on your colt.
Running to your side, we stumble:
Give us your strong hand to hold.
When our false foundations crumble,
be, O Christ, our cornerstone;
when the storm and thunder rumble,
let us stand on you alone.

Come with judgment, Lord, and justice
for the needy and the poor.
Save the powerless from violence;
come, their fortunes to restore.
Let rejoicing at your triumphs
drown the endless drums of war,
fill the vast and deathly silence
with your name forevermore!

Silence

The stones that swallowed Abel's blood
cried out their shame to God.
The Father who had called them good
stooped down to earth and heard.

But now he sits on heaven's throne
and, grieving, hides his eyes
as blood and water soak the stone
beneath the man who dies.

When Isaac on the altar lay
and feared his father's hand,
the Father spoke a word to stay
and spared the sinless man.

But now he turns and stops his ears;
this day he will not see.
Who hears all prayers will now not hear,
“Hast thou forsaken me?”

Turn back again! O Lord, how long?
Three hours, and then three days?
Until you hear the rising song
of him who lives to praise?

Then silence, stones! And Christians, mum!
Until that great sunrise
when Christ restores the deaf and dumb
and cheers his Father's eyes.

One of the most moving moments of the Palm Sunday liturgy, in my opinion, is that pause in the middle of the Gospel reading when, Christ having given up his spirit, we all kneel in shock and silence. We didn’t do that yesterday, so I wrote about it today.