At Last

As sentinels wait for the dawn
and wonder if day will arrive,
or if they have strength to go on,
we wait for your mercy, O Christ.

When they who have waited so long 
can finally lift up their heads
and see justice righting the wrongs
and peace at last comfort the dead.

For over the fields of our wars
she spreads out the shade of her wings,
the graves that will hold us no more
where paupers lie buried with kings,

and they who have fallen will rise
and sinews will cover dry bones.
The Spirit will fill them with life
and all that was hidden be known.

But when is it coming, that day
when mercy and truth hand-in-hand
shall lay down their straight, level way?
The promised land waits at its end.

Remember your promise, O Lord,
your covenant made ages past.
Come, turn all the earth with bent swords
and replant your garden at last.

13th century depiction of a ploughing peasant, Royal Library of Spain By Baudouin d’Arras – photographie, travail personnel, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3837028

Watch

Jesus said to his disciples:
“Be watchful! Be alert!
You do not know when the time will come.
It is like a man traveling abroad.
He leaves home and places his servants in charge,
each with his own work,
and orders the gatekeeper to be on the watch.
Watch, therefore;
you do not know when the lord of the house is coming,
whether in the evening, or at midnight,
or at cockcrow, or in the morning.
May he not come suddenly and find you sleeping.
What I say to you, I say to all: ‘Watch!’”
Mark 13:33-37

Awake my heart, O Lord,

for I have been asleep,

but now the night is creeping toward

the watch that I must keep.



And touch my weary eyes:

The sun has long gone down,

and I must wait a new star's rise,

outshining even dawn.



You, sun of justice, rose,

and oh! your day was bright!

You went as every evening goes;

now we wait out the night.



For day will come again

a shining, searing blaze:

the presence of the Great Amen,

light thrown on all our ways.



A day without an end,

a night without a dawn,

where day and night abide as friends

and all our fear is gone.



Then wake my heart, O Lord;

let me not miss that light 

but keep me ever yearning toward

your glory in the night.

Il Cristo Redentore By Melozzo da Forlì (attributed) – http://www.piosodaliziodeipiceni.it/img/24sede.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=43654623

Oil

The seed is in the soil now,
but still the rains don't come.
The lamp has no more oil now,
but still the night goes on.

The earth cries out for blessing,
and its voice could be mine.
The water jars are empty:
How shall I pour out wine?

I trust you as the sparrow 
and love you in my lack.
My hand is on the harrow,
and I have not turned back.

The wisdom of the maidens:
I filled my flask with oil,
made ready for the waitingm
made ready for your joy.

But where now is the bridegroom?
Why is he so delayed?
I've burned all my supply through,
and oh, the hour is late.

How can the lamp keep burning
as night turns into days?
Come, Lord, into the yearning
and set my heart ablaze!

An oil lamp made of clay used for the diwali festival in India (Haryana). By Arne Hückelheim – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12395926

When Night Is Longest

Will you come when night is longest,
from the deepest darkness come,
with our longing at its strongest,
and our weary senses numb?
When the days are at their coldest
and our hearts are colder still,
when our flame is at its lowest,
will you come, our lamps to fill?

There were days when oil of gladness
ran like rivers to the sea.
Now our eyes are filled with shadows
and our light too dim to see.
Keep us watchful by your starlight,
if our lamps run out of oil,
so to meet you in the dark night,
like a seed deep in the soil.

Yes, within the night you blossom,
ember blooming into flame,
dark unfolding into promise
all invisible by day.
Give our blunted senses sharpness,
when our lamps can give no light,
still to seek you in the darkness
and to greet you in the night.

By NovelNik – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=79687392

It Will Be Good

Mashing up Psalm 126, James 5, and therapy. Set to music by the inimitable Paul Zach:

We sowed the fields in sorrow
and watered them with tears,
but we will reap tomorrow
the harvest of our years.

The hopes all came to nothing,
the seedlings choked with thorns,
but something else is growing
among the seeds we've sown.

At dawn, we went out weeping,
seeds falling from our hands,
but we will come home singing
when dusk has touched the land.

Then let the rains come early,
and let the rains come late.
The seasons still are turning,
if only we will wait.

So watch the fields with patience
and love the fallen seeds;
the God who hears us praying
will give us all we need.

It won't be what we planted
or what we understood.
It won't be what we wanted,
but, oh!, it will be good.

Vincent van Gogh – The Sower – the-sower-vincent-van-gogh-1853-1890/DgGm5xSd6Ik5rg at Google Arts & Culture, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=116387347

O Lord, My Lamp Is Going Out

Jesus said to his disciples:
“Gird your loins and light your lamps
and be like servants who await their master’s return from a wedding,
ready to open immediately when he comes and knocks.
Blessed are those servants
whom the master finds vigilant on his arrival.
Amen, I say to you, he will gird himself,
have them recline at table, and proceed to wait on them.
And should he come in the second or third watch
and find them prepared in this way,
blessed are those servants.”
Luke 12:35-38

O Lord, my lamp is going out
before the buffets of the wind
that wails aloud as thunder shouts
to snuff the guttered light within.

But still the bridegroom does not come
while midnight stretches on and on.
How long, with hands and hearts gone numb,
can we yet stand and wait for dawn?

The storm refuses to abate;
our lights are growing yet more dim,
but still we stand and still we wait
and fight to hold some hope of him.

No ear shall hear above the wind,
but we still lift our voice in song
that our deep darkness shall be hymned
though still it stretches on and on.

Come quickly, then, to tend the flames
when hearts and flasks have all run dry.
Revive the lips that sing your name
while yet the long night passes by.

O Master, do not wait for dawn,
but come—Come now; no more delay!
For in your light the night is gone,
and you, yourself, shall be our day!