Broken Epiphanies

Save me, O God: for the waters are entered even to my soul.
I stick fast in the deep mire, where no stay is: I am come into deep waters, and the streams run over me.
(Psalm 69:1-2, 1599 Geneva Bible)

Hieronymus_Bosch_-_Triptych_of_the_Adoration_of_the_Magi_-_WGA2606
Hieronymus Bosch, “Adoration of the Magi”, c.1480-1500 View larger image https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adoration_of_the_Magi_(Bosch,_Madrid)#/media/File:Hieronymus_Bosch_-_Triptych_of_the_Adoration_of_the_Magi_-_WGA2606.jpg

Is it, as Bosch would have it, a sinking scene,
hut scarcely erect, while in the background
knights and crusaders fight, and crazed faces peek
through cracks in the broken structure?
If so, my crazed face peeks.
Show me the truth through the falling thatch.
Let me climb to the roof to see
the light greater than the dark in me.

albrecht-dürer-0052088671118..jpeg
Albrecht Dürer, “Adoration of the Magi”, c.1504

Or, as for Dürer, does the Light lie in castle ruins?
Do relic-arches arc around the one who put
the promise-bow into the arching sky?
Do dark clouds gather on the edges? If so,
those clouds are me. O light eternal,
lighten the load the makes me droop and bristle.
I drown in the dry of my day.
Unwise, I come. Do not send my tattered folly away.

Nazarene

Image: Open Doors
Image: Open Doors

“We can only silence the guns of hatred with the guns of love.”

– Nigerian church leader, quoted in Open Doors prayer letter


I am broken in my love:

I cry, I steal,

I hurt, I hate.

My heart has guns which fire and kill

and I am daily killed.

 

I do not understand my friend;

my neighbour dies,

I pass him by.

I do not walk across my street

or see you in your home.

 

The scarf around your head sparks fear;

my crucifix

is shame to you.

The Nazarene upon the cross

lives not like I have lived.

 

All exiles, while the Garden grows

far from our homes,

we never meet

or open hands to shake, to greet

and give as we’ve received.

 

Yet love transformed by crown of thorns

has power to

unload these guns.

Such love has wounds to mend the rift

and make us many One.

 

O I am broken in my love.

I cry, I steal,

I hurt, I hate.

O Jesus, Nazarene, come heal;

come open doors and sing.

Evening Collect: The Horn is Lifted (Cornucopia of Heaven)

Adriaen van Ostade - A Baker Sounding His Horn (Wikimedia Commons)
Adriaen van Ostade – A Baker Sounding His Horn (Wikimedia Commons)

Evening Collect: The Horn is Lifted

After Hammock, “Tres Dominé

 

O God –

the empty horn is lifted;

the hollow shell is given voice;

the broken branch is whittled out

and sings.

 

Three persons,

my emptiness becomes Your fullness;

my earthen jar becomes Your vessel;

my bruised reed hums with Your song

in praise.

 

My soul

is empty, yet Your table flows with plenty.

The thrum in my heart resounds in Your space.

O God, to You this broken shell is lifted:

let it fill.

 

 

Expectation (The Cornucopia of Heaven)

Resurrection

Expectation

After J.S. Bach, “Mass in B Minor: Et Expecto Resurrectionem”

 

We              begin           small:
a kernel        dropping        to soil
a weak          and fickle      seed
a broken        passing         moment
                                      dust
                         expectantly,
                                  expectant…
of what           breaks forth
                              in trumpet-shower,
            in polyphonic spring,
                        in vibrant alleluia
                            voices thrumming, harmony
                                     bursting
                  from these broken chords
                        in joy!
           What we sow now,    broken,
                        soon we reap
                in harvest plenty,
                        singing where
                            our tears once fell:
            Alleluia!
                        Alleluia!
                                    Alleluia!                   Expectantly.

The Lord’s Prayer (Cornucopia of Heaven)

Lords_prayer_-_geograph.org.uk_-_958221

The Lord’s Prayer

After Otto Nicolai, “Pater noster, Op. 33” 

Our Father –

the heavens are Your home,
       earth Your tent,          and yet

           You are a Father.           Teach
our fickle hearts,       our yelling hearts,
           to still, to stop
to look upon               Your glory, high
                               and lifted up.
Our Father who         our Father in
            Our Father, You who are in heaven
                   hallowed be
              Your name, Your will
      be done in us,    be done in dust.
This broken, fickle dust proclaims
            Your high, exalted, heaven name.

Our Father – You who are
            in heaven – lift
       our      broken            prayers.
       Hallowed be Your name, Your throne
            be known on earth
                today,  as in

            Your heavenglory     home.