Arise, O LORD; O God, lift up thine hand: forget not the humble.
We who are weary here, crushed
beneath the burden of our existence in the world,
who cannot lift our heads for the weight of sorrow…
Some of us mutter to ourselves of our own misery,
defeated by the darkness to spurn any talk of light,
so drenched in wallowing are we that only the sharp
cutting of our tongues (and other weapons) upon the happiness of others brings
us any unpained recognition of being alive – and we curse that, too.
And some of us, bowed down with sadness and fatigue,
still cast our sight, like fishing lures, for any bite of hope,
bobbing along the surface, waiting for the nibble of a small comfort, or,
if brave enough, diving into the deep, submerging
the whole breadth of our brokenness into the ocean of divine mercy,
to be swallowed up by a greater being than ourselves,
one that is quick and liquid ready and eternally alive…
Rise up, O Lord, and bring with thee from the depth of the waters
all who have given themselves over to faith in the gulf of hope,
all who have sunk down in their littleness and plunged into their wounds
so they may seek and discover the love that abides there –
not their own miseries, but thy joy and thy triumph!
Lift thy hand, oh God, and with it, the multitudes
who, in their weeping and wretched afflictions,
did not spurn thy name, nor destroy thy images,
nor deny the gift of hope though the world made a mockery,
but who, rather, cast into the deep and trusted thee in the swim.
The One who lit the stars and set them in motion,
who pulls the tides with light-reflecting orbs,
and teems the earth and every body with the rush of life,
this is the One from whom I draw my living
and in whom I will pour all my tears and laughter and blood –
though the world forsake me and taunt me with their miseries,
I shall not be overcome… for I am already drowning in love.
© 2014 Christina Chase