Crumbling of Empire

Oh, Blessed One, Beloved Abba, whose womb squeezed forth all that is, humus and human alike, animate and inanimate together, sun and moon and galaxies, without end.

Oh, Sweet Deliverer, fruit of Mary’s annunciation, troubler of worlds and troubadour of heaven’s fidelity
whose call to the table gathers the lame and binds every shame with the promise of feast
for the lost, for the least, for the last, and all willing to sing this insurrectionary song.

Oh, Wisdom of Days, breath of life in lungs of clay; pregnant promise to Sarai and Abram. Flaming visage to Moses, whisperer to prophets and confounder of priests. Answer to Hannah’s lament and Elizabeth’s regret.

Give light from darkest night that surrounds and protects our way, even in death, sowing

Redemption’s harvest with each martyr’s blood.

For the worlds we inhabit are shaken and shattered by fearful threat and the agonized cries of soil and soul who serve as fodder for the cannons of discontent with your economy of grace.

Make us extravagant lovers in these dangerous times.

Deepen in us the capacity for reverence, sufficient to sustain the risk of our baptismal vows.

Confirm in us the assurance that one day, in the crumbling of empire, mercy will trump vengeance.

©Ken Sehested @ Adaptation of the author’s poem by the same name.