O glorious God

O glorious God
whose face is terrifying but whose back is mercy,
You who come speaking Your Name to us
while hiding us in the cleft of the Rock
to shield our weakness from annihilation as You pass by!

Why did You create us,
knowing that we would instantly fall from Your obedience,
drift away from Your love?
The mystery of Your nature
dwarfs the mystery of our own.

How could a sinless God love us
who are nothing but sin in the flesh?
How could He that is pure Spirit desire us
who are but spittle and clay?
Yet You do love us,
You do desire us,
and for this we revere You.

Yes, Lord, Holy One
who has descended lower than our fall,
we revere You while we run away.

Catch us, Lord,
don’t let us escape,
burn our scoundrel selves by Your divine Fire
that purifies without destroying us
who cannot in any world deserve such mercy.

Yours is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory
of utter humility,
of unimaginable self-emptying.

Join us with You in that Kingdom,
share with us who hate You by our deeds
but love You by our sorrows
the Power,
that the Glory
that was Yours before the world ever was,
O Christ,
fell the forests of our sinful flesh,
that we might finally cry out to You,
Amen.
Amen, and again we cry, Amen.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us,
sinners.
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For we are Yours

O Christ, what a wasteland we have made the fertile fields Your blood has watered! You would walk in us, dispensing blessing, loving all comers, healing all and raising every creature to immortality, yet we bind our own feet, we willingly cripple ourselves like vain concubines of a fickle master. But You, O Christ, are the Lord, our God, the Bridegroom of the Bride, the Faithful and True, You who make her, who make us, spotless, secure, radiant, fruitful, who call us, 'Beloved, My one and only.'

O holy, divine Triad, You have said of us, 'We have a little sister, and her breasts are not yet grown. What shall we do for our sister on the day she is spoken for? If she is a wall, we will build towers of silver on her. If she is a door, we will enclose her with panels of cedar' (Song of Songs 8:8-9).

Remove from us our limpid, wavering love, and bestow on us the love that lasts, the faith that moves mountains, for our breasts are not yet grown. Build towers of silver on us, gleaming with the reflection of Your Light, that we no longer hide ourselves, for the City set on a hill cannot be hid. Open our door, that the cedars Your hand has planted may finally flourish, that we may know and be known. Yes, Lord, save us from ourselves, for we are Yours.
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