catapult magazine

Psalm

by MJ Gallagher

For me, it is Christ,
Or it is nothing.
But Christ, when you come to me
What do you bring?
And do I reject these things
Simply because I insist
That life must be —
Broken, over, ended —
Before I’ve even begun?
Tell me truth: if this life is a glimpse
Of that which is to come
And that which is to come is so glorious
Then where do I come off
Giving up on this life?
Now ever since last night
I can’t get this cadence
Out of my mind
This pattern of prayer poured out
Like great splashes of paint on the ground.
There is so much beneath the rush of angel’s wings
And I want to make something.
What do I fear?
Rejection?
Cain brought vegetables and Abel brought sheep
But it is the heart that you seek out and know.
What do I fear?
Disappearance?
You can’t really touch music or words or art
You see,
And sometimes that really frightens me.
I want to build on rock, not sand
And when you come again,
I want to have made something that still stands
Just like you said, Jesus,
And I want to live your words.
The grass fades and the flowers fall,
But your word, Lord, stands forever.
Your words stand forever.
Your word stands forever.
And that is why
Rembrandt is cold in his grave
But his paintings still illuminate
The darkest corners of every mind.
Fanny Crosby still sings;
As do African-American spirituals
Penned to the stomping of feet
And the breaking of backs
Keep your lamps trimmed and burning!
Oh, and swing low, sweet chariot
Jesus, some day you’ll come to
Take me home but for now,
I’ve got to stop staring at the sky
And demanding, “Come back now!”
Set me to work in your coming Kingdom,
I will wait in Jerusalem
For the falling of your Spirit.
Open my mute mouth with tongues of fire.
Jesus — your words never end, never fail, never fall —
Everything was made by you
And I will make nothing
Without you.