This poem is a reflection on Psalm 23:5a: “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” I find it stunning to think about this verse in light of the Lord’s Supper. Here, “tho’ devils all the world should fill,” Christ prepares a table for us. He welcomes His battle-worn bride to come and take of His body and blood. For the other texts that inspired this poem, see 1 Peter 5:7-8 and Revelation 12:7-17.
For several glorious nights in a row, Hosanna has made it to 5:00 a.m. without needing to nurse. The return to uninterrupted sleep feels amazing, and I applaud all of you who manage to reach this milestone much sooner. However, strange as it may sound, those middle-of-the-night feedings have made me even more grateful for the sacramental theology of Lutheranism.
Allow me to explain. Before becoming Lutheran, I firmly believed that God loved me, cared for me, and was with me. That alone can provide immense comfort to a sleep-deprived, breastfeeding mom. But as a Lutheran, the understanding that Christ comes to me in the Sacrament of the Altar to feed me with His own body and blood takes the comfort to greater heights. When I give of my body to care for my child, I share in the sufferings of Christ in a unique way. I am so glad that God not only looks on us with loving thoughts–though that would be breathtaking enough–but also comes to us incarnationally and sacramentally.
I wrote this poem as a reflection on 2:00 a.m. feedings, the Incarnation, and the Lord’s Supper.
Sometime early in my junior year of college, I got it into my head to write a little poem about worrying and trust. I wanted to base it on Jesus’ teaching in Matthew 6 and Luke 12 on the ravens and the lilies. It’s stunning to remember that the same God who feeds the birds and clothes the flowers also cares for us as His beloved children.
A raven in flight by Copetersen (www.copetersen.com)
I didn’t intend for this to be a poem about the sacraments. I was in the process of becoming Lutheran, however, and the sacraments naturally were on my mind a lot. As Winnie the Pooh wisely explained to Piglet in defense of the shillings in his poem, “They wanted to come in after the pounds, so I let them . . . It’s the best way to write poetry, letting things come.” So, just as Pooh let the shillings come in after the pounds, I let the sacraments come in after the ravens and lilies.
Our Father loves us–body and soul. He not only provides daily bread for our physical hunger but also nourishes us with the body and blood of His Son for the forgiveness of sins. He does not stop at giving us clothing for our physical bodies but even clothes us with the righteousness of His Son. As Galatians 3:27 says, “For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.” We have no need to be anxious, for Christ has taught us to pray for our daily bread and the forgiveness of our sins (Matt. 6:11-12a). Our anxious toil can achieve neither of these things, but God delights in giving. His grace is sufficient for all our needs.
Image from LCMS.org
Fret Not
Why the worry, little one, for what you’ll eat or wear?
Look around, and see My creatures flourish in My care.
See the glory of the flowers and the mirth of birds above—
Every raven, every lily telling out My faithful love.
In My love and by My wisdom, I create, sustain, and cherish.
Though birds sell two for a penny, apart from Me not one will perish.
All in vain your early risings, all in vain your sleepless nights.
For unless I go before you, you will only waste your might.
All in vain your anxious toil, for I give My loved ones rest.
Come, all hungry; come, all weary. In my gracious care, be blest.
Have you ever stopped to wonder what your worried fretting’s for?
Look at how I feed the ravens. They don’t plant or reap or store.
In anxious toil you bake your bread and build your barns up stronger.
But can all your grief and effort make your life an hour longer?
In straining strategizing you take such a foolish pride.
Yet ravens cry and look to Me; in due season, I provide.
In unbelief you stake your hopes on labors of your hands.
But when the fire and storm comes, will your feeble storehouse stand?
O child, you’re not your maker. On another you depend.
You were made to take from Me what lovingly I send.
Little one, now open wide; your hungry mouth I’ll fill.
Be not anxious for tomorrow; you have only to be still.
~
O raise your eyes! Lift up your head!
From heaven comes down the Living Bread.
Of old the manna gave a clue.
Now Bread of life is given for you.
Your anxious toil could never suffice.
Come, beggars, drink without a price.
Come eat of what you don’t deserve.
For Christ descends this feast to serve.
In anxious toil the wind you chased,
But lasting life He gives by grace.
His flesh true food, His blood true drink—
A meal of grace beyond all you think.
His blood poured out your sins to forgive;
Behold Him here. Take, eat, and live.
~
You care far too much for clothing, for the coverings of your skin.
Coats and collars hold such value for the world of covetous men.
Take a look at lilies blooming, spreading beauty on the grass.
See My riches granting clothing to the weeds that quickly pass.
Have you ever seen a lily spinning gowns in anxious toil?
No, behold the quiet wisdom in the wildflowers of the soil.
If this is how each blade of grass receives My gracious care,
Do you think I’ll ever forget the ones I made My image to bear?
You’ve heard tales of splendid clothing worn by Solomon of old;
You depict his kingly garments made of purple, scarlet, gold.
But stop and see these flowers; know that robes for Solomon made
Could not rival one small lily in its glorious dress arrayed.
Do not worry for your clothing; see the loveliness I make:
Far surpassing palace clothing—a free gift for you to take.
~
Behold the covering for your skin;
Behold the Lamb who bears your sin.
Remember what your parents made
With fig leaves picked in Eden’s shade.
In vain they tried to hide their shame,
But unto them God lovingly came.
New garments He made from a creature’s hide;
To cover their shame an animal died.
But now a better covering’s given
To those who were from Eden driven.
For Christ comes granting robes of white,
Dying that His bride may be counted right.
His robe freely given that you might be just,
For He bore your robe stained with hatred and lust.
Naked and bleeding He hung on the tree,
Winning cleansing and clothing for you and for me.
Baptized in Christ, with Himself we are dressed;
The curse is reversed, and in Him we are blessed.
Our law-keeping efforts are hopeless and vain,
For rags caked with filth are our works’ greatest gain.
Last time I read through Proverbs, I was particularly struck by the description of wisdom in chapter 9. It’s one of the better-known parts of the book, but I had never stopped to ponder how profound it is that Wisdom calls her hearers to a feast. Too often, I think of wisdom in purely cerebral terms. If I were to personify it, I might have been more likely to think of a professor giving a lecture than a hostess preparing a feast. But, once again, the physical, embodied focus of Scripture comes as a beautiful surprise.
I find this comforting when I think about how much of my own time goes into planning and preparing meals. Sometimes I wish I had more time for reading and study; that seems like the path to wisdom. Maybe someday my vocations will include the vocation of student again. For now, though, my vocation involves less study of wisdom and more doing what Lady Wisdom does in this section of Proverbs: preparing meals. This is a glorious calling.
The best part of Wisdom’s feast is its New Testament fulfillment. Wisdom slaughtered beasts, mixed wine, and set her table (Prov. 9:2). Then she sent her young women to call the guests, saying, “Come, eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed” (vv. 3, 5). Similarly, we are called to the Lord’s table. Christ is the both the Host of the meal and the One slaughtered for us. “For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed” (1 Cor. 5:7). His body is the bread and His blood the wine. In the person of Christ, wisdom has taken on flesh (1 Cor. 1:30). His invitation is a beautiful culmination of Wisdom’s call: “Take, eat; this is my body… Drink of it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins” (Matt. 26:26-28).
The Last Supper by Juan de Juanes, 1562
Wisdom called her hearers with an offer of life, urging us to “leave [our] simple ways, and live” (Prov. 9:6). Similarly, Christ calls us to a lifegiving feast. “For where there is forgiveness of sins, there is also life and salvation” (Luther’s Small Catechism). And so, as I go about my ordinary work of preparing meals, I do so as one nurtured by the saving meal of Christ’s body and blood. The Wisdom of God has called me to His feast, and He gives beauty and honor to my most mundane tasks.
Coram Mundo 