Sacrament Hymn

Jesus Deathkiller, 
God’s Lifer, Earth Rover, Gift: 

Be sure, 
in your name and our hope, 
we set these feet where 
they will go, these hands—why 
they will touch, these lips—how 
they will linger at the proxy cup. 

Be sure. 
Our mouths mix no 
sugar or saccharine 
with this alter loaf, and we know our
mean aching has not touched the
harrow that raked you back to 
Peace. We live with this in 
grace. 

And be sure. 
Yearning’s furrow frowns our 
mortal brow and bounds our 
fleeting plod of 
Raker’s earth. 

And know. 
We find hope in 
that holy void where 
your joy raged like 
a doomed son’s spurned 
heart, raging pure.