EL SHADDAI

God of my fathers, master of the great mountains,

We come before you with empty hands and heavy hearts.

Listen to the cries, the moans and the groans of your people,

Abraham’s seed scattered to the four winds, not in the flesh

Bu surely in faith. We share all the terrors of your

All consuming love. You wish us share with no one else

Our allegiance but to you and you alone, for you are

A jealous God, God of the highest mountains.

When you look down on us in our own little tents,

You bid us open to let the sunshine in.

We’re so accustomed to the trite and the tested ways,

Giving us confidence though surely will give us

A sharp, searing pain. Why do we feel empty

At the end of the road? Why do we hunger in the midst

Of the harvest? After the dancing, after the feasting,

The soul is wearied as though so languid.

Down through the ages you walked with us,

You who lead us in battle against the mighty forces

Of foreign kings. When we doubted we floundered,

But trusting in you overflows us with vigor. “Is it so hard

To learn the lesson that I and I alone am He and that

You shall have nothing to do with the gods of the lowlands

And the hills. Your salvation comes from way beyond,

For I am the God of the highest mountains.

Ground of our beings, the within of our innermost selves,

We can also find you not only in the highest mountains,

For scaling a mountain has first to start from down below.

It is your law that the deeper we go the higher we ascend.

In your eyes there is neither up nor down for in the eternal plain

This can only be seen from a distance. El Shaddai of my being,

 You and the mountain are one and the same. You are my Lord,

 El Shaddai, my God, master of the highest mountains.