English
The Opening: A Prayer
Come, let us lift our hands from the heart in prayer,
for tomorrow, from the grave, we cannot raise them.
In autumn you will not see a single tree
left barren by the biting cold forever.
When it lifts up its empty, needy branches,
mercy never sends it away empty-handed.
Never imagine that door, which has never shut,
would turn away a hand raised up in hope.
Fate hands it a robe of honor,
and destiny tucks fresh fruit into its sleeve.
Everyone brings obedience; the poor bring only need.
Come, let us go to the door of the One who cherishes the poor.
Like a bare branch we raise our hands,
for stripped of leaves, we can sit here no longer.
My Lord, look on us with generosity,
for sin is what comes forth from your servants.
Wrongdoing rises from a lowly servant,
in the hope of the Lord's forgiveness.
Generous One, we were raised on your provision,
we grew accustomed to your gifts and grace.
When a beggar sees kindness, grace, and favor,
he never walks away from the giver's door.
Since in this world you have made us dear,
we hope for the same in the world to come.
Honor and disgrace, you alone bestow;
the one you honor sees no scorn from anyone.
My God, by your own glory, do not disgrace me,
do not shame me with the humiliation of sin.
Do not set someone like me in power over me;
better that any punishment come from your hand.
In this world there is no evil worse
than suffering cruelty at the hands of your own kind.
My shame before your face is enough for me;
do not shame me before anyone else.
If even a shadow of yours falls upon my head,
the heavens would be the least of my supports.
If you grant a crown, it lifts my head high;
you uphold me, so that no one casts me down.
My body trembles when I remember
the prayer of a distraught soul in the sanctuary,
that broken-hearted, restless one who cried:
My God, forgive, and do not leave me in disgrace.
He kept pleading with God in bitter tears:
Do not cast me off, for no one will take my hand.
Call me in with kindness, do not drive me from your door;
I have no other threshold to bow my head upon.
You know we are wretched and helpless,
trapped by a soul that commands us to evil.
This rebellious self does not charge so fast
that reason can seize hold of its reins.
Who can overcome the self and Satan by force?
An ant cannot go into battle with leopards.
By the true men of your path, grant me a way,
and give me shelter from these enemies.
My God, by your own divine essence,
by your attributes that have no like or equal,
by the pilgrims' cry at the Sacred House,
by the one buried at Medina, peace be upon him,
by the war cry of the sword-wielding men,
next to whom a warrior would seem a mere woman,
by the worship of elders adorned with devotion,
by the sincerity of youths just come of age,
in that single-breath abyss, come to my aid,
save me from the shame of confessing anything but you.
The hope is that those who worship faithfully
will intercede for those who did not worship.
By the pure ones, keep me far from all defilement,
and if I slip, count me as excused.
By the elders bent double from their prayers,
their eyes cast down at their feet in shame for sin,
do not close my eyes to the face of blessedness,
do not tie my tongue when I bear witness at the end.
Hold the lamp of certainty before my path,
and hold my hand back from doing wrong.
Turn my eyes away from what should not be seen,
and let me not lay hands on what is shameful.
I am that speck of dust in love with you;
in my smallness, being and non-being are the same.
A single ray from the sun of your grace is enough for me,
for without your light no one even sees me.
Look at the worst of us: he is still someone;
for a beggar, a single glance from the king is enough.
If you seize me with strict justice,
I will cry out that your forgiveness promised otherwise.
My God, do not drive me from your door in disgrace,
for I can picture no other door for me.
And if in ignorance I vanished for a few days,
now that I have come, do not shut the door in my face.
What excuse can I offer for the shame of my sin?
Only to bring my helplessness and say: O Rich One,
I am poor; do not hold my sin and guilt against me;
the rich show mercy to the poor.
Why should I weep over the weakness of my state?
If I am weak, my refuge is strong.
My God, in heedlessness we broke our vow;
what power can the hand of effort wield against fate?
What can our scheming hands accomplish?
This one point alone excuses all our failings.
Whatever I did, you undid it all;
what strength can contend with your divine will?
It is not that I raise my head against your wisdom;
it is that your wisdom decrees this over my head.