O Key of David

O Key of David, scepter of the house of Israel, what you open none can shut, and what you shut, none can open: come!  Bring the prisoner out of his dungeon where he sits in darkness and the shadow of death!
 
You, Key of David, open the door.  The door to where?  To an inner room.  This inner place, this room, is it a dungeon or a tomb, a temple or a bedroom, a womb, a cave or some other place that has no name?
Your people languish in dungeons, whether in fact or in mind and heart.  We are prisoners of fear, guilt or loneliness.  Though our bones are dry, you would open our graves and have us rise from them.
Turn the key, and open.
 
You, Lord of the Temple, dwell in a holy place, reached only by passing through veils.  The more veils, the holier the place.  At the center, between the cherubim, is a space, a place of which we cannot speak.  Only one could enter here, on behalf of the people.  But his glowing face was veiled, too, because the people were afraid.
Part the veil, and open.
 
You, lover and beloved, knock on the door of your people’s heart, your hair wet with dew, your hand in place of a key.  Here, in this Song of Songs, many dwelling places become one.  There is just one room, for just one visitor, and in that room, waiting, her hands dripping myrrh, just one bride, who is all of us.
Draw back the bolt, and open.
 
You, Jesus, were conceived in Mary’s womb.  Here, too, there was just one woman in a dimly lit room, her virginal space empty, waiting.  How can this be?  In our name, when asked, she consented to let the Almighty enter.
Speak the word, and open.
 
You, Jesus, who have nowhere to lay your head, sought rest among your own people.  You would come in and eat with us.  You would make your home with us.  You found no place in the inn, where people stay.  But earth offered you its cave, and the desert its manger.
Make ready the place, and open.
 
You, Jesus, are the door.  The key was laid on your shoulder and you carried it to the place which had been appointed.  There you allowed yourself to be unlocked.  Can not a wound also be a door?  This door takes us through the veil, into the place whose name is too wonderful.
Be opened.
 
Have mercy on us, and come.