Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
And hearts are brave again and arms are strong.
Alleluia!
---William Walsham How, 1864
Some weeks just wear you down. Your good intentions are
misconstrued, your to-do list is filled with “didn’ts”, your best effort isn’t
good enough. The half-inch or restoring rain is forgotten in months of choking
drought. The dream job you studied for and fought to land has turned into the
shackles and chains that threaten to drag you under with the weight of stress
and pressure. The last-minute, miracle touchdown drive is replaced in memory by
your opponent’s last-second pass-that-defied-logic, and you lose…again.
What keeps me coming back to this place, week after week,
when the world doesn’t always make sense? It’s the song I hear in the distance,
peculiar to this place---this place filled with the spirits of those gone on
before, and the spirits of those in the pew next to me. The song is one of
triumph; and our hearts, mine and yours, are brave again, and our arms are
strong.
Just in time to tackle another week in the real world,
strengthened by the song I hear in this place, among these saints.
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