...pass-along gifts...mighty good tidings

Arise, your light is come! The Spirit’s call obey;

show forth the glory of your God, which shines on you today.

Arise, your light is come! Fling wide the prison door;

proclaim the captive’s liberty, good tidings to the poor.

---Ruth Duck, 1974

We are so used to hearing the themes of Advent and Christmastide that they ring almost common in our ears, feel a bit bland rolling off our tongues…Light! Glory! Good tidings! When I stop and think about these things, they make me glad --- I need some good tidings, and some light, and a little glory to shine down on me! Yay, me!

Then hymnist Ruth Duck uses the prophet’s message from Isaiah to call my attention back to intention. Yes, some of that God-glory falls on me...but not to soak up and store. That glory, that light, those are pass-along gifts from a God who has called us as co-laborers in the life-work of lifting, reviving, nurturing, and restoring. These gifts? They were never meant for me, for us, to get and keep. This glory, this light, has always been destined for community.

And those, my friends, are mighty good tidings.

...awake to hear...to answer

It strikes me, at odd moments--mostly when I am confronted with uncertainty and fear over entering some new phase or stage of life-- how much of the Nativity story happened because people were awake.

Maiden Mary, hearing the rustle of messenger wings, the whisper of promise, challenge, provision, prophecy. Fiance Joseph, awakened by a dream visitor, with future-rocking words. Shepherds, sleepless and watchful, exposed to the night elements, catching the sky split open with the stunning news that earth and heaven were one.

Awake. Awake to hear. Awake to answer.

So many 'ifs'. One 'yes'. 

And the Gloria? The Gloria was the ringing of the spheres, the sound of heaven come to earth. The sounding, and resounding, of 'yes'.

~~~

Merry Christmas, friends. The video here is my brand new song for Christmas, If Not for What the Angels Sang, performed by some good friends on Christmas Eve morning (lyrics below). I hope you'll give it a listen, and pass it on.

If not for what the angels sang
Above the wild and windy plains
Echoes in the spangled sky
A boundless song, a Baby's cry
Gloria in excelsis Deo.

If not for what the shepherds heard
The stunning song, the summoning words
To stay within the sheltering fold?
Or seek the Child out in the cold?
Come, my friends, let us up and go!

If not for how the Baby came
Among the little, lost, and lame
Walking the same paths we trod
Showing us the heart of God
Love of Heaven come to earth below.

If not for what the angels sang
If not for what the shepherds heard
If not for how the Baby came--
Jesus Christ, God on earth.

If not for what the angels sang
Above the wild and windy plains
Echoes in the spangled sky
A boundless song, a Baby's cry
Gloria in excelsis Deo.

--LACA, 10/20/17

...longing for light

Longing for light, we wait in darkness. 
Longing for truth, we turn to you. 
Make us your own, your holy people,
light for the world to see.
---Bernadette Farrell, 1993

There is something in us, in all creation, that longs for light, seeks it out like air, like water. We reach for it, grow toward it. In some very real way, become it. The corner office, the room with a view, sunroof, convertible top down. We are sun-seekers. Trees and grasses stretch themselves toward the sky in search of their share of sun, soak it up, turn it to green, to growth.

In these long nights, short days, clouded skies, how we yearn for the light. How we exult in the sun, when it comes.

...love lives here

Love came down at Christmas, 
Love all lovely, love divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and angels gave the sign.
...
Love shall be our token,
Love be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.
---Christina Rossetti, 1885

For what is broken in this world, love.
For what is broken in me, love.
For what is broken in you, love.
For what is broken between, among, us, love.

What gift of grace. What sign of hope.
That our hearts, our homes, can be dwelling places for the sacred.
Even after all this brokenness.

Love lives here.

...song of earth

Joy to the earth! The Savior reigns; let all their songs employ;

while fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains repeat the sounding joy.

---Isaac Watts, 1719

How very interesting that this beloved carol emphasizes nature’s share in the joy surrounding Christ’s birth! Perhaps the message of joy and hope for the world is just too big to entrust entirely to angels, or to shepherds. The wonders of nature cannot help but bear witness with us to a liberating love big enough to encompass every part of our world. In a world where the Savior reigns, all of us --- rocks, floods, plains, plainsdwellers --- are freed from the curse that binds us to smallness and failure. The echoes of God’s love “re-sound”…and nothing will ever sound the same.

Joy to the world…the whole wide world!

...waiting on Light

This is it. The longest night. The turning of the year. If we are counting the daylight in minutes, we begin using + signs starting tomorrow.

And oh, what a difference a little light makes! We yearn, we long, we seek for signs of light. We turn eagerly to the horizon at the rising, we note the stretching of the setting time with upturned faces, distant gazes.

In a primitive way, light means life. But even in our modern, mostly-indoor world, with 24-hour light (more than we need, more than is healthy), our bodies still settle into the rhythms set by the rising and setting. We relax into the natural light of day.

Here, just at the turning, we ready our hearts for the coming of Light. This Light, too, shines in the darkness. And we are promised, and I hang on to the promise, that no darkness will overcome it.

I'm waiting, again, on the Light.

...healing at Christmas

Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace! Hail the Sun of Righteousness!

Light and life to all he brings, risen with healing in his wings.

Mild he lays his glory by, born that we no more may die,

born to raise us from the earth, born to give us second birth.

Hark! The herald angels sing, “Glory to the new-born King!”

---Charles Wesley, 1739

There is a danger in the carols of Christmas, one that threatens to deaden us to the wisdom hidden within. This danger is familiarity, the same quality that makes them beloved. Anywhere you go, you are apt to hear some version of this carol, sung or played by a wide variety of ensembles. Many of us could sing this carol in our sleep --- all three verses!

Our familiarity with this carol should not, however, blind us to the message of comfort and hope contained within. Hear these words anew: “Light and life to all he brings, risen with healing in his wings….” We all know that in the midst of the great joy of the season lurk illness, injury, grief, and sorrow. These are part of life, and do not miraculously disappear during Advent and Christmastide. But there is good news, even in darkness! There is one who brings light for our darkness, life for our dead places, and healing for what hurts us. In the middle of this tumultuous existence, Christ comes to meet our deepest needs.

Glory to the newborn King.

...releasing my grip

I have always described myself (mostly to myself), as fairly laid-back and easy-going. I go with the flow, roll with the punches, go along to get along. If you're all right, I'm all right. Well. As time goes on, I have noticed something; and I don't know if it is the wisdom of age, or improved insight, or if I am morphing. But. In more and more small ways, more and more often, I find that I hold, at least loosely, to control. Eek. I said it. I think I'm one of those people. I like some things the way I like them. I feel like things would run smoothly if they were done my way. Some days, I find my tongue sore from biting it.

My hands are sometimes clenched tightly around my ideas of 'should', and 'correct', and 'best'.

And boy, are they tired.

Because this, fundamentally, is not the way the world works (and knowing some of the ideas I have sometimes, this is probably a very good thing...). Many things, most things, are out of my hands. I need only seek my place in the puzzle of this life--find the spot I fit in, find a busy-ness that lights my fire, help in the ways I can, attune my heart to the undercurrent of joy in the song of everyday.

The rest, I release.

I wonder at how Mary, so long ago, must have wondered at all the loose ends that made up the tapestry of her life. How hard was it to relax her grip, to release her hold, to find a place, and to attune her heart to joy?

I want to loosen my grip on control...so that my hands are free for real things.

...here in the chaos

I have a bad habit. It is the sort that has been an annoyance to me, here and there, in my life. It is also the sort that has caused hurt and harm in my life, in ways that wounded me and sometimes those who entered into relationship with me. You might call it 'somewhere out there' syndrome.

In 'somewhere out there' syndrome, you envision a better time to act, to work, to decide, to be--and it is coming. It is somewhere, out there. Sometime, in a hazily-conjured future, things will fall into place, life will make sense, and that will be the time, the time, to start really experiencing life.

Call it a strange kind of misguided optimism. But watch out. Because if you're not careful, a lot of life slips by while you are waiting for that perfect day, that just-right set of circumstances, that 'somewhere out there' future.

Hear this good news, my friends. This present messiness, this current chaos, this day, this day--this is what we're given. This is the day to be joyful--not 'somewhere out there', but now, now. Don't wait.

Your joy is calling.

...carry me

"Momma...carry me." Parents the world over know that the time you are most likely to hear this refrain is when your arms are already full, home or the car is still blocks away...and you yourself are weary and staggering just to stay upright. It is the time you are probably wishing for someone to carry you. 

One of the remarkable aspects about life on this round earth seems to be that things were not created for isolation. Creatures flourish in herds, prides, flocks, litters, and packs. And people seem to flourish in community, too. In one of the creation stories from Genesis (this one from the second chapter), after assigning place and occupation to the human, isolation begins to seem pretty overwhelming. Matter of fact, it is the first pronouncement of "not good" amongst all the "goods" of creation. Company, and community, is created as the remedy for the "not good" of isolation.

In community, we hold each other up. We celebrate, and we mourn, in solidarity. We lean, and we prop up. We are strong, and we are weak, and we are not ashamed. We bear each other's burdens, and let others close enough to bear ours.

We trust each other to be the hands of God, to bear us up, when we just. can't. even. 

When we whisper, "carry me."

...the shepherd's gentle might

In an age where proving toughness and strength sometimes seems more important than proving almost anything else, I am weary of the posing, sick to death of the posturing.

The stockpiling of arms has overshadowed the work of helping hands. The threat behind clenched fists has outpaced the goodwill symbolized by linking arms.

It is overwhelming.

But there has always been a voice, crying in the wilderness. It has called us to a higher way. It has called us to drop our defenses, and throw down our weapons, and stop using our power to oppress the powerless.

It has called us to the might that is revealed in gentleness, to the shepherd's way.

He will nurture his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in arm, close to his heart, and gently lead those with young.-Isaiah 40:11/para.laca. 

...what they have left

11. 12. I know kids this age. They think so creatively it's hard to keep up. Their bodies are beginning to outgrow their capacity to control their movements. They are wicked smart, and you think twice before you ask, "What's on your mind?" because they will still tell you.

They delight me almost always. 

20 mothers and dads, twenty families, in Newtown tonight are wondering what their 11 and 12 year olds would be like--look like, sound like, love like. They wonder, because when these children were 6 and 7, they were murdered by gunfire while they went to school on a day not far from Christmas. They wonder, because wonder is what they have left.

Sandy Hook Elementary became a first grade killing field that day; and after 5 years, the mass slaughter is remarkable, aside from the tender age of most of its victims, mostly for its unremarkable-ness.

When will the voice of reason, the voice of standing up for the fallen, become louder than the voice of impersonal, obscenely deep-pocketed lobbying efforts? How long till lone voices become a chorus for change?

A voice is heard in Ramah, lament and bitter weeping, Rachel weeping for her children; she finds no comfort, for they are no more.-Jeremiah.31:15/para.laca.

...the darkness reveals the stars

I've heard people say the things. You have, too. Maybe I've even said the things. "Life's been hard on him." "She learned the hard way." "Never had to work for a thing. Now they're soft." "I used to be a nice person, but I got lied to/used/cheated one too many times. Those days are over." The thoughts are, I think, that our life's experiences create us, or at least complete us.

But.

Do those experiences make us? Or do they reveal us? When (when, not if) shadows, struggles, heartaches, defeats, setbacks come, do they batter us, do they better us?

Or, like darkness reveals the stars, do circumstances allow for the truest view of our realest selves?

In darkness, what will be revealed in us?

...footprints in snow

Show me you've been here.

It's what we all want, really, when we get down to it. Isn't it? We want to know who we can count on, to back us up, to stand with us when our knees tremble, to be present in our emptiness. We yearn for a sign, a signal, a whisper of with-ness.

Don't leave me to make my way through this confusing world on my own. Don't leave me to make sense of all the ways the pieces of my life don't fit together. Don't leave me to find my way to you. Don't leave me. Don't leave.

That feeling, that bit of proof that we're not alone? That is glory. That is revealing. That is the essence of presence. Like footprints in snow, glory shows me you've been here.

And the Word put on skin, and pitched a tent among us mortals, and we caught a glimpse of glory, the revealing of God's own son, radiating grace and truth.-John 1:14/para.laca.

...the undecorated heart

...make your house fair as you are able
trim the hearth and set the table
people, look east and sing today:
love, the guest, is on the way.
---eleanor farjeon, 1928

I'm trying. My boxes are scattered across the floor, tops raggedly open, in multiple rooms, guts spilling out in a Tim Burton-esque holiday dreamscape that is equal parts mess and obstacle course. Trees are up and lit (no, I mean, you know, lighted...), and because I stayed up too late last night, they all have ornaments. Magi follow stars, shepherds wander here and there in search of...something they heard whispered on the wind. The angels stand and look, but you can tell they know more than they are saying.

And I am tired. In truth, November and December present some stumbling blocks for me, and I have to navigate the days with care. The holidays are difficult for the teens I work with; regardless of their history or the tough front they may present to the world, at Christmas they are kids who can't be home with mom. And I know that friends who have suffered loss of loved ones, broken relationships, or life changes during the year feel it most keenly during "the most wonderful time of the year". 

And so my heart sometimes remains quite plain. No twinkling lights, no manger scenes or angels, no aromas of baking or wintry drinks simmering on the stove. No guiding star up above leads the way for me, or to me.

Come, Jesus. I welcome you, in this quiet, to my undecorated heart.

...where is the tender spot?

"Where is the tender spot?" The doctor poked and prodded for the location of the discomfort. The discomfort, the tenderness, would, of course, be an indicator of injury. Healers probe for tenderness to help guide them to the source of the hurt.

There is at least one more sort of tenderness. This would be the care and gentleness with which we treat something, or someone, we value or love very much. We may treat priceless artwork, or newborn babies, tenderly.

I have been pondering, as I've talked to friends, and scrolled through my media, and reflected on my own life, that the Advent and Christmas seasons evoke tenderness, of both sorts, in an awful lot of us.

With the wonder of children, we unwrap ornaments and remember the stories that go with them. We bake---from scratch!--sweets and savories to share (and a few to keep for ourselves, maybe...). We envision the perfect gift for each loved one, the glow of happiness on each face when boxes are opened on the just-right Christmas morning. We pose our families for the everybody-smile pic for which (almost) everyone took your suggestion about wearing white tops, and it looks great. We tuck our own little ones into bed, or get misty-eyed smiling at someone else's little shepherds in the Christmas Eve pageant. There is so much tenderness here.

But if we're honest, for a lot of us, that's not the whole story. There is tenderness in this season that emanates from the source of hurt. Something about the season causes the backward gaze, and it is a time when those who have lost dear family and friends feel those losses in a deep and tender way, whether the loss is new or decades old. Circumstances change, and what is lost is noticed and mourned at the holidays. Health and wellness, always taken for granted, can slip away, and we note the holiday traditions that will be different. Strained relationships that are ignored during the rest of the year become painfully obvious during a season when the ideal holiday mood is one of togetherness and conviviality. Brokenness and alienation leave tender spots with no visible wounds.

In the midst of the lovely, tender times this holy season, there is also the tenderness that indicates pain. How can we celebrate the wonder of tenderness, and honor the tenderness of the shadows that is also part of the sacred everyday?

Where is the tender spot? I have mine...do you? 

...you must remember this

I just took a look at my phone's reminders list. That's a lie. I just added another reminder to it.

That makes...155.

...I think I may be doing this wrong.

You may as well know, there are things that I 'collect'. I like that better than 'hoard'. But I think words are piled higher than anything else, in my rooms, my mind, and obviously, in my apps. But I realize that no one can keep up with a running list of 155 reminders on a to-do list. And one of the items on that list is to get some help getting organized (why, yes, I *do* realize how ridiculous that idea sounds, thank you). 

It makes me feel a little less guilty to find that I am in good company, with my mile-long list, and my piles of words, and my unreasonable expectations. The people of Israel needed some guidance, and Moses came down the mountain (twice, but that's another story for another day) with Ten Easy Rules for Being the People of God in the Big World. There were guidelines for living in relationship with God, and guidelines for living in community with others. Now, the people right off weren't doing a super job with those Ten, but nevertheless they commenced to creating more, and more, and more items for their list. They ended up with over 600 items on their list of laws (I am feeling better about myself already...<pats self on back>), and plunged into a continual cycle of perpetual rule-breaking, guilt, and occasional excuses.

"Which Rule do you say is the most important to keep, Teacher?" The question posed to Jesus sounds like a choose-one-of-the-600+ kind of carnival game, but Jesus wasn't playing. The thing is, he was human; and he knew no one could hold space in their head, much less their heart, for that many words, that many rules, at once. No one could remember so much information parsed out that way.

But Jesus remembered another commandment or two from the lore of the people, and he knew it would organize everything, make the confusing tangle of 'should's (and let's be honest, mostly 'shouldn't's) an attainable inclination of the spirit.

"Love God with everything in you, with your wholeness. And love your neighbor and yourself with care and grace. Can you remember these things? Sure! If you can focus your life, each day, on making these reality, you will keep the law, you will."

And two things? A reminder list with two items is a reminder list I could learn to love.

Remember. 

...hold my beer

Last December, on a bitter cold early evening on the highway near Sylacauga, a tubular steel patio chair freed itself from an overburdened pickup in front of me and wedged itself under my Honda. I went from hurry-and-get-home mph to full stop at an amazing rate, after which time my car operated only (slowly) in reverse. I backed onto a side road, and began trying (futilely) to pull big pieces of jammed-in chair and torn steel undercarriage away from my car in the hope I might make it home...or, anywhere. A young couple stopped, and the husband ended up having me drive (in reverse, natch) to the house where they were headed so that he and his friend could try to help. We got there, and it was a Christmas party I was interrupting. Guys rolled up their sleeves, tools were retrieved from backs of trucks and under seats, and these guys crawled around and under my car...in the dark...in the cold...and I held the beer they'd been carrying into the party. They came to my rescue that night.

This afternoon, at the urging of facility staff in Gadsden who were certain that a blizzard was on its way ("Don't be silly," I said, "everything will be fine..."), I narrowed my work schedule and saved some paperwork for home. It couldn't hurt to hit the road earlier than my normal dark-thirty, I suppose. I had been enjoying the beautiful views of several inches of pristine, heavy snow blanketing the campus I was working all day long, but I'd been watching the asphalt too, and it wasn't icy.

So imagine my surprise when, on driving south, I run into more heavy snowfall, and several inches accumulated and slippery on the highway. Cars and SUVs covered in deep wet snow huddled like turtles where they had slid off into the medians and ditches. I topped a hill just past Sylacauga (I know, right?), and saw brake lights stretched out ahead, disappearing into the distance. Now, I'm a bit of a survivalist, and I knew what to do. Right there at the crossroads stood a lone filling station, and it was attracting a crowd. Being a survivalist, my gas tank had been filled up before I left Gadsden; no, I had stopped to use the restroom. If I'm gonna be stuck in traffic, the last thing I need is to need a restroom break! On the way back out into the blizzard (yeah, you heard me call it a blizzard--I was wrong), a voice from the checkout line said, "Jackknifed tractor-trailer. Whole road's blocked. You better wait in here." As I turned around, the older man said, "If you wait here for a few minutes, I'm gonna go open up the church so people can come stay warm." A young couple were in front of him, waiting to buy Bud Light and a bottle of moscato. The young man said he was headed around through Goodwater, and would eventually intersect with the highway south of the wreck site. I could follow them. When I expressed hesitation about driving my small sedan on hilly back roads, he said I'd be ok if I just stayed in his tracks. And he'd watch for me.

And I did. And he did. And I was.

Sometimes the people we need appear when we need them. It may be luck. But I have a feeling it is more an inclination of the heart.

Helpers. May we look for them. May we thank them. May we be them. 

Hold my beer. 

...wondering and weary

In Lenten practice we, with Jesus, 'turn our faces toward Jerusalem', facing along with him the steps that led to betrayal, accusation, abandonment, and death. We spend ourselves in meditative practices that guide us deeper into Jesus' experience--so that, having suffered with him, the Easter of rising might be infused with a celebration infused with depth of meaning and debt of love.

In Advent practice the breathless steps we take toward the oddly-filled manger imbue our days with a sense of wonder. The gentle, expectant searching for hope, peace, joy, love in unexpected places--in a stable? among the ragged people? sought by faraway star-scientists?--can create the feeling that things, things, are possible.

Wonder is in this world at Advent.

But so is weariness.

Even in candleglow, we see the dust in the corners of our lives, and the ugly cobwebs high in the eaves of others. We notice the good intentions and horrid execution of strangers, and of friends. We have big plans, and we blow them. The very people, and institutions, that we count on to make the world kinder, and lovelier, let us down. We mean to be better, and we aren't.

And we are so weary.

I have to think that, somehow, all of the wonder, and all of the weariness, is gathered into this Advent journey. I will keep walking. I will find out.

...stretched, and squeezed

I don't know if it is the time of life in which I find myself, or the vocation into which I seem to have fallen, or maybe it is just me. But whether as an adult with experience, a parent of young adult children, or a case manager facilitating teens with troubled histories, I seem to spend a lot of time thinking about, and listening for, and offering thoughts on love.

What does love do in a life? Can we pick it up and lay it down, like a tool or an activity? Does it light up our lives, always? Is it sweet? Does love always look the same in every circumstance? What does love ask, demand, require of us? What are we allowed to ask of love? 

I have found that from time to time love squeezes. Sometimes this feels reassuringly close, sometimes uncomfortably constricting. Is it while I am growing into love? Is it support until I am confident enough to live full in love? I have been wrapped snug in love, and I've been bruised by it.

For me, the knowledge that has become bedrock truth to me over years is that love stretches. It abides in a heart that contains it; but through the very exercise of it, love expands. And the heart stretches. And that enlarged space contains more and more compassion, and more and more passion for goodness in the lives of others. And I know this to be a wholly good transformation of the heart. But there are times that the stretching will ache, too.

The Advent heart, home to Love, continually shaped by love. Stretched, and squeezed.

...wait and work

Are you a do-er? Or a be-er? Do you make things happen, or watch to see what happens? 

Advent is pretty big on waiting. Each year, we wait anew for the story to unfold--the prophets' words, the angels' whispers, the shepherds' trusting quest, the magis' calculations and dogged pilgrimage from away, the brave mother, her faith-filled fiance, the hush of the stable. And over it all, that star, silent, beckoning. The world holds its breath, waiting on the time to be right, nearly past right, for the Baby.

And there is another Advent waiting, another yearning. Again the prophets' words, this time about the birth of a world remade, a world replete with justice, compassion, peace. A world where war and weeping, where betrayal and disregard, where enriching some by injuring others, are faint and fading memories. The world holds its breath, waiting on the time to be right, nearly past right, for the realm the Baby, grown,  promised was near at hand, within us.

But this is no idle waiting. This waiting comes with hammer and nail, with shoe leather and caring hands. Waiting for the realm of heaven to be made manifest is no 'sit back and watch' sort of waiting. It is active waiting, waiting with your work clothes on. It is catching a vision of the realm of heaven, and risking your current status, privilege, advantage to usher that realm into being. To be co-laborers with God in welcoming the household of love, enough for all the world.

This, too, is Advent. Wait, and work.

...gritty and pretty

I spent a few quiet moments last evening sitting still in my music room, in the dark, staring into the twinkly white lights of the big Christmas tree. I was transfixed, watching the tiny lights glint off beloved figures of angels and miniature musical instruments, each ornament holding memory of place and time. Plus, I was too exhausted to move, so the sitting still felt pretty inevitable. 

Everything was so sparkly...so perfect...so pretty.

Reluctantly I got up to make my interview list for today's site visit, walked into the darkened den to get my file case...and ran full force into the tall, heavy, still-boxed-up Christmas tree for the den! Flipping on the light, I remembered that the entire room was pretty full of decoration boxes, yet to be unpacked. I had wrestled them down from the storage on Saturday, and there they sat, mostly.

My holiday home is a combination of gritty and pretty. Matter of fact, so is my life. How about yours?

Jesus was born into a world of beauty and of cruelty, wealth and poverty, ease and strife. As he grew, he didn't shrink from either gritty or pretty--he made himself at home in the midst of what real life brought.

Jesus took on the wholeness of being human--gritty, pretty, all the plainness in between--and lived in our rooms. The ones with the decorated trees, and the ones with unpacked boxes.

...solid gold and super glue

Every year, unboxing the Christmas ornaments is an exercise in breath-holding. Because some of these ornaments date from my childhood years, age and wear and the elements sometimes get the better of them. And I always end up with a small bunch of ornaments laid on the kitchen counter, precious because of the memories they hold, but bearing the wounds of a year on the shelf. It's then that I make one of many holiday pilgrimages to the store for super glue.

My holiday decorating is a balancing act between the precious and the pasted-together.

When I think of the Biblical account of Jesus' birth, I think things might have felt much the same for the cast of characters. so many details feel cobbled together with tape and glue: a man and his really-pregnant with definitely-not-his-baby almost-wife shows up in his kinfolks' town, and finds no one to take them in; angels sing the most glorious birth announcement to clueless shepherds, who were generally suspicious in polite society; magi are wise enough to follow star charts to a new king, and clueless enough to blab about it to the murderous, jealous current one.

And in a surprising synthesis of solid gold and super glue, Love was born. 

And every little thing is gonna be alright.

...don't look for that, here

Christ’s is no earthly kingdom; it comes from heaven above.

His rule secures our freedom, and justice, truth, and love.

Hope, peace, and joy our treasure, God’s love above all measure,

Hosanna to the Lord, for He fulfills God’s word!

---Mikael Franzen, 1800's, tr. Philip M. Young, 2005

Not that kind of kingdom. Not that kind of king.

Those who followed Jesus when he walked the paths and skirted the shores of the Holy Land so long ago got it wrong. They looked for power (as they understood power), might (mainly military), the overturning of Roman rule and the restoration of the rightful place of the people of God (top of the heap). It was the lore on their lips, the dream in their hearts, the birthright they claimed. Now was the time, and Jesus was their man/king/savior.

We still get it wrong today. Every time we long for power more than compassion. Every time we ransom the welfare of ‘the least of these’ for another rung on the social ladder. Every time we trade the divine undercurrent of joy for cheap momentary happiness. Every time we look to Jesus as a vendor to supply us our momentary desires rather than the Vine to connect us to the life that is truly Life.

Because Christ’s is not that kind of kingdom. And Jesus is not that kind of king. 

Don’t look for that, here.

...the harmony of rising

Lift every voice and sing, till earth and heaven ring, ring with the harmonies of liberty;

let our rejoicing rise, high as the listening skies, let it resound loud as the rolling sea.

Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,

sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;

facing the rising sun of our new day begun, let us march on till victory is won.

---James Weldon Johnson, 1900

This hymn, penned by the incredible American poet James Weldon Johnson at the turning of the 20^th century, gives me the chills, partly for the inspiration of the text, and partly for the personal history it holds for me. As a very young teacher in downtown Atlanta, I was introduced to this song, as my students often sang it alongside the national anthem as part of their morning inspiration. These children, not just in the singing of this anthem, were often my teachers in those tender years; and these words of hope were often a lifeline for me.

Today when I sat with this text, what came rushing to mind were words from another song. In ‘I Have Made Mistakes’, the Oh Hellos sing:

We have lived in fear, we have lived in fear, and our fear has betrayed us

            And we will overcome, we will overcome the apathy that has made us

Cause we are not alone, we are not alone in the dark with our demons

We have made mistakes, we have made mistakes, but we’ve learned from them.

I see so many beautiful parallels between these two songs. The first truth, one that my own life bears out again and again, is that the past, even the dark, can be a teacher. The voice of hope, the overcoming, is strongly threaded throughout. But what stood out to me the most tonight (is it because we are working on harmony singing in Older Children’s Choir each Sunday night lately?) is the emphasis on ‘not-aloneness’. This world becomes so much less overwhelming when you are holding hands with a brother or sister. And, although you can sing a beautiful melody by yourself, you will never sing beautiful harmony until you sing it with others.

This hopeful, tough, overcoming, rising, life of ours? It is made for life together. And we belong to each other.

...in it, and of it

I want to walk as a child of the light; I want to follow Jesus.

God set the stars to give light to the world; the star of my life is Jesus.

In Him there is no darkness at all; the night and the day are both alike.

The Lamb is the light of the city of God: Shine in my heart, Lord Jesus.

---Kathleen Thomerson, 1966

This text deals with the duality of light, peculiar to religious expression. In the faith view of Christianity, Jesus is a light out front of us, to guide us in the right path. This light guides both our belief and our everyday action, leading us to consider the quality of Jesus’ light to form our own quality of life.

But there is a second aspect to the light that is Jesus. That light exists not only outside of us, to guide, but abides to light our inner lives. Jesus lives and works in the world, but also lives and works in our hearts, both beckoning and urging. This light guides our steps, and illuminates our souls. We are in the light, and made of it.

I want to walk as a child of the light.

...in various wrappings

In our joys and in our sorrows, days of toil and hours of ease,

still he calls in cares and pleasures, “Christian, love me more than these.”

Jesus calls us: by your mercies, Savior, may we hear your call,

Give our hearts to full obedience, serve and love you best of all.

---Cecil F. Alexander, 1852

“Christian, love me more than these.” It seems safe to say the thought of being called to love Jesus more than the temporal pleasures of this world is not uncommon. Here in this hymn we are called from the “worship of the vain world’s golden store,” from idols that keep us from God, from joys, from hours of ease, from pleasures. All the things that distract us from our true selves in Christ seem to fit into one of these categories. All the empty glittery good stuff with which the world entices us seems to be covered.

But then I notice: other distractions are mentioned, and they don’t seem as obvious as the pleasures. There is the “tumult of our life’s wild, restless sea” noted in the first verse, and sorrow, days of toil, and cares. Is Cecil Alexander implying that the cares, sorrows, worries, and busy-ness of daily life can also keep us from devotion to our Savior? I think so.

And now that I think about it, he may be right. The things that distract me from walking in Jesus’ way come wrapped in all sorts of packages. What hinders you from daily following Jesus?

...for ALL the saints

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,

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 of 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.

...in the tough middle

If you will only let God guide you, and hope in Him through all your ways,

whatever comes, He’ll stand beside you, to bear you through the evil days;

who trusts in God’s unchanging love builds on the Rock that cannot move.

---Georg Neumark, 1657

            “Gray skies are gonna clear up! Put on a happy face!

            Brush off the clouds and cheer up! Put on a happy face!”

Penned by lyricist Lee Adams for the mod musical Bye Bye Birdie, these upbeat lyrics spread a ‘feel-good gospel’—just smile, because life is gonna be all rainbows and flower gardens. Good things happen to good people! You attract what you resemble! …and, by implication, if life is not so good, you must be doing it wrong.

Well, friends, this hymn, 460 years old this year, calms me considerably. Because frankly, what I just described isn’t my life, not every day. Some days, my smile may be a little forced, or absent altogether. Some days, my happy face may be grimy with struggle, or streaked with tears. And on those days? On those days, the last thing I need is the added guilt of believing that my struggle is proof of my failure to live right, proof of my lack of faith.

This life, with our good God, is not lived above the fray, but in its midst—in the grimy, scary, tough middle. What promise, what comfort, then, that we don’t make our way through these days alone, but in the company of God beside us. What better place to pitch our tent than on the solid rock of the abiding love of God.

Life shifts and changes, but the love of God…it is the unchanging presence on which we stand.

...to not see

Teach me your way, O Lord, teach me your way!

your guiding grace afford, teach me your way!

Help me to walk aright, more by faith, less by sight;

lead me with heavenly light, teach me your way.

---B. Mansell Ramsey, 1919

More by faith, less by sight. Is there anything we humans like less than not seeing? Whether it is a fear of the dark, the panic of a blindfold, or the frustration of low vision or driving through a pounding rainstorm, not seeing can leave us feeling helpless, and hopeless. Yet in scripture we are instructed to ‘walk by faith and not by sight.’ Could anything take us out of our comfort zone faster?

How might our lives change if we walked less by sight and more by faith? Would our decision-making process change? What judgements might we forgo, or at least suspend?  Would we experience others’ needs and problems in a different light? Would our dependence on God make us weak…or would it make us strong?

...like you-hu-hu

Gracious Spirit, dwell with me, I would gracious be;

help me now Thy grace to see, I would be like Thee;

and, with words that help and heal, Thy life would mine reveal;

and, with actions bold and meek, for Christ my Savior speak.

---Thomas Toke Lynch, 1855

One of my favorite movies as a child was Walt Disney’s The Jungle Book. A soundtrack highlight for me was the scat jazz ‘I Wanna Be Like You’, sung by the masterful Louis Prima and penned by Richard and Robert Sherman. In the chorus, King Louie sings,

            Oh, ooh-bee-doo, I wanna be like you-hu-hu,

            I wanna walk like you, talk like you, too…

Now, in the movie, King Louie had his own reasons for wanting to be like Mowgli. But I thought about this song when I read this verse of today’s hymn for the upcoming observance of Children’s Sabbath at our church.

I thought of it because, as a follower of Jesus, there is nothing I want more than to be like Jesus. I want to walk ( and live) in the way of Jesus; I want to talk (and love) in the way of Jesus. ‘I would gracious be;’ I want to live my whole life letting my words, my actions, my intentions be motivated and guided by the gift of love that has surrounded me from birth.

How will I live if I know that I am representing Jesus to the world? I want Jesus to speak through my life by my actions, bold in love and meek when honoring others. I want to show Jesus’ life in mine, through words that help and heal, in a world where words often tear down and injure, or where silence causes wounds of its own.

Gracious spirit, dwell with me, I would gracious be…

I wanna walk like you, talk like you, too…

...reckless in giving

Take whatever I can offer --- gifts that I have yet to find,

Skills that I am slow to sharpen, talents of the hand and mind,

Things made beautiful for others in the place where I must be;

Take my gifts and let me love You, God who first of all loved me.

---Shirley Erena Murray, 1992

Offering. Giving. $$$. If we are honest, many of us equate “giving” and “offering” with dollars. And there is no doubt about it --- the challenges of the world need your dollars, and mine. But what intangibles do you command that could make this world a better place? What of your own essence can you offer to God?

Is there a skill you can offer? Some expertise you can bring to a situation? What talent could you bring? Could you make the world a more beautiful place with your art, your music? Could you give voice to those without? Shirley Erena Murray, a New Zealand hymnist, imagines offering gifts and skills still “in development” to God; gifts we are still discovering can be offered in trust to God. Can we be reckless in our giving to God, offering up still unformed parts of ourselves in the assurance that utility, even beauty, can be shaped from them? Do we trust God to honor our gifts offered in love?

God. Who first of all loved us.

...narrow minds, wide mercy, thank God

There’s a wideness in God’s mercy, like the wideness of the sea;

There’s a kindness in his justice which is more than liberty.

For the love of God is broader than the measure of the mind;

And the heart of the Eternal is most wonderfully kind.

---Frederick W. Faber, 1854

There is good news for us today, friends! God refuses to be restricted to the limits of our thoughts about God! What a humbling thought --- that our minds cannot conceive of the true nature of God’s mercy, grace, and provision. No matter how vast and gracious we make God in our minds, God is bigger and more loving. Even our idea of liberty as a high human and divine ideal is puny next to God’s sense of, and exercise of, justice. In a very real way, we have no idea what God is capable of!

We must be careful, I think, not to limit God to our own understanding, not to place labels on God that (by definition) will limit and diminish God’s essential nature. We would do well, I think, not to trade the limitless compassion of a mysterious God for the quantifiable allowances of a manageable god. In the end, if that is the trade we make, we miss out on so much of who God is.

 But thanks be to God! Whatever we think, feel, imagine…God…is…more.

...befriend me

Praise to the Lord, who doth prosper thy works and defend thee;

Surely his goodness and mercy here daily attend thee.

Ponder anew what the Almighty can do,

If with his love he befriend thee.

---Joachim Neander, 1680

This particular hymn text astounds me. Penned in 1680 (the translation made in 1868), this text deals with the nature of God’s power. What is amazing to me is the intimate nature of the relationship the writer envisions between the powerful God of the universe and regular gals and fellas like us. I know I shouldn’t, but I tend to think of intimacy with God as a contemporary thought; this text brings me up short. This familiarity, this friendship, is nothing evolved with our relational thinking; this has been a part of the way many before you and me have experienced God’s care for God’s beloved. I am asked to ponder anew what friendship with God can mean to regular folk like me.

What does it mean to be friends with God? How does this new identity affect the way I view my worth, my potential, my value? And how would being God’s friend change the way I walk on this earth, the way I relate to the rest of humanity? How would being God’s friend make me a more compassionate, more understanding, more tender friend to you? What kind of effect does that kind of friendship have?

...the song goes on

Lo! The apostolic train joins your sacred name to hallow;

prophets swell the glad refrain, and the white-robed martyrs follow.

And from morn to set of sun, through the church the song goes on.

---Ignaz Franz, 18th century

I haven’t spent much time up north, where lots of mighty rivers originate. I have heard that even the Mighty Mississippi begins as a tiny trickle somewhere up in Minnesota (or, #controversyalert, South Dakota!), before growing to one of the most powerful rivers in the world down south. I am reminded of its slightly more northerly section, and its building power, when I think of the heartbreaking scene in Huckleberry Finn in which Huck and Jim desperately try to resist the flow of the swollen Mississippi in an effort to navigate onto the Ohio, and freedom. But you can’t fight the current of a river that big.

And I’ve actually stood in the headwaters of our own ‘mighty Chattahoochee’ in the mountains not many hours’ drive from here. What starts small is added to by the trickle of tens, of hundreds, streams---until it is flowing with a calm force that will not be denied.

The song of praise that all creation sings had its genesis, well, you know, at the beginning. Can’t you imagine the first elements of creation finding voice and offering that gift up to Creator? And on, through the love story of God and God’s creation, the song has grown---tens, hundreds of trickles and rivulets merging and mingling to create one song that will not be denied.

Do you hear the people sing?

...refuge and strength

Though the earth give way
When the mountains sway
If the seas heave and roar
When I can't stand more---
God is our refuge and strength
A help ever present, we won't be afraid.
God is our refuge and strength
We'll dwell near you all of our days.
---from Psalm 46/para.laca.

No matter how the world changes under our feet...our God walks beside us.

Click below to hear the song setting of this Psalm paraphrase...

Though the Earth Give Way

...for a reason

We are called to be God’s prophets, speaking for the truth and right,

Standing firm for godly justice, bringing evil into light.

Let us seek the courage needed, our high calling to fulfill,

That we all may know the blessing of the doing of God’s will.

---Thomas A. Jackson, 1973

Prophet. When I see the word, my mind goes to seers, oracles, fortune-tellers, or at least future-tellers. Some guy dressed in outrageous rags with a more outrageous hair-do, straight up giving the king the business. Same dude, few days later, found tossed off the city heights or ripped limb from limb ‘under mysterious circumstances’. Is that your mental image, too? This does not sound like a highly sought-after gig, my people.  

In actuality, the word means something less spectacular, and more applicable to our lives today. A prophet is one who speaks a fresh word from God for the world. You see my meaning? We could all be called to be prophets, listening to the guidance of God as we share a fresh message of hope to the world. We could be the ones called to envision and embody the reign of Christ in the world. We could be the ones called to speak hope to despair. Strength to fear. Love to apathy. Welcome to mistrust. Plenty to scarcity.  Sound daunting? It does to me, too. But our help and courage comes from our close relatedness to Jesus and his message. Prophets. I am, and you are. All of us are called. And brothers and sisters, we have these voices for a reason.

...different, together.

God is here! As we Your people meet to offer praise and prayer,

May we find in fuller measure what it is in Christ we share.

Here, as in the world around us, all our varied skills and arts

Wait the coming of the Spirit into open minds and hearts.

---Fred Pratt Green, 1978

Here we are, God. We come to this place with an incredible array of talents, needs, resources, hurts, dreams, and personalities. It is quite amazing that we all keep coming here to make a church, isn’t it? What is it that keeps us coming back, that entices us to search for the things that bind us?

In the midst of our differences --- of need and resource, of faith and fear, of black and white and shades of gray --- we seek the coming of the Spirit of Christ. We await the Spirit, anticipate the Spirit --- to enliven us, to inform us, to enlarge us, to add meaning to our lives.

We pray, we praise, we seek, we anticipate…together

...lost...and home.

Words of life, words of hope,

give us strength, help us cope;

in this world where’er we roam

God’s ancient words will guide us home.

---Lynn DeShazo, 2001

Have you ever gotten lost? Turned around? So worn out you lost track of the path ahead of you and stumbled into the high grass off the side of the trail? Have you ever looked around for a sign, or down at a map, or up at the stars, and wondered, “Where in the world am I?” Have you ever sat there, where you found yourself---lost---and asked yourself, the open road, no one in particular, “How in the world did I get to here?”

Friends, I am the queen of getting lost, but not just in a literal way. I cannot count the times I’ve gotten lost behind a guitar, or in the pages of a book, or in front of a screen of some sort. I’ve been lost at the bottom of a mountain of to-do's, and in a deep well of lonesomeness; and lost in frustration with the inadequacies of this broken world, and inadequacies of my own. How about you? Where do you get lost?

What hopeful, life-giving words, then, what a promise---that ancient words, God-inspired and preserved for us in Scripture, stand as a beacon in our lostness, in our turn-aroundness, in our discouragement and weakness. I hear some speaking to me now:

            In this world you will have trouble, but fear not…I have overcome the world.

            The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases.

            I have loved you with an everlasting love.

            You are mine. You are precious in my sight.

These are the words that guide me home. Every time…every time.

...change is...

Be still, my soul: The Lord is on your side.

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;

leave to your God to order and provide;

in every change God faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul: Your best, your heavenly friend

through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

---Katharina von Schlegel, 1752

There seem to be truths about life, truths that anyone who lives long enough will experience. Life is not always fair. Bad things happen to good (and bad) people. And the only constant in this life…is change. And while I have made my peace with life’s essential unfairness, and the fact that good and bad things happen to good and bad folks, change kicks me in the teeth like a schoolyard bully every time. Weird thing is, I resist change even when the situation I find myself in isn’t particularly ideal. Because, you know, change, OUCH. You may have a problem with one of the other of these great life truths.

And with truths like that, we need a friend in our corner. In this text from the mid-1700’s, we are reminded that God, our best friend, is on our side (your side, my side, all of our sides---but that’s another story for another day). Armed with this knowledge, we are empowered to tackle and solve some of life’s problems. And the others? Those river rapids rushing in the near distance? We are supported while wading through treacherous crossings, a strong arm firm around us lest we slip beneath the surface.

Be still, my soul…there is One beside you.

...hide me

Jesus, Lover of my soul, let me to thy bosom fly,

while the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high;

hide me, O my Savior hide, till the storm of life is past;

safe into the haven guide, O receive my soul at last.

Other refuge have I none; hangs my helpless soul on thee;

leave, ah! leave me not alone, still support and comfort me.

All my trust on thee is stayed, all my help from thee I bring;

cover my defenseless head with the shadow of thy wing.

---Charles Wesley, 1738

Sometimes we need to face the difficult circumstances in our lives, to fight the good fight, to stand and deliver. And sometimes we need to hide. This text is about those times. What comfort is present in these images, of Jesus as a lover and nurturer of what is most tender in us! What safety, to fly to the bosom of God, there to be held in the shadow of God’s wing, like a mother bird gathering and protecting her chicks with her very life. What a grace to be in relationship with a God who provides both the courage for living, and refuge for resting.

Hide me.

...whole, complex, complete

Finish then thy new creation, pure and spotless let us be;

Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee:

Changed from glory into glory, till in heaven we take our place,

Till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love, and praise.

---Charles Wesley, 1747

Restored and finished. Charles Wesley, in the mid-1700’s, used these words to envision the fulfillment of God’s dream for humanity. With a love that surpasses any other concept of love, God continues to “create” us, to draw us toward purity, rendering out anything that blurs our essential essence. With each new day, God’s love transforms us, glory to glory, allowing each of us to become more of who we were always meant to be. This verse is an encouragement to me, as I often feel God must not quite be done with me yet!  What a God we worship, whose creation is not limited to a one-time act, but happens over and over to create and re-create us as whole, complex, and complete!

It’s enough to lose ourselves in wonder, love, and praise….

...not a shield...a shipmate

When I tread the verge of Jordan, bid my anxious fears subside;

bear me through the swelling current, land me safe on Canaan’s side:

songs of praises, songs of praises, I will ever give to Thee.

---William Williams, 1745

The world is always seeking escapes from real life. Drugs, alcohol, gambling, excessive screen time, plastic surgery, overeating---there are countless tempting ways to try avoiding the realities of this world. There is great allure for a hurting yet ingenious humanity to try conquering the unpleasantness of life in the same way we have conquered space flight, locomotion, or bacterial infection. And if we are honest, many of us want religion to serve the same purpose as these escapes---we want it to shield us from the unpleasantness and pain of real life.

In today’s text, the hymn writer confronts real life head-on. No mere escape, our faith walks with us through the fearful days (and they will come, they will come). “When I tread the verge of Jordan…” ‘When’, not ‘if’, and not ‘if I must’. Facing life head-on, the writer acknowledges that death is a reality we all must face. What calms his fears is the steadfast belief that he will land safe on the other side. Facing the choppy waters of the Jordan, our anxious fears subside when we are accompanied by our strong deliverer.

Songs of praises we will ever give to Thee.

...come and get it

Come, then, children, with your burdens --- life’s confusions, fears, and pain.

Leave them at the cross of Jesus, take instead His kingdom’s reign.

Bring your thirsts, for He will quench them --- He alone will satisfy.

All our longings find attainment when to self we gladly die.

---Marva J. Dawn, 1999

From pop culture to Protestant work ethic, from self-realization to prosperity gospel, even the loose cherry-picked readings of some of the New Testament’s “red letter writings” ---  all over, the universe seems to be sending us a message loud and clear: If you want it, come and get it. Take what you need. The desires of your heart are there for a reason. Seek and you will find. Work for what you want. God wants you to have nice things.

Here’s the thing, though. When we are invited, coaxed, beckoned, called by Jesus to walk in his path, we do hear “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find….For everyone who asks receives.” But I can’t help but look at Jesus’ life among the poor and broken, and think that perpetual Christmas morning excess is not what he had in mind. I hear Jesus say, “When you lay down the distraction of what you thought you wanted, you can begin to focus on the real life of the spirit. And I will meet every need. And you will finally be able to stop striving, and running after, and grasping, and resenting. And then, friend, you will know what it is to live.”

Lay down your burdens at the cross. Pick up life.

...with our hands

Now thank we all our God with heart and hands and voices,

who wondrous things hath done, in whom His world rejoices;

who, from our mother’s arms, hath blessed us on our way

with countless gifts of love, and still is ours today.

---Marin Rinkhart, 1636

I wish that I had written the first line of this hymn (well, I might have tweaked the grammar a little, but otherwise…). We are used to, even weary of, talking about giving thanks. We have a holiday reserved for it (well, named for it…the holiday is reserved more and more for eating and Christmas shopping). We debate whether we teach our children well enough to say thank you as they grow up, and whether we continue that courtesy as adults. We spend our table graces and parts of our corporate and private prayers in thanksgiving for our blessings. This is not a novel thought.

The genius part? Thanking God with our hands. Now I get the thanking with our voices, and with our hearts, but with our hands? I like this way of thinking about thanking. What form would thanking with your hands take? Would you ‘pay it forward’? Would you practice random acts of kindness? Would you give more than you thought you could? Would you find yourself going above and beyond, if you thanked with you heart, your hands, your voice?

...I'll be good sometime

 Take my life, lead me, Lord, take my life, led me, Lord,

Make my life useful to Thee.

---R. Maines Rawls, 1968

I was sitting up late one night during a holiday break, when college-age children were ‘home’ for a bit. My cell phone chime startled me out of a thoughtful reverie (ok, Sarah, I was probably asleep in the green chair), and I picked it up to read the following text message: I’ll be good sometime. After my heart stopped racing, I was able to decipher the message; the sender’s predictive texting had interpreted the entered word ‘home’ as the word ‘good’ (same letters on the T9 keypad). And while I’ll be home sometime isn’t terribly specific, it is much more comforting than  I’ll be good sometime.

In this life, most of us can handle being called to ‘goodness’. We can do that, even if it is only ‘sometimes’. But, God knows, brothers and sisters, we are called to more than goodness. We are called to usefulness, to service, to faithfulness to the Savior who poured out his own life for ours.

Friends, we are not called just to be good; we are called to be good for something.

...never, never alone

There’s not a plant or flower below, but makes Thy glories known;

and clouds arise, and tempests blow, by order from Thy throne;

while all that borrows life from Thee is ever in Thy care,

and everywhere that we can be, Thou, God, art present there.

---Isaac Watts, 1715

The signs are all around. They are in the breeze, underfoot. In messages writ large and small, we are reminded that we don’t make our way through this life unaccompanied. Power and tenderness, delicacy and strength, stillness and motion---God’s presence is felt in myriad ways, in every place and time, in ways we desperately seek and in ways discovered as serendipitous gift.

The Psalmist relates it this way:

            Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?

            If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

            If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me,

and the light around me become night,’

even the darkness is not dark to you;

the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is as light to you.

            ---Psalm 139: 7-12

Sisters and brothers, we are never. never. alone. And it is not our job to bind God to us some way.

Erasmus said, ‘Bidden or not bidden, God is present.’ Hear the good news, and rest assured.

,,,the wind changes everything

Wind who makes all winds that blow ---gusts that bend the saplings low,

gales that heave the sea in waves, stirrings in the mind’s deep caves ---

aim your breath with steady power on your church, this day, this hour.

Raise, renew the life we’ve lost, Spirit God of Pentecost.

---Thomas Troeger, 1983

It was one of those days. The kind when you slap bugs crawling up and down your back, and find it’s sweat pouring down your spine. When your gaze across the blacktop of the supermart parking lot is crazed and zagged by waves of rising heat. When the silence is so thick your ears ring with it. When you walk bowlegged, just to keep your thighs from rubbing together where they are chafed, from rubbing together on days just like this. Five days, ten. All of them. It has been this hot, this humid, this still, for. ev. er.

You have work to do. The heat, the stillness won’t stop you, won’t keep you from working with skill, with dedication, with honor. Won’t cause you to throw up your hands, throw in the towel, throw up the white flag of surrender. You believe in the work you do, feel called to it, even. Leaving it undone, or half-done, feels as wrong as planting without mulch to protect from the harsh sun. Beside all that, you are no quitter, are you?

So you keep on.

But, playing with your sweaty curls, ruffling the hem of your red-dusted work shirt, sending pecan leaves trembling is a freshening, a breeze. You raise your eyes to the horizon, edge of disbelieving…but there it is, again. You are still, almost afraid to move for fear the wind will disappear. But you do. And it doesn’t.

And that wind. It renews. It envigorates. It restores the joy to the work you were doing. It colors your shades of grey world, reminds you how good, how life-giving, your labor was. Is.

The wind? It changes everything.

...one epic jam

The earth is God’s flute, God’s cello and chime,

the wind draws the notes. The seasons keep time.

At dusk and at night, from the sunrise past noon

God’s playing and singing a ravishing tune.

---Thomas Troeger, 1985

Thou rushing wind that art so strong, ye clouds that sail in heaven along,

Thou rising morn, in praise rejoice; ye lights of evening, find a voice.

Thou flowing water, pure and clear, make music for thy Lord to hear;

Thou fire so masterful and bright, that givest us both warmth and light.

Alleluia!

---Francis of Assisi, 1225

I spent this evening making music with some of the greatest guys I know. We sat in a circle, and played and sang with, and for, each other. We learned, and taught, suggested, improved, polished, sat back and enjoyed. Some of my favorite times are those I spend sitting with people who love songs like I do, making them come alive.

I spend a good bit of my free time with music. Listening to music, singing, playing, writing music---marrying text with tune to find the just-right expression that transcends both. The first hymn text above, from Thomas Troeger, asks us to imagine Creator God, sitting in a circle with all of creation, making sacred sound that becomes more beautiful as more, and more diverse, elements are added to its harmonies. Imagine sitting in that singing circle! After living with the charming Troeger text, my mind was drawn, repeatedly, back across centuries to the words of celebration and praise left us by Francis of Assisi. He so connected with Creator God through God’s creation; this text is praise to the Creator and thanksgiving for the music of creation.

Grab a drum or guitar, or warm up your pipes…God is gathering all creation for a music circle! Let’s not be late…I hear it will be epic.

...in your eyes

To all, life thou givest, to both great and small;

in all life thou livest, the true life of all;

we blossom and flourish as leaves on the tree,

and wither and perish – but naught changeth thee.

---Walter Chalmers Smith, 1867

This mid 19^th century hymn of praise tackles a tough issue for many God-seekers of all eras: the unknow-ability of God. God, invisible, hidden, inaccessible. Over centuries, millennia, from the dawn of humankind, folk have been searching for a face for God; usually the one we come up with is an awful lot like our own. Having an invisible God doesn’t suit a human race that likes visibility. Thus, we erect statues. We paint icons and frescoes. We weave tapestries. We create stories full of personification and pronouns. We fall short. Every time. Our minds are too small for the vastness of God’s identity.

And that’s ok. With every rendering, parable, grasping simile, we stretch ourselves to glimpse a little more of the God-ness of God. In this hymn, Walter Chalmers Smith grasped just a bit, I think. God gives life to all, great and small. God lives a true life in all. God lives in all. …God lives in all? If God is present in all life, perhaps we need not look too far to catch a glimpse of God’s glory. Perhaps I need only look into your eyes, and you need only look into mine.

...this side of heaven

For the joy of human love,

brother, sister, parent, child,

friends on earth and friends above,

for all gentle thoughts and mild,

Lord of all, to Thee we raise this

our hymn of grateful praise.

---Folliott S Pierpoint, 1864

The joy of human love. Flawed, fragile, erring love, conditional and weak, sometimes selfish and self-serving. Love has come through and come around. Love has rescued and resisted. Love has let me down, and ground me down. Love has promised and lied. But love, nonetheless, sometimes wounded or wounding, the best we have to give and receive this side of heaven.

It’s an easy thing to be thankful for God’s love for us ---the perfect, endless, complete love of our boundless God, shown us in Jesus. This verse reminds us that there is joy in the human love we share with those close to us, imperfect thought it may be. And the more we practice this human love, the better reflection of God’s love we are able to mirror in our own relationships. The love of those around us strengthens and encourages.

Let’s raise our hymn to God for the joy of human love. Praise and gratitude, Lord of all.