...frail God in the hands of clueless humanity

The hands that first held Mary’s Child were hard from working wood,

From boards they sawed and planed and filed and splinters they withstood.

This day they gripped no tool of steel, they drove no iron nail,

But cradled from the head to heel our Lord, newborn and frail.

---Thomas H. Troeger, 1985

I remember the hours well. Against all standards of logic and decency, the medical staff at West Paces Ferry Hospital in cozy intown Atlanta GA had seen fit to hand over a tiny, 8’12”, absolutely lovely newborn boy to two not tiny, already sleep-starved, absolutely besotted grownups, to…what? Wait, we were supposed to take care of that tiny creature? We, who knew nothing? We, of the too big hands, and the too loud voices, and the good intentions and brokedown followthrough? We?

And yet, there we were, tiny babe buckled into tiny rear-facing carseat, on the short surface road drive to the tiny house the babe would call home. Into the nursery, walls telling the story of teddy bears serving tea to bunnies and geese, and pigs in pearls. And, lulled to sleep by the purring car motor and the air conditioner against the August heat, laid (maybe gently) into tiny skirted bassinet. To sleep…and sleep…and sleep. As clueless parents paced, and fretted, and looked at our books (the Dr Spock and the hippie one, for balance) in this pre-Google age. Finally, at 12 hours, frantic parents called the emergency nurse line, all to say, the tiny baby seems to be sleeping so peacefully. After a, well, pregnant pause, the tired nurse murmured, and this is a problem how?

Imagine, the God of the universe embodied in the frailty of a babe, entrusted to the rough, calloused hands of a clueless father…never having cradled “God with us” before, and only the fog of the half-remembered dream of angel whisper to guide and reassure.

Who’d imagine? …our Lord, newborn, and frail…

...ancient splendors fling

For lo, the days are hastening on, by prophet bards foretold,

when with the ever-circling years comes round the age of gold;

when peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendors fling,

and the whole world give back the song which now the angels sing.

---Edmund H. Sears, 1849

I won’t lie. The complete text of this hymn, written in 1849 by Massachusetts minister Edmund Sears, is one of the most incisive studies of peace, and how we destroy it, that I have ever read. Almost no hymnal includes all the verses, but you can find them complete on several internet sites, and I encourage you to do so (along with the entire text of ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day’, from Longfellow’s poem  ). Their power will affect you deeply; and in our world of commonplace, numbing un-peace, we need the angels’ song to shock us out of our complacency.

This verse looks forward to a time when the world will be set right, in tune with the song of the angels, at peace. Imagine, a time when peace, personified, flings its splendors over the whole world; a time when warring and internal turmoil cease around the globe; a time when we mortals can forget our war-cries and shouts of hate and fear, and fill our mouths and hearts to echo back the peace song the angels have sung all along.

Lo, the days are hastening on…and I can’t wait.

...the world in pieces

Christians all, your Lord is coming, hope for peace is now at hand.

Let there be no hesitation, walk in faith where life demands.

Bear the word that God has given; share the birth that stirs your soul.

Alleluia! Alleluia! Christ will come and make you whole.

---Jim Miller, 1993

“What do you want from me?!” This question, borne of frustration, whispered in fury or shouted in rage. This question, from a student in over his head and floundering in an advanced academic class. This question, from an uncommunicative spouse during a couples counseling session crackling with tension. This question, from a sleep-deprived, wound-tight new mother, desperate to know why the tiny baby she loves refuses to be comforted.

And we, too. We who claim Christ. We who pray for a world at peace and, instead, survey a world in pieces. We who stand helpless, empty hands curling uselessly into fists as we are tempted, ourselves, to go to pieces. We stand, fists curled, feeling helpless, and clueless, and cry into the broken world, “What do you want from me?!”

And from the silence…answers. Walk in faith, don’t hesitate. Carry with you the word God gave you. Share the nativity story that still lights you up. Can you do these things? They are part of your breathe-in-breathe-out, after all, your being. The world wants you…to be fully you.

And Christ will come, and in the coming, the world in pieces will find peace.

...created for together

O that with yonder sacred throng we at His feet may fall!

We’ll join the everlasting song, and crown Him Lord of all.

--Edward Perronet, 1779

I drove in that sort of half-mindless reverie that long sunsets and lonesome backroads inspire, far enough from the few small towns I passed through that I met few headlights or taillights. My NPR station crackled with enough static that the quirky voices of the show hosts teased me with nearly-full statements of great import. Then, all of a sudden and also at long last, I found myself on a long stretch of road, aimed at the dying-sun sky, with the held-breath world embracing me from either side of the road. And there, and then, I sat up. I took notice. I slowed my breath. I turned grateful eyes, heart toward the Creator of this exquisite moment.

Perhaps you have experienced those instants of solitary adoration also. They echo in the soul (and if I’m lucky, and prepared, my camera roll) far after the moment passes. And they are important. But they are not the only holy moments.

The moments when the pieces fit, and we match our voices to the lasting song, and to our beloved family—across the aisle, around the world—hold their own glory, and offer us a chance to join in a sort of worship we will never experience on our own.

Not because we are not good enough, alone. But because we are created for together.

...with my eyes closed

…still with Thee in closer, dearer company,

in work that keeps faith sweet and strong ,in trust that triumphs over wrong;

in hope that sends a shining ray far down the future’s broadening way,

in peace that only Thou canst give, with Thee, O Master, let me live.

---Washington Gladden, 1879

Meat, browned. Tomato paste and water. Beef bouillon paste, spices. Red beans. Cook in crockpot, add salt and tomatoes in juice.

In my sleep I made this recipe, stumbling through blurs of soccer seasons, choir seasons, season seasons. With my eyes closed, with one hand tied behind my back, while pretending I understood the math homework. So when middle child texted for the recipe, I sent it off from pure muscle memory. …”Mom? Is there any kind of tomato stuff in there before the ones at the end?” …”Yes. The tomato paste and water at the beginning…” “Ummm, not there. Did you leave it out?”

Well. A little lesson for me on the power of habit, and falling out of it. When I had stopped making chili by the bucketful, the habits that guided my cooking (and the mental index card that held the much-loved recipe) had fallen away too. Walking in the company of Jesus, our teacher and friend, incorporates habits—habits of work, trust, hope, peace. In the daily practice, the repeating rhythm of these habits we exercise walking in the presence of Christ, we find our way to life.

In Christ’s closer company, we become what we practice.

...in all life

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. Because 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.

...the praise of the created

All creatures of our God and King, lift up your voice and with us sing

Alleluia!

Let all things their Creator bless, and worship him in humbleness,

Alleluia!

---Francis of Assisi, 1225

The text of this ancient hymn is attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, and dates from around the year 1225. Let’s just think for a minute about a tradition that still values the wisdom that can be gleaned from the riches of the past. Thank you, Church, for preserving these hymns for us and our children.

Now, on to the poetry and genius of the text. St. Francis couldn’t actually cover “all things”, but he covered all the bases he could with contrast. Listen to some of the contrasts from this lover of all things natural: burning sun and silver moon, rushing wind and sailing clouds, rising morn and evening lights, flowing water and masterful fire. Can you imagine a concert of voices made up of all these natural elements, praising the One who’d imagined them? It would be pretty spectacular, I’ll bet!

And yet, Francis doesn’t leave out the human element of nature’s praise, and reminds us that our voices are needed to make the song complete. Hearts, both tender with forgiveness and heavy with pain and sorrow, are called to praise God, and to cast all care on the One who cares for us.

Let all things their Creator bless…Alleluia!

...the wholeness, after

I thank You, Lord, for each new day, for meadows white with dew,

for the sun’s warm hand upon the earth, for skies of endless blue,

for fruit and flower, for lamb and leaf, for every bird that sings,

with grateful heart I thank You, Lord, for all these simple things.

---Mary Kay Beall, 1991

Chaos is built of complexity. It is busy-ness, and noise, and frenetic motion, and confused grasping. It is layers of responsibility and burden. It is a multiplicity of demands—those from within, those from without. It is the rushing, and the doing, and the chasing, and the getting. And it is the emptiness, after. The echoing emptiness, too, can be chaos.

Gratitude is crafted of simplicity. It is pause, and breath, and gaze, and attending. It is unhurried presence in the face of a rushing culture. It is listening for the highest call. It is the abiding, and the being, and the discovering, and the acknowledging. And it is the wholeness, after. The echoing wholeness, too, can be gratitude.

Intentionally choosing simplicity over complexity may guide us in the way of wholeness rather than emptiness. And choosing gratitude over chaos may remake our lives as offering –every heartbeat, every breath.

...befriended

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, tr. Catherine Winkworth, 1863

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 everyday people like us (h/t to Sly and the Family Stone). 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 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?

With friends like that…would we have enemies?

...isn't it rich?

As we worship, grant us vision, till Your love’s revealing light

in its height and depth and greatness dawns upon our quickened sight,

making known the needs and burdens Your compassion bids us bear,

stirring us to tireless striving, Your abundant life to share.

---Albert F. Bayly, 1961

“Abundant life” is an attractive concept to believers. Definitions for abundant include “in plentiful supply, ample; abounding with; rich.” The picture I have in mind is of a life so rich and full that it is overflowing. Just as there are many mental images of abundance, there are many interpretations of what Jesus really meant when he promised an abundant life. As I study this hymn text, I find a new favorite.

This text suggests that the abundant life Christ lives, and beckons us to, is abundant in service. Out of the abundant life we have “in plentiful supply”, we can reach out to salve the hurts of an aching world. And, just perhaps, a fully abundant life cannot be lived separate from serving others out of the riches of grace and mercy showered on us by God. No one can live an abundant life outside the sphere of serving a hurting world.

Isn’t it rich?

...less by sight

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 judgments 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?

...I'll be good sometime

Take my life, lead me, Lord, take my life, lead 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, family, 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 sometime’; we are called to be good for something.

...what light does

Live Your Light within and through us,

dawn in us eternal day.

Tell us, as we brave the darkness,

when to speak and what to say.

---Terry W. York, 2006

If you learned the song as a child, I bet you’ll have trouble not acting out some of the motions right now, where you sit---

            This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine,

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!

            Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m gonna let it shine!

            Won’t let Satan {whuff} it out! I’m gonna let it shine!

Did I see you with your finger up, 'letting it shine'? There is such a good message for us in this simple song---the message to live our truth boldly in the world, unashamed of the love we profess, refusing to let the not-love quench the flame. I want to live this way, I do; and some days I get closer than others.

But here’s the thing. If the Source of Light is in us (and It is, oh, It is), we. just. shine. Not because we’re shiny every single day. Not because we produce any light in and of ourselves. But because the Source, the Light of the World, is in us, lighting the world through us. All we’ve got to do is get out of the way and let the Light do…what Light does, for Heaven’s sake.

With the light of Christ in you---I dare you not to shine.

...no more

gonna lay down my sword and shield
down by the riverside,
study war no more.
--black spiritual

the commitment to radical peace will require of us laying down both sword *and* shield--weapon *and* defense. learning to lay down fear and pick up trust.

meet you at the river. my hands will be empty.
--laca

...and in me

Does sadness fill my mind? A solace here I find,

May Jesus Christ be praised!

Or fades my earthly bliss? My comfort still is this,

May Jesus Christ be praised!

The night becomes as day, when from the heart we say,

May Jesus Christ be praised!

The powers of darkness fear, when this sweet song they hear,

May Jesus Christ be praised!

--Katholisches Gesangbuch, 1828

Probably none of us, if we live long enough, will avoid the deep ache of sadness. Some may be fortunate, and experience only brief periods of ‘fadedness’. Others, through life circumstance or brain chemistry, may slog through long terms of depression and sadness. And, because Jesus walked this life fully human, we can surmise that he experienced every emotion common to humanity, including the dark cloud of sadness. This thought is so comforting to me --- to know that I can experience nothing that my Savior has not experienced first. And out of that comfort can come praise. In my darkest moment, I can cling to Christ, and sing my anguished, confused, joyful song of praise, faint or full though it may be.

May Jesus Christ be praised, and may praise do its transformative work in the world. And in me. And in me.

...and God showed up

O Master, from the mountainside make haste to heal the hearts of pain;

among these restless throngs abide;

O tread the city’s streets again:

Till all the earth shall learn Your love and follow where Your feet have trod;

till glorious from your heaven above shall come the city of our God.

—Frank Mason North, 1903

God showed up last Sunday. God showed up in the powerful story of affirmation of the place where a pastor’s core identity and elemental calling each complemented and strengthened the other. God showed up as a diverse congregation gathered to bless one of its own, a young PhD ready to return to his country with the love and nurture of a faith family behind him. God showed up in bread and wine, the body re-membered; and in call to action for peace and justice; and in grief over young lives detained and lost (because God shows up in the grieving, God does). 

But then a funny thing happened. Sarah and I got on the train for home. And God showed up in the singing aloud with the song in his earbuds of the disheveled man a few seats ahead of me (all about that bass, ‘bout that bass, ‘bout that bass, no treble...). And we got our bus transfer, along with a couple struggling with a stroller. And God showed up in the guy in gym clothes who gave up his seat and jumped up to lift the stroller into the aisle beside them. And God showed up in the wondering gaze of the babe who, lifted in his tiny kimono from the stroller, lit up the faces of the strangers all around him. 

And I’m reminded, in a hundred big and small ways, that where and when glimpses of beauty and love break through our isolation and fear, it’s then that Christ walks the city’s streets again. It’s then that God’s kin-dom reveals itself a little more fully. It’s when we learn to follow, that we’ll find we’ve been walking on holy ground all along. 

...the best sorts of Mothering

Like a mother with her children You will comfort us each day,
giving guidance on our journey, as we seek to find our way.
When we walk through fiery trials, You will help us take a stand;
when we pass through troubled waters, You hold out Your tender hand.

—Jann Aldredge-Clanton 

My ideas of good mothering have matured along with me, being shaped by the act of mothering itself, moving from theory to practice and from toddling to dancing. Okay, okay...so, there  may  only be minutes that my mothering approaches the lithe grace of dancing, but you know what I mean. As my maturity as a mother has increased, I have grown to trust more in the preparedness, capability, and potential of my children, and to see my role as less of a rescuer. I’ve learned to provide more guidance and support  than unsolicited direction and dictation. And it is more and more evident to me that presence in the storms of life is to be desired over protection from any discomfort. Somehow I bet life is not through teaching me, either. 

When I look at the ways God loves me, I see the tender strength and steadfast presence of a Mother come through. Comfort, Guide, Courage, Presence—God embodies the best sorts of Mothering. And whether we had a mother who did for us, or not—imagine what it would feel like to know that we all have a God who mothers us so well.

Thanks be to our good God, whose love never fails. 

...if, then

God is calling through the voices of our neighbors’ urgent prayers:

Through their longing for redemption and for rescue from despair.

Place of hurt or face of needing; strident cry or silent pleading:

God is calling --- can you hear? God is calling --- can you hear?

---Mary Louise Bringle, 2003

“Oh, how I would like to hear God speak clearly!” “I’m just waiting on a sign from God.” “It would have been so much easier to live in Jesus’ time --- we could hear straight from his lips what he wanted from us!” If you have not been the speaker of one of these comments (or something similar), you have surely heard folk who have said these things. If only God would speak, and tell us exactly what we need to know!

In this very new hymn, Mel Bringle posits that God is speaking to us in our modern age. God is speaking through the natural beauty of the world, through music and art, through hymns and carols. She also states that God is speaking to us, pleading, in the voices of those with needs and hungers living among us. God speaks to us in the tragedies and injustices of the world in which we live.

Jesus even addressed this kind of God-speak in Matthew 25. The ‘church people’ asked him, incredulous, “When in this world did we ever hear your voice, Jesus, calling out to us in need or pain?” And Jesus said, “Anytime you heard the cry of your fellow humans, of basic needs, of care and concern, of human dignity, that voice was mine.”

God is calling.

...in their shoeprints

God of past, Who by Your Spirit, led Your people through each age,

may we learn from their example, by their faith our doubts assuage.

May their steadfast resoluteness as they followed in Your way

be for us an inspiration as we serve the present day.

---Milburn Price, 1981

I have written before about the deep and lasting impact that repeated visits to the National Memorial for Peace and Justice have made, continue to make, on my life and spirit. This quiet memorial situated in Montgomery, the heart of the deep South, chronicles the dark cruelty of humanity—and the soul of a culture trying to address that cruelty clear-eyed, and to find a way to heal, and thrive, together. At the Memorial, in addition to the truly overwhelming silent witness of named victims of racial terror lynchings, county by county, several sculptures speak to other steps on the path to ‘now’ for black people. One sculpture work that I am thinking of today is Guided by Justice, by Dana King. In it are depicted the figures of three of the many black women who powered the Montgomery Bus Boycott in the mid-1950’s. The figures shuffle, wrapped in overcoats against the raw midwinter chill, faces etched with weariness, each solitary with her thoughts. Beside the figures are shoeprints planted in the gravel pathway.

In all the time I have stood and watched that sculpture, I have not seen a visitor walk by without at least lining up their own foot beside those shoeprints; many stood in the prints, struggling to manage the emotions threatening to overwhelm them. I know this was my story. And when I’m weary with struggling to see right done, and tempted to give up, I remember that privilege is having the option to give up. And I remember the feeling of fitting my feet into the prints of those women who walked because they had no option left. And their faith and resoluteness lifts me, and reminds me. And I walk on.

...lift life heavenward

Lord, You make the common holy: “This My body, this My blood.”

Let us all, for earth’s true glory, daily lift life heavenward,

asking that the world around us share Your children’s liberty:

with the Spirit’s gifts empower us for the work of ministry.

---Jeffrey Rowthorn, 1978

Have you ever known someone with the touch? Someone who could take the most ordinary day and imbue it with otherworldliness? Turn an everyday action into a ritual of uncommon beauty? Take a passing conversation and bless the words exchanged, draw out the pain and joy masked behind safely neutral words and phrases?

I feel like Jesus must have been one of these rare persons. There are so many recorded instances of him breathing holiness into the mundane everyday of existence—everyday tasks, everyday conversations, everyday touches. In Jesus’ hands, touch healed disease and stigma, the fruit of wheat and vine became sacred sign. In Jesus’ mouth, names spoken called fishermen from their nets, taxmen from their graft, the dead from their repose, faithful women from their grief.

Is the gift for crafting sacredness from ordinariness, then, Jesus’ gift uniquely? Or are we to be imitators of Christ in this too, always open for the Spirit to move in us to transform the common into the holy…in the midst of us…through us?

Let us all, for earth’s true glory, daily lift life heavenward…

...by our love

We will work with each other, we will work side by side.

And we’ll guard each one’s dignity and save each one’s pride.

And they’ll know we are Christians by our love.

---peter Scholtes, 1966

“They’ll know we are Christians by our _________.” There it was, all dressed up, bold-faced, meme-style, on my Facebook feed the other day. The folk hymn companion of “Pass It On” from the heart hymnal of my youth, sent out as a poll QOTD (question of the day) for any and all comers to fill-in-the-blank. And they did. Oh, they did.

Now, some folks knew the answer was supposed to be Jesus…and answered with “love”. But there are large portions of society who are not aware of what (we hope) marks Christianity. Some folks’ experience with people who wear the label has been judgmental, dismissive, condescending, even cruel. I cannot dismiss or deny their experience, because it is theirs…and because it has occasionally been mine.

But. I can labor and live to counteract that impression. I can love the world, and the people in it, with my whole heart. I can work to make this world better reflect the kingdom of heaven, where the Prince of Peace reigns and the dignity and pride of every person are uplifted. I can walk the world gently, and consider what it means to lay down my life for the sake of ‘the other’. I can let my breath be thanks.

You can, too. And they’ll know we are Christians. You know. By our love.

...you had one job

We all are one in mission, we all are one in call,

our varied gifts united by Christ, the Lord of all.

A single great commission compels us from above

to plan and work together that all may know Christ’s love.

---Rusty Edwards, 1985

You had one job. If you take out your preferred google device and type these words into the search bar, you will be treated to a veritable feast of flops, a buffet of buffoonery, a truckload of troubles. Go ahead...I'll wait. ‘You had one job’ is social media shorthand for ‘Wow, could you have done worse at the thing you were supposed to be in charge of?’

There are school crossings with ‘school’ misspelled. Toilet seats installed upside down. Roadkill painted under the yellow stripe in the middle of the highway. A Back to School sale sign highlighting a wine display. Steps to nowhere. Left Turn Only centered perfectly…under a right turn arrow. Someone gets distracted, and a perfectly good start turns off all wrong. Not because anyone meant it to, but because some other shiny object charmed instead.

You know, the church (the big one, the church universal), the Body of Christ, does lots of things, in lots of places, in lots of ways, for lots of reasons. And lots of those things make the world better, make the church better, make our hearts better, even. But sisters and brothers. We have one job. Jesus told and showed us what it was, over and over, and folks thought it was important enough to remember, to write down later. Love each other. Love your enemies. Love your neighbors. Love by doing. Love straight through your fear. Love sacrificially. Love unendingly. Love. Love. Love.

Do not be deterred. We have one job.

...life, revealed

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-oo-oo…

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 ethereal text from 1855.

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…

...the toll of love

Crown him the Lord of love! Behold His hands and side,

Rich wounds, yet visible above, in beauty glorified;

no angels in the sky can fully bear the sight,

but downward bend their burning eyes at mysteries so bright.

---Matthew Bridges, 1851

There is a country song that includes the line, “…you ain’t lived till you got scars.” I think there is a lot of truth in the statement. My daughter Abby’s knee will always show the scars of a childhood fall from the “high monkey bars” and a couple of inelegant adolescent stair descents. Sarah’s forehead will always have a Harry Potter-esque ‘lightning bolt’ mark to remind her of the hutch at the bottom of the stairs at Grandma’s in Columbus. Any mom will tell of scars related to birthing, then raising, children --- scars both physical and emotional. Life takes its toll on us all.

And life took its toll on Jesus. When I read this hymn, I am struck by the thought that the Jesus glorified in heaven, present with the angels, still bears the scars of a real life. The kinds of scars we all carry--of injury and discouragement, of betrayal and disappointment, of rejection and indifference—if we walk the world long enough, earnestly enough. No air-brushed, cleaned-up, sanitized version of Jesus reigns in heaven. The Lord of love, mystery of mysteries, still bears the marks of his sacrifice on his glorified body.

You ain’t lived till you got scars.

...wrong every time, Palm Sunday edition

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, trans. Philip M. Young

What do you mean?

--Justin Bieber

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 and political), 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 society’s ladder. Every time we trade the deep divine undercurrent of joy for the cheap fleeting thrill of victory. Every time we look to Jesus as a vendor to supply us our momentary desires rather than the Vine to connect us to the source 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.

...till you're better

Come, ye weary, heavy-laden, lost and ruined by the fall;

If you tarry till you’re better, you will never come at all.

Let not conscience make you linger, nor of fitness fondly dream;

All the fitness He requireth is to feel your need of Him.

---Joseph Hart, 1759

I have never had a maid or cleaning service (visit my house and you’ll know it!), but I have heard several folks speak of “cleaning up for the maid to come”. It always makes me smile a little, but I sort of know the impulse. Maybe it is the same urge that overcomes folks with disorganized piles of random receipts just before they meet with their accountants. There is something in us that will admit we are needy, but not too needy. We need Jesus’ salvation and life-changing power, but we don’t want to need it too much. Sure, we’re sinners, but not sinners.

This hymn, one of my favorites from that era (1800’s American), reminds me all the time that we all need Jesus, and that if I wait around to acknowledge my need till I’m more worthy of Christ’s attention, time will pass, and I may never approach the intimacy with God that Jesus offers me. I need not dream of fitness; Jesus is ready to accept me as I am…poor…needy…ready.

...behind the mask

Will you love the “you” you hide if I but call your name?

Will you quell the fear inside and never be the same?

*

 Lord, Your summons echoes true when you but call my name.

Let me turn and follow you and never be the same.

In your company I’ll go where your love and footsteps show.

Thus I’ll move and live and grow in you and you in me.

--John L. Bell and Graham A Maule, 1987

Mardi Gras is a couple of weeks in our rear view mirrors, but I still come across strings of purple beads tucked between the cushions in my sofa, or under the seat of my Honda. I know for a fact I’m still working the Fat Tuesday pancakes off my hips (Shakira preached truth when she said “hips don’t lie”). And if you follow the Mardi Gras pageantry in New Orleans (or in Mobile, where Mardi Gras is even older), or even the Krewe de Tigris fun of a small-town Auburn Mardi Gras, you know that masks are a vital part of the revelry.

Masks allow us to pretend, to be someone or something other than who we are for a bit. They are pretense, misdirection, fantasy. Masks are fun or spooky, glamorous or mysterious.

But friends. When masks become our daily uniform, when we hide the reality of our lives--our truest joys and our deepest anguishes—from the world, and from ourselves, then our masks will be our undoing. Jesus calls us, by name, to repudiate fear’s power over us, the power that keeps us tied to the sameness of those masks. Jesus calls us, by name, to step out from behind the masks that are smothering us, to step into the uncovered truth of God’s love.

Out in the open, unmasked, there is moving, and living, and growing, in the company of Christ.

...all nature sings

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 H. 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

Thinking tonight of evenings spent making music with folks who love it, too. Nights when we sat in a circle, and played and sang with, and for, each other. When 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.

...defying and defining

Praise the One who breaks the darkness with a liberating light;

praise the One who frees the prisoners, turning blindness into sight.

Praise the One who preached the Gospel, healing every dread disease,

calming storms, and feeding thousands with the very Bread of peace.

---Rusty Edwards, 1987

Under cover of darkness. They kept me in the dark about their true intentions. Mysterious as the dark side of the moon. Are you afraid of the dark? …these are a few of the things that come to mind when I think of darkness. How about you? Are there sayings, song lyrics, lines of poetry that stay with you when you think of darkness?

I’ll be adding the first line of this hymn to my darkness ‘quotable quotes’, because it is fab.u. lous. The image of ‘breaking the darkness’ immediately evokes daybreak and the break of dawn (and though I haven’t witnessed overly many daybreaks, I hear sunrise is glorious!). I can close my eyes and picture the dark, shattered by the inexorable, irresistible force of light, uncovering, revealing, illuminating. I imagine squinting against the sudden brightness, my skin soaking in the growing warmth.

And I can only begin to grasp what freedom there would be in light, if I had felt bound till the breaking by an endless night of dark. What that liberation must feel like, when the first hint of light glows on the horizon. It would be enough to send me to my knees in praise.

It was Anne Frank who said, “Look at how a single candle can both defy and define the darkness.”

Break the darkness, liberating Light, and not just for me…

...in the chaos, in the calm

Holy, holy, holy! though the darkness hide thee,

though the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see;

Only thou art holy; there is none beside thee,

Perfect in power, in love, and purity.

---Reginald Heber, 1826

It has been a little while (ahem) since I last studied child development, so this week I did a bit of refreshing on the concept of ‘object permanence’. The theory behind object permanence is this: once human comprehension develops to a certain level, we can grasp the idea that objects can exist, even when we cannot see them. I was imagining that the age for developing this sense might be a year to 18 months old, and was surprised to find that current research supports a range of three to eight months as the time frame for this understanding to emerge. Imagine how terrifying a game of peekaboo would be for a young child with no sense of object permanence --- when you cover up your face, you are actually gone!

Though we would all agree that God is not object, this hymn suggests that a sense of object permanence is necessary in visioning Godself, for us individually and as a people. At times both the shadows of this world --- hate, violence, disregard, presumption --- and the shadows of our own souls --- hurt, fear, envy, pain, disappointment --- keep us from laying eyes on the glory, the evidence, of God’s presence with us. None of those shadows, though, none of them, keep the reality of God’s presence from us.

As we, then, whatever our stage of human or divine development, seek a sense of communion with Holiness, may we remember: seen or unseen, hidden or revealed, speaking or silent, God is with us, close as breath, holy.

...prayer, with skin on

Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?

Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?

Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?

Will you let Me answer prayer in you and you in Me?

--John L. Bell and Graham A Maule, 1987

What would be the impact on a life of ‘leaving self behind’? What transformations could happen from walking away from the mirror, and looking out the window, then walking out the door? How might old patterns be broken and rebuilt through new pathways of truly selfless service?

In this hymn full of questions, challenges arise. Two of the most challenging questions are set loose in this verse. Is the way we care for people affected by the demeanor of the needy? Can we care for both those to whom we are naturally drawn, and to those who may annoy, anger, or repulse us--showing the generous love of a God who loves us fully at our most unloveable? This question has me returning to take a look in that mirror I was talking about earlier.

Likewise, how prepared are we to be outcast for how fully, and how freely, we love? I have been challenged to see how very many times in the gospels that Jesus faced resistance and anger--not for restricting his circle of love, care, and acceptance; but for the times he drew his circle outlandishly wide. Are we ready to love so deep and wide that our lives send people (even people that look like ‘our people’) running for cover…and throwing stones?

And what if all of this turned out to be what prayer looks like, with skin on?

...believing in 'all'

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,

Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,

Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

---Thomas O. Chisholm, 1923

The blessings of a life with God are many and varied, and this familiar hymn explores lots of them. One verse speaks of the blessings of nature --- the change of the seasons (although I am about done with this ‘all four seasons in just one week’ thing), the constellations in their utterly predictable paths, all of nature witnessing the attentions of a good God with imagination and aspiration.

I will admit to the next verse being my favorite, though, and it’s all about the third line --- “strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.” God provides for us not only what we need to get through whatever presently troubles us --- worry, sorrow, fear --- but offers us a view of a tomorrow bright with hope. This seems to me the gift that keeps on giving.

All I have needed, Thy hand hath provided, indeed.

...love, with an accent

Lord, your church on earth is seeking your renewal from above;

teach us all the art of speaking with the accent of your love.

We would heed your great commission: “Go now into every place;

preach, baptize, fulfill my mission, serve with love and share my grace.”

---Hugh Sherlock, 1960

I am always interested in the decision of television directors and producers---mainly of news, documentary, and reality programming---to decide to use subtitles to “translate” the speech of characters or interview subjects with broken English or thick accents. I am continually amazed (and amused) by the great diversity of ways that we speak “American English”---cultural, regional, and even generational differences. Yes, generational---I sometimes think folk of a certain age might need subtitles to understand the everyday slang of teens and twenty-somethings, and I know for a fact that lots of the lingo of 'seasoned folk' go right over the heads of young whippersnappers out there! One of the most humorous choices, to a (mostly) southerner like me, is subtitles applied to a thick southern accent---how could anyone have trouble understanding that?!

I think what fascinates me is accent. People who specialize in training actors can sometimes isolate and identify accents not just by country or region, but by city, or even borough or neighborhood in the case of New York City. They can train actors to speak with the dialect of a certain location, a certain people group, a certain era.

Imagine with me what the sound might be of all of us speaking with love’s accent. What would our voices sound like? What words would fill our vocabularies? What tone, what timbre would govern our speech? How does love sound, translated into everyday language? Would the world recognize love’s accent on our tongues?

Would we need subtitles to translate love?

...let's make something!

The love of Jesus calls us in swiftly changing days,

To be God’s co-creators in new and wondrous ways;

That God with men and women may so transform the earth,

That love and peace and justice may give God’s kingdom birth.

---Herbert O'Driscoll, 1989

“Let’s make something!” These are the words, this is the invitation, that sets things in motion. At my son and soon-to-be-daughter-in-law’s home, you can bet the end result will be sweet, or savory, jewels and gems from the garden or kitchen. At my house, there might be music to be made, with everyone’s voice or instrument playing a part. In some homes, in some places in Alabama, quilts are being pieced. At your house there might be a puzzle to be put together, or a craft project, or an object d’art, a play to be staged, or a tale to be spun. At your place, goody bags for the weekend backpack program might be stuffed, or items for Christmas jail boxes might be gathered and shoeboxes might be wrapped. At our gathering, signs of encouragement, support, protest. 

In this hymn we are reminded that Jesus calls us to ‘make something’ together with God---to be co-creators of a new realm where love and justice and peace are the guiding lights. Wait. We…are co-creators…with THE Creator? How in the world is that supposed to work? What could you or I make that could stand alongside God’s work? What could we craft, of love, or justice, or peace, that would advance the household of the Prince of Peace? That, I think, is part of what makes the Good News good---our creation doesn’t have to stand up to God’s…it stands with God’s, as part of a beautiful whole, every person’s contribution to the creation of this new world consecrated by its dedication to our co-Creator.

Let’s make something! It will be glorious.

...don't make me go

Glorious now behold Him arise, King and God and sacrifice;

Alleluia, Alleluia, sounds through the earth and skies.

O star of wonder, star of night, star with royal beauty bright,

Westward leading, still proceeding, guide us to Thy perfect light.

--John Henry Hopkins, Jr., 1857

Christmas is a strange kind of baby shower for Christians. Even as we celebrate the birth of Jesus, with mirth and pure joy, we know that the week of Christ’s Passion is around the corner. We welcome the baby with the angels’ song echoing in our ears; but we know the rest of the story. We anticipate crying “Crucify!” with the crowd disappointed in the vision of a Savior who won’t destroy Roman rule. Just like the chore of putting away the Christmas decorations, we turn the corner between Christmas and Good Friday with reluctance.

This Epiphany hymn celebrates the gifts of the Magi: gold, a gift fit for a king; frankincense, an offering to a god; myrrh, an embalming spice foreshadowing Christ’s death at the hands of unchecked political and religious power.

Guide us to Your perfect Light.