...beside the weary road

All ye, beneath life's crushing load, whose forms are bending low,

who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow,

look now! for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing;

O rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing.

---Edmund H. Sears, 1849

This unfamiliar verse of the very familiar carol "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" has always drawn my soul. We all read our lives into the songs we sing, I think, and I read mine into this verse. I have felt that it speaks to anyone dealing with a chronic condition, toiling sometimes ‘with painful steps and slow'. This season, I feel it speaks to many, many of us, burdened with cares and sorrows beyond our comprehension. Who of us does not now and again feel crushed, stooped, weary of the pain of being human in a world full of humans?

But look! Ahead of us shine hours of ease and gladness, golden in their comfort. I know, I know…some who know me may be saying, right about now, that it is not like me to talk about ‘pie in the sky, by and by’, and you would be right. Stay with me. The genius in this verse, and in the grace offered us, is that the angels don't come like shiny aliens and whisk us away to a world where nothing matters anymore. No, the angels' song fills the skies over the weary road. Picture yourself, and me, all of us, laid out on the hoods of our cars, wrapped in fleece blankets against the winter chill; and there, because we happen to be travelers on this weary road, we hear angels. Because life has led us here, where we are, how we are, dealing with what we must, we hear the angels sing.

Wouldn't miss it for the world.

...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.

...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.

...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.

...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.

...in our best moments

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, 2000

Motherhood is often a balancing act. When to insist on vegetables first at dinner, when to sneak a little dessert in? When to stretch that last bedtime story to two (or three, or…)? When to let the baby cry it out, when to gather her up in your arms and tuck her in beside you? When shorts pants and knickers, when blue jeans and khakis? When to protect, when to challenge? When to comfort, when to brush off? When to support, when to caution? When to hold on, when to let go?

The same could be said of fatherhood, I’m sure (don’t know, never been a father). The thing is, this holy dance of parenthood is a weaving, the weft and warp that colors the character of our children. And God, in whose image we are created, and our pattern in all things, models for us both the compassion and the courage of a mother or a father for us.

For God offers both comfort and guidance, each in appropriate measure and at appropriate time. And when flood waters or trial fires rise around us, God’s hand is reaching out --- ahead of us, to rescue us; or at our backs, to urge us on to our own brave action. Because, in our best moments, that’s what mothers, and fathers, do.

We can hear You gently saying, “Do not worry, do not fear;

for I’ll always go beside you; every moment I am near.”

...like a mother

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, 2000

Motherhood is often a balancing act. When to insist on vegetables first at dinner, when to sneak a little dessert in? When to stretch that last bedtime story to two (or three, or…)? When to let the baby cry it out, when to gather her up in your arms and tuck her in beside you? When shorts pants and knickers, when blue jeans and khakis? When to protect, when to challenge? When to comfort, when to brush off? When to support, when to caution? When to hold on, when to let go?

The same could be said of fatherhood, I’m sure (don’t know, never been a father). The thing is, this holy dance of parenthood is a weaving, the weft and warp that colors the character of our children. And God, in whose image we are created, and our pattern in all things, models for us both the compassion and the courage of a mother or a father for us.

For God offers both comfort and guidance, each in appropriate measure and at appropriate time. And when flood waters or trial fires rise around us, God’s hand is reaching out --- ahead of us, to rescue us; or at our backs, to urge us on to our own brave action. Because, in our best moments, that’s what mothers, and fathers, do.

We can hear You gently saying, “Do not worry, do not fear;

for I’ll always go beside you; every moment I am near.”

...tidings of comfort and joy

God rest you merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,
for Jesus Christ our Saviour was born upon this day,
to save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray:
O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,
O tidings of comfort and joy.
---18th cent. English trad.

It was Christmas afternoon, and I had just bundled my teen and college kids off to spend it elsewhere for the first time ever. A remote chill emanated from every corner of every room as I wandered through in the early-gathering dusk. I hadn't bothered turning on the overhead lights. Usually, this would have added to the twinkle of the lights from the trees in several rooms, but this afternoon it only added to the gloom. I listened to analog clocks ticking the seconds away, the cardinal couple pecking on the window bird feeder outside the sunroom. I sat very still.

I had not overestimated my strength on this day; and, thanks to preplanning, providence, and the kind permission/invitation of a certain hospital chaplain, I didn't stay wrapped in that silent, shadowy place for long. I packed my guitar case and carol book, and made the drive on the mist-slick highway to the hospital, where I guarantee no one wants to be on Christmas Day. Well, except me; I needed to see if music could lighten any loads that day. I set up in the lobby, and began singing subdued carols --- In the Bleak Midwinter, The First Nowell, Still, Still, Still, Away in a Manger, What Child Is This. Folks, alone or in clusters, passed by, or stopped to listen; some stopped to sing along or request a song. "You know Silver Bells?" I had taken a basket of candy treats that were quite popular among young and old carolers alike that day.

I was preparing to pack up for the night when a family group of six or eight walked up. They were holding hands; some had been weeping. They asked if I was finished; I said of course not. They shared that they had just lost their loved one within the hour; could they request a Christmas carol to sing together? That would be wonderful, I replied. They huddled up to confer, wanting to choose just the right song. "I guess Jingle Bells would be just about perfect," said the eldest male in the family group.  "Jingle Bells? Jingle Bells?" I thought to myself. I quickly flipped away from Silent Night, my odds-on favorite for a comforting carol, and we started.

And there, in the sparsely-populated lobby of a Christmas night hospital, while the mist turned to a rare, magical December snow outside, a group of hurting people mourned. And healed. With Jingle Bells.

O tidings of comfort. And joy.

...speak comfort

"Comfort, comfort now my people; tell of peace!" So says our God.
"Comfort those who live in darkness mourning under sorrow's load.
To my people now proclaim that my pardon waits for them!
Tell them that their sins I cover, and their warfare now is over."
---Johannes Olearius, 1671

Tell of peace. Tell of covered sin. Tell of waiting pardon. Tell of obsolete warfare. Speak comfort. Speak comfort. Speak comfort. Let the words drive off darkness, and lift the burden of sorrow.

We sit, today, hunched over under the weight of our corporate and our private sorrows --- our Boko Harams running roughshod through northern Nigeria, our Mideast opposite-of-peace, our Fergusons, mothers with empty arms and overflowing hearts, generations with unquenchable appetites and easy payment plans, multiple social networks and not one friend to call in a pinch. We wait for a prophet to walk in off the dusty road, crying out "Comfort!" We are so ready for it, it is almost as if we can make out the sound of it. Listen...

A voice, crying in the wilderness...

In Equal Measure

God rest ye merry, gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay.
For Jesus Christ or Savior is 
Born upon this day
To save us all from Satan's power
When we are gone astray.
O, tidings of comfort and joy!

Into this world, into this mess, into what we've made of God's world, a Savior is born. Into our lives, our troubles, our aches and pains, our sorrows, a Savior is born. The joy and comfort come so close together sometimes, like two sides of a warm blanket, a refuge and an encouragement. Saving us from the full wrath of Satan's power (and you would have to be blind not to acknowledge there is darkness in our world right now), from our own dismay, there is a Savior, himself wrapped in the weakness of a newborn babe, wrapped perhaps in the same blanket of comfort and joy offered us.

Listen hard, and you may hear tidings of comfort, and of joy.

Life, for our dead places

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!”

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.