...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.

...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?

...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.

...filled full

A promise is the epitome of hope.

A promise is all potential-- freshman year, beginner's luck, pony legs, sloppy kisses. A promise, with all its good intentions, is riskily untested. Stepping out on a promise takes faith, is the stuff of faith, maybe. Trusting a promise is always a bit of a gamble, putting our eggs into a basket whose bottom we have yet to see.

What a comfort, then, to bear witness to a promise fulfilled! To tell the story, the way it happened in our own life. To breathe, and realize we'd been holding our breath for all of time, till now, till now. Heart overflows, eyes overflow with the realization that hope does not disappoint.

Promise fulfilled. Filled full of the good that is in store. Thanks be.

...while we wait

O God in whom all life begins, who births the seed to fruit,

bestow Your blessing on our lives; here let Your love find root.

Bring forth in us the Spirit’s gifts of patience, joy, and peace;

deliver us from numbing fear, and grant our faith increase.

---Carl P. Daw, 1990

The more we learn about gestation and human growth, and germination and plant growth, the more similarities become apparent. So much of early growth happens silent, hidden—good, strong changes taking time and nourishment before new life is ever ready to make an appearance on the scene. And while I’ve never been a farmer, having to depend on invisible growth for the future, I have been a mom, waiting helpless for months on growth beyond my control for my arms to be full. And I know the numbing fear that comes with trusting unseen growth, especially what must be the farmer’s fear after a drought year. I know the mother’s waiting fear after still birth. The breath-held, afraid-to-hope, needing-to-trust, wanting-to-believe fear that growth is happening.

I think other parts of our lives are like that, too. So many characteristics of a faithful life grow unseen, tucked away, nurtured by time and steady attention. The Spirit’s gifts grow in us, perhaps unseen as they germinate, but growing all the same, ready to yield mature aspects of our character that will shape the world around us. Peace, love, joy—powerful forces for transforming life. And the patience to believe that unseen growth will yield a harvest.

May God deliver us from the chokehold of fear into the embrace of faith…while we wait.

...music just works

So has the church, in liturgy and song,

in faith and love, through centuries of wrong,

borne witness to the truth in every tongue:

Alleluia!

---Fred Pratt Green, 1972

I will admit it…I’m partial. I believe that the most enduring, penetrating, impacting method of teaching any truth is music. Sit through a PTA meeting where the third graders sing a rousing rendition of the fifty states and capitals. Listen while your child learns the multiplication tables to the beat of an uptempo rap. For sealing in the memory, music…just…works.

Southern trees bear strange fruit. The answer is blowin’ in the wind. Brother, brother, there’s far too many of you dyin’. Imagine all the people. Fight the power. Stop, hey, what’s that sound? The revolution will be live. They paved paradise and put up a parking lot. I’m everyday people. People get ready, there’s a train a-comin’. I am woman, hear me roar. We are the world. We gon’ be alright. That’s just the way it is. And I’ll rise up, I’ll rise like the day. This is my fight song. We shall overcome. For gathering around a common cause, and rallying when your flame burns low, music…just…works.

In the history of the church, music has always played a prominent part of worship and transmitting theology. The apostle Paul quotes a first century hymn in his letter to the Philippian church. Believers have always sung the songs of faith, and so participated in the liturgy, or work of the church. I often say that most of us keep in our memories some  Scripture, but many hymns and songs of faith. If we are retaining most of our theology through hymns and spiritual songs, we would be wise to make sure the songs we sing in worship include the great truths of the faith. For strengthening our faith, and the bonds of community, music…just…works.

Jesus spent his last night with his disciples weaving a web of music around their hearts, sealing in their memories the image of a singing Savior. Thanks be to a God Who sings.

...laying things down

Be yours the Master’s purpose to seek and save the lost,

to ransom those in bondage, to dare nor count the cost;

to love and lift the lowly, to heed the prisoner’s groan,

to take up others’ burdens and bear them as your own.

---Henry Lyle Lambdin, 1969

To follow Christ. To take on our Master’s purpose. To lay aside whatever privilege life has accorded us; and to take on, as our own, the troubles and the sufferings of this hurting world. And every day the sun comes up in our modern times, this world is filled with suffering, troubles, injustices, and outrage and betrayal both ancient and modern. And the fire leaves us all burned. In the words of Martin Luther King, Jr., “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

And I must recognize I have privilege to lay aside, if I want to get down to the business of bearing others’ burdens. And if you are reading this, you most likely have privilege to lay aside, too. If we want to follow Jesus, we have to be in the business of laying things down.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself….And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient….(Phil. 2:5-8)

This is the full measure of faith. To lay down, and to pick up, for the sake of our human family. To walk in the way of Jesus. 

...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.

...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?

...a resting place

My faith has found a resting place, not in device nor creed;

I trust the Ever-living One, his wounds for me shall plead.

I need no other argument, I need no other plea,

It is enough that Jesus died, and that he died for me.

---Lidie Edmunds, c. 1890

We’ve all heard the stories of the minutiae that divide Christians from time to time. The color of the pew cushions in the new sanctuary…blue like the river of life, or red like the blood of sacrifice? The organ…loud or soft? Bongos and guitars in the Sunday morning worship or high church and opera voices? Whether to sing all four verses of every hymn, or save time with a quick pass by first and last? King James or NRSV?

This hymn reminds me every time that letting the small things get in the way of the one true thing --- Christ’s sacrifice to reconcile us to God --- keeps us far from each other, and from our spiritual center. Our faith rests not in creed, argument, or the thousand little things good people sometimes disagree about. Our faith rests in the good news, the gospel, that Christ died, and lived, for you…and me. Here is our resting place. Here is our center.

...being out there

O for a faith, a living faith, the faith that Christ imparts;

belief not locked in ancient creed, but flamed within the heart.

O for a fellowship of love, the love that welcomes all;

that helps the burdened with their load, and lifts them when they fall.

In gratitude for this, our church, a growing faith we claim.

We here resolve, for years to come, to serve in Jesus’ name.

---William R. Hornbuckle, 2007

Almost by definition, a living thing is one that is growing in some way---being changed from the inside out. A living thing is under construction, continually evolving, developing in ways both deep and wide from the nourishment being gathered from its environment. A nurturing, healthy, rich environment means strong, consistent growth---a healthy living thing.

This kind of growth marks a living faith, too; and the church is a natural and wonderful environment for nurturing the kind of development that marks lifelong growth. And the life-affirming thing about the church is that its role in growth doesn’t end with the nurture of personal faith! Because personal faith is not an end in itself, and the church should rightfully be woven into the fabric of not only personal growth, but the very life of the community.

We are strengthened and raised up in a living faith for the express purpose of pouring ourselves into the life of the world around us, with its hurts, and poverties, and divisions, and griefs. We are called to live our faith in the world, among our neighbors, being out there what we’ve learned of Christ in here. Our living calls us, compels us, to be there, in the world.

We have two hands, after all. One to hang on…and one to reach out.

...here is the center

My faith has found a resting place, not in device nor creed;

I trust the Ever-living One, His wounds for me shall plead.

I need no other argument, I need no other plea,

It is enough that Jesus died, and that He died for me.

---Lidie Edmunds, c. 1890

We’ve all heard the stories of the minutiae that divide Christians from time to time. The color of the pew cushions in the new sanctuary. The organ…loud or soft? Bongos and guitars in the Sunday morning worship. Whether to sing all four verses of every hymn. King James or NRSV?

This hymn reminds me every time that letting the small things get in the way of the one true thing --- Christ’s sacrifice to reconcile us to God --- keeps us far from each other, and from our spiritual center. Our faith rests not in creed, argument, or the thousand little things good people sometimes disagree about. Our faith rests in the good news, the gospel, that Christ died for you…and me. Here is our resting place. Here is our center.

Faith, hope, and love, these three...

Faith, hope, and love, these three remain;
But the greatest of these is love.

Who of us has not been at a wedding (our own or another's) and heard this famous quotation from Paul's letter to the church at Corinth? According to St. Paul, love trumps everything else. Not everyone agrees. Jim Evans, a former pastor of mine, claimed that hope reigned supreme of the three (I'm sure he meant no offense to St. Paul, or inerrantists). Without faith, he said, a life could still be meaningful with hope and love; likewise, without love, a life of faith and hope could sustain someone. Hopeless, though, all the faith and love in the world would be useless. Without hope, the soul is rendered helpless to wield the weapons of faith and love in the good fight against the shadows in the world. Hopeless, nothing else matters.

Friends, it may be shadowy or even inky dark in your life right now. But the dawn is coming. Hold on to hope.