...seeking the city

Where cross the crowded ways of life,

Where sound the cries of race and clan,

Above the noise of selfish strife

We hear your voice, O Son of Man!

In haunts of wretchedness and need,

On shadowed thresholds dark with fears,

From paths where hide the lures of greed

We catch the vision of your tears.

The cup of water given for you

Still holds the freshness of your grace;

Yet long these multitudes to view

The strong compassion of your face.

O Master, from the mountainside,

Make haste to heal these hearts of pain;

Among these restless throngs abide,

O tread the city’s streets again;

Till all the world 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

What a privilege we have today, to experience this hymn, just over a century old. It presents a great contrast between two cities --- one earthly, one the city of God. In this verse, I can almost feel the dank walls of the city closing in on me: narrow alleys with doorways leading to shadowy rooms; streets crowded with strangers passing, eyes down; threat of danger holding in the stale air like a threadbare blanket. Wretchedness, greed, fear, the noise of selfish strife, lurk around each corner and haunt each boulevard.

And Christ himself visits these streets, never shrinking from the pain and need. Weeping while he walks, aching for the hurting world he loves, but fully giving himself to its brokenness. And while we are Christ’s people in this brokedown city, we walk and weep like our brother Savior.

But there is another city, another city than the one we manage to create when left to our own devices. This city is inhabited with love, and these streets, too, are paved with the footfalls of Jesus; walking in them, living in the rare air of compassion, we put our hands to the wheel to co-create the Kingdom with our Savior. The cup of cold water still holds the freshness of grace; we tread the streets together, Christ among us, on his face “strong compassion.”

Seeking the City…

...hope and fear

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by;
yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;
the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.
---Phillips Brooks, 1868

I wonder, when I watch the news, or read history, or talk to friends, or sit alone with my own thoughts, whether fear is not the controlling emotion in our world, whether it always has been. Whether fear has not been the root cause of self-image spirals, jealousies and betrayals, greed and hoarding, wars and violence. Whether fear is not the reason we fail, so often, to summon up the courage to risk loving each other.

But in a little backwater town, a long time ago, stress fractures appeared in the fear chain. Tiny things, really; not so you'd notice, if you weren't looking. But in this little town, in the midst of fears --- both the everyday variety and the 'we're-having-a-baby-and-the-whole-world-is-spinning-out-of-control' kind --- hope touches down. In Bethlehem, with the otherwise unremarkable birth of a baby, each world-fear is met with hope. The insidious beachhead of fear is met by the tide of hope sweeping in, wave on wave.

It may take time, but little by little the beach can be eaten away by the tide.

In Paths of Peace

Through war-torn streets where hope is dead,

Fly bombs and anger ‘round our heads.

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through homes where love cannot to be found,

And violence spreads the fear around,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through lands where food just will not grow,

And streams of water never flow,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through minds where illness takes first place,

And wholeness longs for any space,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

Through challenges of this our time,

Through rage, neglect, greed’s paradigm,

We raise the cry, “God hear our plea

And guide our feet in paths of peace.”

When things seem worst, we hear the song

Hope sings above the din of wrong:

The song of One who hears our plea.

Christ guides our feet in paths of peace.