...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.

...what feet are for

Oh, how sweet to walk in this pilgrim way, leaning on the everlasting arms;

oh, how bright the path grows from day to day, leaning on the everlasting arms.

---Elisha A. Hoffman, 1887

Path. Way. Journey. Through the years, these expressions of spiritual life have come to ring truest in my ear, and resonate most soundly in my soul. While I am not always positive about my destination, and my goals change, and sometimes finish lines seem frustratingly movable, feeling called to the journey is a constant. If day breaks, there is a path, and even when I may not be totally sold on the reason, my feet will be on it, because that is what feet, and paths, are for.

In this little bit of late-19^th cent. poetry, the hymnist speaks of the path growing bright from day to day. My mind travels to the memory verse from Bible Drill---“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” (Psalm 119:105) And the thing is, I’ve walked on some dark paths in my life (yep, literal and metaphorical), and I know how lights work. That flashlight? Even a good one, with the batteries you remembered to replace before you packed it up for the campout? It illuminates the path a few steps ahead.

God’s presence? Right there with us on the path, every step of the way. But that light it throws? It’s a flashlight, not a floodlight. We were always meant to walk leaning on God, steps at a time, waiting for the light to shine up ahead.

Wow. Light for the journey, and an arm to lean on. On the path with Jesus.

...diamonds from ashes

When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;

For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

---John Rippon, 1787

There are lots of ways to look at the rough patches and tragedies in our lives. Some folk choose to look at everything that happens as God’s distinct will, some look at bad stuff as karma or payback. I see the bad things that happen as part of the price of being truly human in this world. For me, this resonates with my observations, with history, with my own life experience, and with my belief in a loving God.

In today’s hymn, with its text from the 18^th century, the hymnist speaks from the viewpoint of a strong, caring God to a searching believer. We will be called, no choice about it, through our life experiences, to journey through deep waters; but we will not go alone. God goes with us through our troubles and distress, to bless and even to make holy those experiences that try us the most. To me this says that God can bring some worth out of even the most tragic, worthless, hurtful situation, diamonds from ashes.

What a hopeful thought from a loving God!

...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.

...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.

...like mothers do

The Lord is never far away, but through all grief distressing,

An ever-present help and stay, our peace and joy and blessing;

As with a mother’s tender hand He leads His own, His chosen band:

to God all praise and glory.

---Johann Jakob Schutz, 1675

The hardest place in the world to be. Is it stuck in a rip current? At the beginning of a final exam for which you have neglected to properly prepare? Sitting in the doctor’s office and no one will meet your eye? At home watching the clock, waiting for a child out long past curfew, again?

In my experience, the hands-down hardest place in this world to be is alone. Almost anything I can think of can be faced down successfully with an ally beside you. And almost anything can seem insurmountable when you feel that you are facing it by yourself. Jesus himself seemed to understand the human craving for “with-ness”, for his promise recorded in John 14:18 is this: I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.

In this text, hymnist Johann Schutz imagined God as ever-present and tenderly guiding as the mother of a toddler, continually offering a hand to steady, to guide, to reassure; never more than an instant away, so that the stresses and dangers of life, its hurts and heartaches, need not be faced alone, but in the loving presence of One who bore us and loves us fiercely. And tenderly. Like mothers do.

And won’t let us go it alone.

...the darkness hide thee

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, 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.

...be still, my soul

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.

...let go of knowing

Green pastures are before me, which yet I have not seen;

bright skies will soon be o’er me, where the dark clouds have been:

my life I cannot measure, the path of life is free;

my Savior has my treasure, and he will walk with me.

---Anna L. Waring, 1850

The not knowing. Is there a more helpless feeling than not seeing the path that lies ahead of you, not being certain of what the future holds for you? How are we to plan, to plot our course, to steel ourselves against the possibility of future injury or harm without the knowing?

Let go. Let go of knowing. Let go the stress of needing to be in control of a future that was never yours to begin with. Trust that your pathway will wind its way through green pastures, under bright skies. Trust that the Savior holds what is truly treasure for your life.

And know this one thing: the steps you take, wherever your path leads, are walked beside your Savior. Every step, in shadow or sun, through green pasture or shadowed wood---never alone.

...shadowed glory

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, 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 --- 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.

...bright hope for tomorrow

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 (can I get an Amen for the beautiful weather lately?), 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.

...stand in your way

Where can I go that your spirit is not?
Or where can I slip away from your presence?
If I take to the heights, lost to the eye,
you.
If I plunge to the depths, to abide,
you.
If I soar on wings of dawn
to the spot where sea meets sky,
even there, you before me,
even there, you surrounding me.
When I think that surely the darkness
should cover me over,
and where there once was light
only deep dark remains,
even that stifling dark is
not, to you;
the new-moon sky is like noon-day,
for dark does not stand in your way.
---Psalm 139:7-12 (para. laca)

...though the earth should change

God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear,
though the earth should change...
     ---from Psalm 46

The world of Psalm 46 is fearsome --- full of natural disasters, the man-made disaster of war, and, most of all, 'change'. When has the earth changed for you? Was it tsunami, wildfire? The Gulf War Syndrome or traumatic brain injury that have followed our fighting men and women home from war? The day we remember today, when terrorists flew planes into the twin towers of the world trade centers? The day 50 years ago when cowards in Birmingham set off bombs that took the lives of four little girls, and the dogs and fire-hoses were unleashed on the youth of the city? Or has your earth changed more privately? Beloved friend or family member wasting away with cancer? A child wandering away from you? A failure at work or in marriage?
Obviously, our belief in God didn't protect us from these disasters of circumstance, of nature, of hatred, of gaps in medical knowledge; nor were we protected from our questions about how these things happen to 'good' people in God's world.
In this 46th chapter of Psalm 46, though, God is described as 'refuge', 'strength', 'help', 'presence', 'with us'. Right here, right now, amid our troubles, God is present with us. When the earth changes, God is with us. When the whole world seems to shake with the portent of evils now or yet to come, God is with us.
Be still; acknowledge God's presence. When we need to hide from the changes and be quiet, God is here --- refuge, strength, help. God is here with us.

Mighty King, Gentle Friend

Child appealing, Light revealing, Jesus Christ, our Pleasure;
God, yet very Son of Mary, heaven's Gift and Treasure.
Mighty King, gentle Friend, as our Lord to us bend,
with your blessing us caressing, now descend, now descend.
---Let Our Gladness Banish Sadness

This hymn is new to me, but not new. Its tight rhyme is a contemporary translation by Jaroslav Vajda of a Slovak version of a 14th century Latin text. Whew, that's a mouthful! In its simple words are deep, joyful truths about the person of Jesus Christ. One of the great mysteries of the faith I have chosen as my title today: Jesus as both a mighty ruler and a gentle friend. Might and gentleness don't often meet in one person, and it fascinates me to think of Jesus as both. Then look at a phrase that would seem impossible, a lord bending to serve, only in a world turned on its head by our gentle friend. And a phrase to fall in love with: Jesus Christ, our Pleasure. To our world, with its sadnesses and sorrows, our gentle friend, our pleasure, comes, caressing us with the only blessing that counts --- the blessing of Christ's presence with us.