...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.

...we never knew

All the way my Savior leads me; cheers each winding path I tread,

gives me grace for every trial, feeds me with the living bread;

though my weary steps may falter, and my soul athirst may be,

gushing from the Rock before me, lo! a spring of joy I see.

---Fanny J. Crosby, 1875

There are times the path seems winding, and the end unseen. At those times, when each step grows heavy, and the way seems never-ending, a hint of breeze refreshes, cheers. A rest along the way, to refuel and rest, can cast the day in a different light.

And when that path is life, and goals are elusive, and progress seems awfully rare, grace is that refreshing—gift, given with no thought of return, or of its having been earned in the first place. The words of our brother Jesus, urging us on toward greater compassion, more tenderness, consistent understanding—these words are food, fuel.

And the very presence of Christ, in the midst of our mess, feet on our path, God with us—this presence is pure joy, springing up like cool spring water, unexpected, thrilling, a little shocking. The very thing we never knew we were thirsty for.

All. the. way.

...when I'm empty

O fill me with your fullness, Lord,

until my very heart o’erflow

in kindling thought and glowing word,

Your love to tell, Your praise to show.

---Frances R. Havergal, 1872

‘Service burn-out’ is a common complaint among those who serve in positions of leadership in the church, both clergy and laity. The formula of unlimited needs answered by limited resources can exhaust the heartiest of servants. A common cause of burn-out, I think, is seeking to serve ‘empty’. Often, those who serve never take the time to be filled, inspired, refreshed.

This text reminds me that our source for the good that we do is God’s goodness. We are reminded that we speak what God speaks to us, that we lead as we are led, that we teach what we are taught by the Spirit, that we serve the world out of the fullness of God’s grace in us. In our eagerness to pour out our lives for others, let us not forget to draw from the source of our fullness.

Stop us, God, when we are empty. Fill us, that we may minister out of the riches of your goodness.

...something rushes in

Come away from rush and hurry to the stillness of God’s peace;

from our vain ambition’s worry, come to Christ to find release. Come away from noise and clamor, life’s demands and frenzied pace;

come to join the people gathered here to seek and find God’s grace.

---Marva J. Dawn, 1999

Horror vacui, “Nature abhors a vacuum”, was thought to have been postulated around 485 BC by Greek physicist-philosopher Parmenides. The theory, in my (very) laywoman’s terms, is that where nothing is, something will rush in to fill it up. Lots of things about physical science don’t make sense to me; this, I have no trouble with. Clear off the kitchen table…whoosh, two days later, the surface is covered with the flotsam and jetsam of daily life. Horror vacui, indeed.

I thought of this principle as I read Marva Dawn’s wonderful new hymn text. She addresses the call, tempting to us all at various times in our busy lives, to come away, to retreat, to leave behind. And the things she names as ‘retreat-worthy’ are indeed the things that wear us down and use us up. But our lives don’t need to be left vacant, empty spaces void of substance or meaning when we retreat from the stressors of everyday.

Dawn suggests that when we come away from rush and hurry we come toward the stillness of peace. When we retreat from the idea that we change the world by worrying we move forward to release through trust in Christ. And when we draw back for a time from the lures of this world, with its clamor, frenzy, and unending demands, we can step into the gathered family of faith, seeking grace in each other’s company and God’s presence.

Nature abhors a vacuum. So when we step away from what binds us, let us lean toward the fullness of faith.

...to be bound

Come, thou long-expected Jesus, born to set thy people free;

From our fears and sins release us; let us find our rest in thee.

Israel’s strength and consolation, hope of all the earth thou art;

Dear desire of every nation, joy of every longing heart.

---Charles Wesley, 1744

I always worry a little that songs and stories of Israel in bondage don’t resonate with us. Time and again, Israel is taken captive, enslaved, bound by nations and peoples more powerful than they. The flame of hope in them flickers and falters, faint and nearly cold.  We sit here, free, rich (relatively), beholden to no one, and try to put ourselves in the place of those Israelites who longed to be freed from their oppression. We hear the songs of their longing, but can we really connect with them?

Then I look again at the text for today. “From our fears and sins release us, let us find our rest in thee.” Surely we all know what it is to be held captive by sin, to be in servitude to our fears, to yearn for rest and comfort. Imprisoned by a dark past that won't let us go, or one that we can't let go of. Terrified of stepping onto a shadowy path where the footing is uncertain. We know what it's like to be bound.  We know what it’s like to need setting free.

Come, thou long-expected Jesus.

...set free from fear and failure

Come, Thou long expected Jesus, born to set Thy people free;
from our fears and sins release us; let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel's strength and consolation, hope of all the earth Thou art;
dear desire of every nation, joy of every longing heart.
---Charles Wesley, 1744

Fear and failure. Fear and failure. Are there any two more potent negatively-charged concepts in modern language? Can anything paralyze us more, sap our energy, drain our creative potential, cause us to second-guess ourselves and doubt the motives of those around us, than fear and failure? When we are trapped behind masks of fear, limiting our life choices and building walls to divide ourselves from the 'other'; when our past failures echo in our ears and memories so loudly they drown out the call to venture again; here we are trapped, and here there is no rest.

Our word for sin is from the Greek 'hamartia', an archer's term for 'missing the mark' --- failure. This Jesus, then, born Israel's strength and hope of all the world, comes somehow with the power to set us free from the strongest chains --- the ones we forge ourselves from our own fears and failures. Our pasts are the only prisons we've ever needed, and we are expert jailers; we excel at imprisoning ourselves and others behind thick walls made of our own fears and the failures of the past, both personal and corporate.

Christ comes to leave not one stone on stone. Are you ready to be free? Are you ready for others to be free? Fear and failure have no power over us in the path of the coming Christ!

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 Sears

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 this verse speaks to anyone dealing with a chronic condition, toiling sometimes with 'painful steps and slow'. This Advent, I feel it speaks to many, many of us, burdened with cares and sorrows beyond our comprehension. Who of us does not now 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. Some who know me may be saying, right about now, that it is not like me to talk about "pie in the sky, bye and bye", 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 December 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.