...for ALL the saints

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,

Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,

And hearts are brave again and arms are strong.

Alleluia!

---William Walsham How, 1864

Some weeks just wear you down. Your good intentions are misconstrued, your to-do list is filled with didn’ts, your best effort isn’t good enough. The half-inch of restoring rain is forgotten in months of choking drought. The dream job you studied for and fought to land has turned into the shackles and chains that threaten to drag you under with the weight of stress and pressure. The last-minute, miracle touchdown drive is replaced in memory by your opponent’s last-second pass-that-defied-logic, and you lose…again.

What keeps me coming back to this place, week after week, when the world doesn’t always make sense? It’s the song I hear in the distance, peculiar to this place---this place filled with the spirits of those gone on before, and the spirits of those in the pew next to me. The song is one of triumph; and our hearts, mine and yours, are brave again, and our arms are strong.

Just in time to tackle another week in the real world, strengthened by the song I hear in this place, among these saints.

...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...