...the space will be filled

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 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.

...glory to glory

Finish then thy new creation, pure and spotless let us be;

Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee:

Changed from glory into glory, till in heaven we take our place,

Till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love, and praise.

---Charles Wesley, 1747

Restored and finished. Charles Wesley, in the mid-1700’s, used these words to envision the fulfillment of God’s dream for humanity. With a love that surpasses any other concept of love, God continues to “create” us, to draw us toward purity, rendering out anything that blurs our essential essence. This verse is an encouragement to me, as I often feel God must not quite be done with me yet! With each new day, God’s love changes us, glory to glory, allowing each of us to become more of who we were always meant to be. What a God we worship, Whose creation is not limited to a one-time act, but happens over and over to create and re-create us as whole, complex, and complete!

It’s enough to lose ourselves in wonder, love, and praise….

...the ocean's arms

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free,

rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me!

Underneath me, all around me is the current of His love,

leading onward, leading homeward to that glorious rest above.

---Samuel Trevor Francis, 1898

Many of us are familiar with President John Kennedy’s quote concerning his deep passion for the sea – “We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea – whether it is to sail or to watch it – we are going back from whence we came.” Kennedy was famously at home in the frigid waters of his beloved Hyannis Port, Massachusetts, where in times of health and illness the water seemed life-giving and restorative.

The man I saw most in love with the sea was my father. Each summer we would camp (you read that right --- camping at the beach in the summer!) for a week or so, in the heat and humidity. And I would watch my professor father with the perpetual farmer tan float for hours on his back in the briny Gulf water, not paddling, not kicking, not moving at all. He’d tell my brother and me, “This salty water will hold you up. You just have to relax and lie back.” It was a matter of trust, and giving up the need to control the water that supported you.

You know, I never did get as good at it as my dad; I never could float for hours, relaxed and committed to the water’s ability to hold me. But for a minute or two, here and there, it sometimes worked. I sometimes let go. And when I trusted that the sea was more capable, more powerful, more boundless than I’d ever be to meet my need to be held up --- for that moment, I was free.

Oh, to trust that I would be held up like that.

...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.

...that kind of breathing

Breathe on me, Breath of God, fill me with life anew,

That I may love what Thou dost love,

And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, Breath of God, until my heart is pure,

Until with Thee I will Thy will,

To do and to endure.

---Edwin Hatch, 1878

There is a holiness about a small child, snuggled under your chin, sleeping soundly. There is a deep, even, peaceful breathing that is like no other sound or sensation on this earth; and before you even realize it, you have fallen under its spell. Your breath pattern speeds or slows, shallows or deepens, and matches the child in your arms. In an elemental way, in that moment, you will what that child wills. A holy moment.

I wonder if perhaps hymnist Edwin Hatch had experienced such a high holy moment, whether he called it to remembrance as he penned these words. Imagine, if you can, matching your breath to the very breath of a living God. Breath that would enliven, empower, inspire, embolden. Breath that would draw you into communion with a God Who has been in love with you since the beginning of time, wanting nothing more than to breath in unison with you. Breath that would fill you like that. I could use some of that.

Breathe on me, Breath of God…

...the table that changes the world

Come and feast, for all are welcomed

at God’s table spread with love.

Come proclaim God’s grace and goodness

in, around us, and above.

---Larry E. Schultz, 2004

“Who else is invited?” “How big is the guest list?” “Is this the A list after-party, or the B list?” “If she is invited, it must not be a really good party.”

This party, this love feast that we call by the staid and decidedly more solemn Eucharist, communion, or Lord’s Supper, is the once-and-for-all call for all of humanity to share in the goodness of God. For here, at this table, in this meal, we are reconciled to God and to each other. At this table, in this meal, old scores are settled, new wounds healed. At this table, in this meal, an old love story seeks to dissolve new-sprung divisions. At this table, in this meal, anything can happen…and it does. It does.

The thing about this party, though, is this: just anyone is welcome to pull up a chair. Right next to you. Deserving or not. A list, B list, no list. It’s an everybody-come type of thing; and you never know who might show up at that kind of shindig.

This is the kind of feast that just might change the world. And if you are worried about who else might be on the guest list, you might just miss out.

And that, my friend, would be a shame.

...like a mother

Like a mother with her children You will comfort us each day,

giving guidance on our journey, as we seek to find our way.

When we walk through fiery trials, You will help us take a stand;

when we pass through troubled waters, You hold out Your tender hand.

---Jann Aldredge-Clanton, 2000

Motherhood is often a balancing act. When to insist on vegetables first at dinner, when to sneak a little dessert in? When to stretch that last bedtime story to two (or three, or…)? When to let the baby cry it out, when to gather her up in your arms and tuck her in beside you? When shorts pants and knickers, when blue jeans and khakis? When to protect, when to challenge? When to comfort, when to brush off? When to support, when to caution? When to hold on, when to let go?

The same could be said of fatherhood, I’m sure (don’t know, never been a father). The thing is, this holy dance of parenthood is a weaving, the weft and warp that colors the character of our children. And God, in whose image we are created, and our pattern in all things, models for us both the compassion and the courage of a mother or a father for us.

For God offers both comfort and guidance, each in appropriate measure and at appropriate time. And when flood waters or trial fires rise around us, God’s hand is reaching out --- ahead of us, to rescue us; or at our backs, to urge us on to our own brave action. Because, in our best moments, that’s what mothers, and fathers, do.

We can hear You gently saying, “Do not worry, do not fear;

for I’ll always go beside you; every moment I am near.”

... the unfilled turning

Jesus, thou joy of loving hearts,

thou fount of life, thou light of all,

From the best bliss that earth imparts,

We turn unfilled to hear thy call.

---Latin hymn, 12th cent.

Meh. Whatevs. idc. Mom, I’m bored. There are lots of ways, old and new, to express our ‘doneness’ with what life has to offer. Now, at some points in history, this may have been understandable. But look --- today most of us have access to libraries with thousands of volumes (or e-readers with access to even more), cable or satellite TV with hundreds of channels, and internet access that opens virtual doors to the world (with all that can walk in through those doors). It is easier than ever, with cell phones and social media, to keep in touch with friends near and far away. There are, at any given point in time, literally 1.65 zillion things to do. And lots of them are exciting, fun, super-cool things.

So, why do so many of us feel so empty so much of the time?

It just may be that, even when it offers us its best, this world only has the stuff of life to give. And the hunger in our souls, deep down, can’t be sated with stuff; if needs life itself. St. Augustine, in his Confessions, wrote, “Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in Thee.”

Even the best of the good life leaves us unfilled, seeking the abundance that hearing our call, and following, will bring.

...beyond the page

Break Thou the bread of life, dear Lord, to me,

As Thou didst break the loaves beside the sea;

Beyond the sacred page I seek Thee, Lord,

My spirit pants for Thee, O living Word.

---Mary A. Lathbury, 1877

Seeking Christ beyond the page. Sounds exciting, real detective-y stuff. But wait…we are “people of the Book”; how do we stay true to Scripture, and still venture beyond the sacred page when our spirits seek to know God more deeply?

Perhaps, first, we must know Christ in and through  the Scripture. We must know the stories of Jesus preserved for us in the Gospels, the teachings of Jesus in parable, and the example of kingdom living in his dealings with the world around him. We must know the Jesus of the Bible, and we must teach Jesus to our children. We must call that Jesus to remembrance in each other’s presence in sacred story, in chilling chant and holy harmony.

But then, oh then…we are privileged to seek Jesus beyond the page --- walking with us, bearing our burdens, urging us on toward maturity, our friend and brother.

The Bread of Life, broken for you.

...what you thought you wanted

Come, then, children, with your burdens --- life’s confusions, fears, and pain.

Leave them at the cross of Jesus, take instead His kingdom’s reign.

Bring your thirsts, for He will quench them --- He alone will satisfy.

All our longings find attainment when to self we gladly die.

---Marva J. Dawn, 1999

From pop culture to Protestant work ethic, from self-realization to prosperity gospel, even the loose cherry-picked readings of some of the New Testament’s “red letter writings” ---  all over, the universe seems to be sending us a message loud and clear: If you want it, come and get it. Take what you need. The desires of your heart are there for a reason. Seek and you will find. Work for what you want. God wants you to have nice things.

Here’s the thing, though. When we are invited, coaxed, beckoned, called by Jesus to walk in his path, we do hear “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find….For everyone who asks receives.” But I can’t help but look at Jesus’ life among the poor and broken and think that perpetual Christmas morning excess is not what he had in mind. I hear Jesus say, “When you lay down the distraction of what you thought you wanted, you can begin to focus on the real life of the spirit. And I will meet every need. And you will finally be able to stop striving, and running after, and grasping, and resenting. And then, friend, you will know what it is to live.”

Lay down your burdens at the cross.

...this wild symphony

This is my Father's world, and to my listening ears,

all nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.

This is my Father's world, I rest me in the thought

of rocks and trees, of skies and seas; Your hand the wonders wrought.

---Maltbie D. Babcock, 1901

I am writing this Grace Note from Montreat Conference Center, where I am growing and learning at the annual Conference on Worship and Music. And friends, literally everything here is entrusted with a song! There is not a room, porch, or open space where the sounds of song, instrument, prayer, laughter, discourse, encouragement, children's games do not float on the breeze (even the breeze may be whispering!). Open windows and doors let the sounds blend and weave in delicious ways. I would swear to you that even the rhododendron leaves rubbing together in the night wind, the water spilling over the falls, the rocks being skipped in the lake are composing their own Foothills tune, secret and turning and hard to catch, but no less real. Physicists and astronomers tell us that the universe even vibrates in tune to its own pitch --- B-flat...that's right, the universe is singing!

What a world we people, where even nature sings! Whose mind could conceive, whose hand shape, whose presence bless a thrumming, vibrating, singing universe like ours?

This good God, Creator and Nurturer and Sustainer of this wild symphony, solar system to cell! Thanks be!

...widen the circle

Differently abled, differently labeled widen the circle round Jesus Christ;

Crutches and stigmas, cultures’ enigmas all come together round Jesus Christ.

Love will relate us --- color or status can’t segregate us, round Jesus Christ:

Family failings, human derailings --- all are accepted, round Jesus Christ.

---Shirley Erena Murray, 1991

“Us four, no more.” Sometimes, in certain circumstances, we believers can become experts at ‘narrowing the circle’. Whether we plan it that way, by setting up complicated orthodoxies and religious systems; or whether it does a slow creep, a score of small fissures over what feels comfortable or easy --- our human gathering tendency seems to be to draw the borders in tightly. Maybe we do it for protection, some leftover prehistoric preservationist impulse; maybe out of fear of the ‘other’ and the adaptation they might require of our comfortable lives. Has it always been this way? Human nature being what it is, probably so. Was the history of religious institution destined to be this way forever?

Probably so. Until into the circle stepped a most unusual man, who crashed every boundary like the world’s best Red Rover player. Race? Crash. Status? Crash. Culture? Crash. Historic prejudice? Crash. Stigma? Crash.

The crashing presence of Jesus changes things. The place will be crawling with failures, Plan B’s, and misfits. Thank God, we’ll all fit right in…around Jesus’ table.

...in this darkness

In this darkness
I do not ask to walk by light;
but to feel the touch of your hand
and understand that sight is not seeing.

In this silence
I do not ask to hear your voice;
but to sense your Spirit breathe
and so bequeath my care to your keeping.

In unknowing 
I do not ask for fearless space;
but for grace to comprehend
that neither you nor I are diminished.

In this ending
I do not ask to forfeit pain,
but to gain the strength to love through loss,
and cross the bridge of waiting.
---Pat Bennett, 2001 (para John Bell, laca)

When darkness, and silence, and unknowing fall like black-out curtains on a life, it is tough to assume that the things we no longer see, or hear, or know are still there. Perhaps because we are by nature empirical, we are quick to be drawn in by what we sense and experience; we even have pithy sayings and mottos around experience ('seeing is believing' and 'Missouri --- the ShowMe State').

And because of that dependence on what is seen/heard/felt, the absence of experience leaves us at sea, wondering whether we might not have been abandoned to our own devices by a God who has bigger concerns or more interesting company.

And sometimes God may come to us, breaking through the darkness and silence and cloud of unknowing with certain vision and clear voice and absolute certainty. But the times when God is not revealed in this way does not diminish God, or you. You are not less for not having an experiential revelation. Your God is not less for 'failing' to provide the perfect double rainbow and angel song just in time.

Because God is a pilgrim God, as we are a pilgrim people. And in the dark, and in the silence, and even in the unknowing, there is One beside us to hold us up, to breathe with us, to remind us that we are. And in the endings, that One is there, too, guiding us through pain, willing us in time to be strong enough to risk loving, when light returns.

...merciful, and mighty

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God almighty!

Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee.

Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty!

God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!

---Reginald Heber, 1826

I will admit it. I have always been a bit put off by descriptions of God as powerful. It seems in this world that being powerful is an invitation to mistreat or take advantage of the weak and poor. For every “good King Wenceslas”, there are hundreds of “Ivan the Terribles”. Power seems so intoxicating, and so easy to abuse. So my vision of a powerful, almighty God is colored by the lens of the world in which I live, and the one I read about in history books. Reginald Heber, in the mid-1800’s, caught the essence of God’s power with one short phrase: “merciful and mighty.” We worship a God who is strong and tender, who is limitless and approachable, who is Law and Love.

Merciful and mighty, God, we worship you.

...that's my sister

Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord told him where to go to find a man named Saul, who'd been praying, and seen in a vision that a man named Ananias would lay hands on him and restore his sight.
But Ananias had heard the news about Saul already, how much evil he'd done the believers in Jerusalem, and how he had come to Damascus armed with authority from the chief priests to bind any and all who called themselves by Christ's name. There must be some misunderstanding about Ananias' task!
"Go on, Ananias," said the Lord, "for he is the one I've chosen to bring my name before Gentiles, and Israelites, and powers. I'll be the one to show him the suffering he'll endure for my name."
So Ananias went, and found the house where Saul was waiting, and laid his hands on him, and said, "Brother Saul..."
---Acts 9:10-17a (para. laca)

On what must have been the only true perfect day of spring, in the only patch of green in downtown Birmingham Alabama, it became clear to me.

Ananias went to Saul and 'brothered' him, while Saul still had Ananias' arrest warrant in his pocket, while Saul still held the power of life and death in his hands. Acknowledging Saul's kinship at a time before Ananias had reason to trust it created the kinship, paved the way for family.

Because I'll tell you right now, there are blind scholars, blind leaders, blind saints. Blind transformational giants, even.

But no one leads a family from the outside.

And until 'Saul' was 'Brother', he was no one.

There's your healing. There's your miracle.  There's your seismic shift. Because one Spirit-prompted human risked it, family formed in a new way that day. And every day since then.

In the face of evidence to the contrary, Ananias spoke the life-giving word. "Brother."

And in the absence of evidence, in that patch of green, a three-year-old girl with round cheeks and a broken butterfly headband came running to me, arms wide to embrace a friendly-looking, teary-eyed stranger under a tree ---

And spoke a life-giving word. "That's my sister."

There's your miracle.

...rich with surprise

God of Creation, all-powerful, all wise,

Lord of the universe rich with surprise,

Maker, Sustainer, and Ruler of all,

We are Your children --- You hear when we call.

---Margaret Clarkson, 1987

Back when I was young and could sleep on the ground, I often spent a weekend camping with friends in the mountains of north Georgia, enjoying scenes of rugged beauty around every bend and over every hill. Being carefree (I did mention that we were young, didn’t I?), we often knew only the general area we wanted to explore, and this led to lots of wondering. I don’t mean ‘wandering’; I mean ‘wondering’, as in, “I wonder where we are now?” One particular weekend we were more aimless than usual, and had gotten onto a one-and-a-half-lane road, headed almost straight up into the sky (no easy feat for a baby-blue Monte Carlo!). At a bend in the road, we met an oncoming van, and inched over as far as we dared to let it pass. As it did, the driver waved and greeted us; we asked what was up ahead. Now, what we meant was, “Is there a camping spot up ahead?” But he had a bigger answer in mind. “Man,’ he said earnestly, “you wouldn’t believe what’s up there! There’s trees, and mountains, and grass…”

That dude up on the mountain saw the world with a sense of wonder, with a delight I am usually too jaded to enjoy. In today’s hymn, Margaret Clarkson names the God of a creation ‘rich with surprise.’ As I meditate on the concept of a universe created teeming with delight and overflowing with mind-blowing creativity, I think of eclipses, lightning storms, giraffes…and grace. You wouldn’t believe what’s up there!

What a surprising God we serve!

...faint or full

Does sadness fill my mind? A solace here I find,

May Jesus Christ be praised!

Or fades my earthly bliss? My comfort still is this,

May Jesus Christ be praised!

---Katholisches Gesangbuch, 1828

Probably none of us, if we live long enough, will avoid the deep ache of sadness. Some may be fortunate, and experience only brief periods of “fadedness”. Others, through life circumstance or brain chemistry, may slog through long terms of depression and sadness. And, because Jesus walked this life fully human, we can surmise that he experienced every emotion common to humanity, including the dark cloud of sadness. This thought is so comforting to me --- to know that I can experience nothing that my Savior has not experienced first. And out of that comfort can come praise. In my darkest moment, I can cling to Christ, and sing my anguished, confused, joyful song of praise, faint or full though it may be.

May Jesus Christ be praised, and may praise do its transformative work in the world, and in me.

...all the yes

The hill of Zion yields a thousand sacred sweets,

Before we reach the heavenly fields,

Or walk the golden streets.

---Isaac Watts, 1707

#thisearthisnotmyhome #illflyaway #streetsofgold #homesickforheaven

At various times throughout Christian history, this world has not been a very hospitable place to live out life. This was sometimes true for most everyone walking the sod, and sometimes particularly for those folk of faith. It is easy, in times of hardship and earthly distress, to pin one’s hopes on a better tomorrow, a bright and shiny heaven to take the bitter edge off what seems a pale shadow-life lived out here on earth. Imagine the Twitter-life of those trapped in the flat reality of this existence, when they dreamt of, yearned for the richness of a hi-def heaven.

In Isaac Watts’ hymn from the turn of the 18^th century, the hymnist urges those who ‘love the Lord’ not to wait to start celebrating Kingdom life, but to let their joys be known. Yes, look forward to heaven, when the distractions of this world will be stripped away so that worship’s pure essence can be revealed, and those who will may dwell consciously in the presence of God.

But, yes! enjoy the thousand sacred sweets the hill of Zion has to offer before we ever reach those heavenly fields! And, yes! live abundantly here in this rich land where God also reigns! God didn’t create us for either/or; there is richness and abundance in this life for all time, and for all!

#alltheyes

...making it to Monday

Mother's Day. It can't have snuck up on you, or me. The sweet, tear-jerking commercials; the handmade cards smelling of Elmer's glue and crayon; the preschool 'teas' and musical programs with dress-up clothes and tissue-paper and pipe-cleaner flowers; the bouquets in every store, and cards that never quite say what you intend, but fit the envelope just fine.

While for lots of us Mother's Day is a lovely time of sharing with our own children, or celebrating the love of our mothers for us, for some folks this day is among the toughest on the calendar. While others celebrate, these seek out solitude and separation, counting down the hours to sundown.

Some of these may be children of mothers who were never 'moms' --- those who would not, or could not, love their children; those who withheld human kindness or approval from children starving for it; those who abused the trust placed in them as mothers by hurting their children. How lonely it must be, to try being sold on the idea of a Mother's Day for a mother who wants nothing more from you than your absence.

Then there are women who mourn for children who are not. Women who carried life in them, only to grieve a too-early goodbye, never getting to celebrate birthdays, 'first days', Christmases with children hoped-for and dreamt. Women who struggle with fertility, hope with each turn of the calendar page that this might be the month. Women left with holes in lives and hearts when illness, accident, violence walk in the door and beloved children no longer do. Sometimes Mother's Day means getting through the day.

Then there are the ongoing struggles of motherhood that can complicate the feelings around general 'happiness'. Mothers who wait for their children's busy lives to settle down enough to include them. Mothers who find themselves lifelong advocates for their children in a variety of settings. Mothers who find themselves navigating with their children the deep waters of the medical system or the mental health system; mothers who become over-familiar with the tangled web of the juvenile justice system, or consistently stand in the gap in the halls and classrooms of school systems designed around the 'typical' student. Sometimes putting one foot in front of the other takes precedence over a Hallmark-driven remembrance.

For some of these folks, they hold onto what they can. When it comes to Mother's Day, they are trying making it to Monday.

...Light as gift

Light on the path, a lamp about our way,

Wisdom to lead us through the longest day,

Guiding our steps as once the Savior trod:

Here in the Scriptures is the Word of God.

---Timothy Dudley-Smith, 2008

Light. Lamp. Wisdom. Truth for the seeker. Bread for the hungry. Sword of the Spirit. Word of life. Treasure. Promise of mercy and love.

These are some of the gifts to be found in Holy Scripture, according to hymnist Timothy Dudley-Smith. And can you imagine the richness of life, were one to avail oneself of all of these gifts? The richness, even more, of life lived out in community, sharing these gifts together?

How amazing, to have the chance to gain glimpses into the life of the one we call Lord, just by picking up our Bible. To know Jesus better, to know God’s love story with humankind more intimately, because real people quieted themselves, and waited, and shared the moving of the Spirit for us, for the generations.

May we eagerly seek out opportunities to learn from this amazing record of the deep love between God and God’s people. And, rather than ever seeking to use Holy Writ as a weapon against another pilgrim on the path, or a lance against some windmill that needs tilting against, may we seek always to see Scripture used to build up and draw people to the God of Love.

Thanks be to God for Light on the path.

...present help for a changed earth

On this day four years ago, storms of fierce intensity ripped through Alabama, making it one of the largest outbreaks of super-tornadoes in state history. Indeed, the period of April 25-28 marked one of the most violent super-tornado outbreaks in recorded US history. On that day, the earth changed, very literally; but more than that, perhaps, peoples' psychic topography was forever altered. There was a seismic shift that day in the way many of us viewed security, permanence, and the future.

The question, then, becomes, 'Where do we turn when the earth changes?' Apparently circumstances may seem new, but questions are not, for the Psalmist looks up from the ruins of a changed earth and seeks what help may be found, a refuge and strength, a help, in a still-mysterious 'God'. We still may.

I am drawn and re-drawn to Psalm 46 when my earth changes. This post originally appeared on September 11, 2013.

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 Towers? The day 50 years ago when cowards in Birmingham set off bombs that took the lives of four little girls, and 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 the Psalms, 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.

...breathe on me

Breathe on me, Breath of God, fill me with life anew,

That I may love what Thou dost love,

And do what Thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, Breath of God, until my heart is pure,

Until with Thee I will Thy will,

To do and to endure.

---Edwin Hatch, 1878

There is a holiness about a small child, snuggled under your chin, sleeping soundly. There is a deep, even, peaceful breathing that is like no other sound or sensation on this earth; and before you even realize it, you have fallen under its spell. Your breath pattern speeds or slows, shallows or deepens, and matches the child in your arms. In an elemental way, in that moment, you will what that child wills. A holy moment.

I wonder if perhaps hymnist Edwin Hatch had experienced such a high holy moment, whether he called it to remembrance as he penned these words. Imagine, if you can, matching your breath to the very breath of a living God. Breath that would enliven, empower, inspire, embolden. Breath that would draw you into communion with a God Who has been in love with you since the beginning of time, wanting nothing more than to breath in unison with you. Breath that would fill you like that. I could use some of that.

Breathe on me, Breath of God…

...wage 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.

---Leigh Anne Armstrong, 2005

tune: FERNDALE

By God's tender mercies,

dawn will break on high,

bringing light to us who sit in dark,

in the very shadow of death,

to brighten the way to the path of peace.

---Luke 1:78-79 (para. laca)

During my prayers and meditations this morning it passed through my mind that, though our individual and tribal agonies and tragedies seem freshly goring with each new wound, we have been hurting for a long time now. We have been needing peace, in our climate, in our world, in our homes, in our hearts and psyches, for so long. Most of the time we move through our days, numb to the violence around us, blind to the damage inflicted on our brothers and sisters by systems and power and pure plain meanness and evil. The world is engineered for numbness, for dulling the senses to the pain of others, even our own pain. 

And then sectarian and tribal violence turns into mass slaying of school children and college students. Or the pain of mental illness spills over into unspeakable tragedy on a massive scale. Or families have to take stock and rebuild love where it grows for their children. 

And through all of this, faint, is the song of hope. Not the kind of solid thing performed by a symphony orchestra with a festival chorus. More like the caught wisp of a melody, floating out of an open window on one of those rare, fine days when open windows might be acceptable in our part of the country. You might only catch a few notes, a rise and fall of phrase. But when you do. When you  do. It may just give you the courage to wage peace in this world, where all the violence seems continually new.

...cross, grave, sky

Soar we now where Christ has led, following our exalted Head;

Made like Him, like Him we rise; ours the cross, the grave, the skies.

Alleluia!

---Charles Wesley, 1739

Here we are at Easter, the simplest day of the year to follow Jesus! Soaring where Christ has led, rising like him…feels pretty wonderful, right? And we need a day like Easter, because the rest of the year is sure to follow. We are promised that if we follow Christ by owning the cross, and the grave, that we will also own the skies with him.

Made like You, to follow You, we turn with expectation toward a future that includes, the cross, the grave…and the skies. Alleluia!

...but Mary stood

Early on Sunday, before sunrise,
Mary of Magdala came to the tomb
and saw that the stone had been moved 
from the entry.
So she ran and told Simon and Jesus' beloved disciple,
"They have taken the Lord, and we do not know where."
They both set out toward the tomb.
While they ran together, the beloved outran Peter
and arrived at the entrance first.
He bent over and peered in, 
seeing the grave clothes lying empty,
but stood by.
Here came Simon, following, 
straight into the tomb. 
He saw the grave clothes, too, 
and the head cloth to itself.
Then the beloved disciple, 
who had been there longer,
also entered, and he saw and believed
(for they did not yet understand the scripture, 
that Jesus must rise from dead).
Then the disciples returned to their homes.
But Mary stood weeping there.
---John 20:1-11 (para. laca)

There is Mary. Maybe as a last act of devotion. Maybe seeking solace at the tomb. Maybe unbelieving at the events of the last days. Maybe because she has literally no place else to go. What to do, when you have staked your future on one man, his dream of a reign of peace and freedom and mutual respect and love, his promise of a life eternal --- and his own is stripped from him so quickly and brutally? Where else do you go?

Mary went to the tomb. And the world tilted a little on its axis. Even the dead body of the good man she had loved was gone, stolen by common bandits. That was the only explanation. Yes, something tickled at the farthest, darkest corner of memory, but...no, it was gone...third day...the grief must be getting to her. Peter and the one Jesus had loved most would need to know, must know. They could say what to do. She had gone to the tomb.

They had gone home. To wait? For what? To return to their lives? To pick up the pieces, after 'fishing for people' hadn't worked out the way they had hoped and dreamed? Had it only been a week since the chanting, palm-waving crowds had hailed Jesus on the way into Jerusalem, welcoming him in as the coming King? Had they not felt the reflected glory of the welcome, secretly thrilled at the thought of assuming seats of power in the righteous administration? What had it been that has turned the tide? Surely not just Judas; none had assumed he had the power to sway public opinion. What had been the strategic error that had made things go so horribly awry? Where else do you go?

Mary knew where to find them. They were home. When they heard the news, they took off, disbelieving this hysterical woman, but gut reactions telling a story closer to her truth. Peter, the bull in the china shop, a force of nature. The beloved, more cautious, but still entering the dark cool of the rock cave. Seeing. Believing.

Believing. But what? It's pretty clear their belief wasn't in any resurrection --- we are told they didn't yet understand scripture concerning this. They believed Mary's testimony here, the first of her two testimonies from the tomb, that Jesus' body was gone. A final indignity to pile on top of the shame and blinding disappointments of the past 72 hours. Just. Gone. 

So they. went. home.

But Mary. Maybe she's got nothing to lose. But Mary stays weeping there.

And, oh. my. God. Rabouni. 

Mary stayed. And the world's story changed.

...rip down the curtains

When it was midday, dark overtook the land for hours.
At the next watch, Jesus cried out,
"My God, 
have even 
you
forsaken me?"
Then with a loud breath,
Jesus breathed his last.
And the curtain of the temple, 
the one dividing the Holy of Holies,
was ripped apart,
top to bottom.
---Mark 15:33-38 (para. laca)

The veil of the Temple was man's best effort to keep God and people separate from each other. It protected the Holy of Holies, the Ark of the Covenant, the supposed residing place of God's spirit, from contact with any of God's people, save for one priest, one day per year. God was, almost literally, kept in a box, behind a curtain, too holy and remote to be involved in the lives of God's people.

On God's Friday, with Jesus' submission to the powers that called for his death, that veil was torn in two from top to bottom, not  as if by human hands. Jesus, then, was God's best hope for tearing down forever the barrier between God's realm and ours, between God's existence and ours, between God's heart and ours. Jesus' 3:00 Friday was God once and for all refusing to be contained by human hands, or by boundaries human minds create.

It was time to rip down the curtains.

...for my sake

My song is love unknown, my Savior's love to me,
love to the loveless shown that they might lovely be.
O who am I that for my sake my Lord 
should take frail flesh, 
and die?
---Samuel Crossman, 1664

How overwhelming, that God stepped into the same skin that we walk around in, knew the risks, took on the aches and pains, shouldered the heartbreaks.

Chose this life. This death.

Chose not to walk away.

For my sake.

...stay with me

Go to dark Gethsemane, you who feel the tempter's power;
your Redeemer's conflict see; watch with Him one bitter hour;
turn not from His griefs away; learn of Jesus Christ to pray.
--- James Montgomery, 1822

They went to a place, a garden, Gethsemane; 
and Jesus said to his friends, 
"I need you. Stay here with me while I pray."
He took some of those dearest to him, 
and his distress and heartache became evident.
He said to these beloved,
"My heart is breaking; how can I go on?
draw close, abide, with me, sit up a while with me now."
---Mark 14:32-34 (para. laca)

Stay. Just stay here with me. While I wrestle with my destiny. While I stare into what looks an awful lot like an abyss. While I question this whole crazy ride we've been on together the past few years. While I wonder if the voice I heard was the voice of God, or just some voice in my head, telling me things I wanted to, needed to hear. While I decide whether to walk away from the whole deal. Whether to blend into the Passover crowd, wander back to the Galilee, pick up a hammer and nail, and become just another dusty craftsman, like my father before me. Let the idea of some beckoning Father fade away into distant memory, let someone else save the world.

God. What am I supposed to do now?

Friends, stay with me.

...with rare perfume

A prophet-woman broke a jar, by Love's divine appointing.
With rare perfume she filled the room,
presiding and anointing.
A prophet-woman broke a jar, the sneers of scorn defying.
With rare perfume she filled the room,
preparing Christ for dying.

The Spirit knows; the Spirit calls, by Love's divine ordaining,
the friends we need, to serve and lead,
their powers and gifts unchaining.
The Spirit knows; the Spirit calls,
from women, men, and children,
the friends we need, to serve and lead.
Rejoice, and make them welcome!
---Brian Wren, 1991

In that day, says the Lord, I will pour out my spirit on all people;
your sons and your daughters shall prophesy;
the old among you will dream dreams,
and the young in your midst shall see visions.
On people of every station in life, women and men, 
in those days I will pour out my spirit.
---Joel 2:28-29 (para. laca)

...the day after the parade

When day dimmed down to deepening dark

the crowd began to fade

till only trampled leaves and bark

were left from the parade.

Lest we be fooled because our hearts

have surged with passing praise,

remind us, God, as this week starts, 

where Christ has fixed his gaze.

---Thomas Troeger, 1985

Holy Week. What a whiplash-inducing, last set at Wimbledon high-speed volley it is. In the span of 5 days all the people of Jerusalem, it seems, go from hailing Jesus as their new king, triumphant in the Davidic tradition, to loudly demanding his death, blood be on them and their children. 

What?

And, #spoileralert, three days later crazy stories start spreading that soon set little pockets of the world on fire. Because you can't keep this Good Man down. All that hate in the world, mixed into a toxic cocktail with all that power, and Love is still stronger. 

Told you it was crazy.

But today. Today, it's the day after the parade has passed. and what's left is some palm fronds sitting in a box in the choir room, and a few stray green leaves down the center aisle, and echoes of a celebrating crowd. 

And a lonely man, with decisions to make --- about power, and obedience, and sacrifice. A man at the crossroads, with his eye on a cross.

...the lips of children

All glory, laud, and honor to Thee, Redeemer, King,

To whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas ring.

Thou didst accept their praises --- accept the praise we bring,

Who in all good delightest, Thou good and gracious King!

---Theodulph of Orleans, ca. 821

Count on a kid to tell it like it is. Maybe this is the reason for the old adage, “Children should be seen and not heard.” Over the course of our lives we develop the ability to filter our thoughts before they become words. We also sometimes lose the child’s ability to see things as they are, without expectation or preconception. Kids? They see it like it is, and say it like it is.

In today’s text, hosannas stream from the lips of children. They were onto Jesus, and seemed attracted to him without reservation. They saw what they saw, and liked it, and joyously praised Jesus. May we today be like children…no filters, no prejudices, no reservations about praising our redeemer, Jesus Christ.

Let at least one of those hosannas be mine, Lord.

...for all the days we have

We praise all we know of you!
We praise you in holy places we have made for worship.
and in holy places you alone could have dreamt into existence!
We praise you for what you have done,
we praise you for the essence of who you are!
We search for ways to praise you ---
with horns,
with strings,
with drums and shakers,
with pipes,
with bells,
with crashing cymbals,
with the dance!
We, all of us who take our breath,
from the first day you give us till our last,
we praise you!
We praise all we know of you,
in all the ways we know, 
for all the days we have!
---Psalm 150 (para. laca)

...in the face of this cold

Praise to you from the beloved community,

rising to you from your own!

For you do what is needed 

for us to dwell secure,

for our community to continue 

after our own time is done.

You grant freedom from anxiety

and freedom from need, 

filling the fields with lovely wheat.

You let your word be known,

like swift-flowing water.

The snow you send is like a 

fine wool blanket,

the frost like ash,

the hail like crumbs---

how are we to stand 

in the face of this cold?

But your word, that swift word,

is sent from you,

and melts them away in an instant;

you breathe the gentle wind into being,

and the frozen waters flow again.

You make your word known to your people,

in a relationship shared by none other.

Praise to you from your own!

---Psalm 147:12-20 (para. laca)

...open-eyed awe

My song rises from a thankful place;
a song accompanied on strings.
You cover the sky with clouds,
they grow heavy with rain 
you intend for the thirsty earth,
for the new grass reaching skyward 
on the hill.
This is the cycle you spun out of 
creative vitality
to provide the animals with their food, 
the young birds with what they need.
You take delight,
but not in the strength of power,
like a mighty stallion;
you take pleasure, 
but not in the feat of speed,
like a lithe runner;
your deep joy is in those 
who approach you with 
the open-eyed awe of children,
who put their hope in the 
steadfastness of 
your love.
---Psalm 147:7-11 (para. laca)

...full of grace

I lift your name,
you who will not be named.
It is good to let praise rise to you;
for you are full of grace,
and a graceful song is fitting.
You build up your beloved community;
you gather us, outcasts all.
You heal the broken hearts,
you bind up the torn places.
You number the stars,
you name them.
You are great in mystery,
abundant in strength,
measureless in understanding.
As you cast the wicked mighty to the ground,
you lift up the lowly downtrodden.
I lift your name,
you who will not be named.
---Psalm 147:1-6 (para. laca)

...thanks be, blessing be.

The earth hums with frequencies
of deep joy before you!
I join the eternal procession of all
echoing the gladness of abiding 
in your presence.
I have known on my very soul 
that you are God.
You have made me for you,
and you shepherd me.
I draw near to you garbed in gratitude,
close to you perfumed with praise.
Thanks be,
blessing be.
For you are the heart of goodness;
the steadfastness of your love 
began before, and lasts into forever;
the steadiness of your faithful attention
is for generations long gone and yet to come.
Thanks be,
blessing be.
---Psalm 100 (para. laca)

...an acceptable time

As for me, Mystery, 

I lift my prayer to you.

At an acceptable time,

when your steadfast love 

overflows its bounds,

answer,

for I call out and the silence is deafening.

At an acceptable time, 

when your faithful help

flourishes like wheat,

rescue me,

for I am sinking and the waters are deep.

At an acceptable time,

when your pity

churns like the tide,

save ---

from flood, 

or deep, 

or Pit.

At an acceptable time,

answer, 

you whose goodness

is defined and demonstrated

by steadfast love;

turn to me,

show me the fullness of your mercy.

Let me look into your face, and

look into mine;

I am falling --- how long

shall I wait for you?

Draw near,

pay the price for me,

at an acceptable time.

---Psalm 69:13-18 (para. laca)

...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.

...etched on their hearts

The days come, they come,
says the Lord,
when I will make a new covenant
with my beloved in Israel
and in Judah.
It won't be like the covenant of old,
when I led the children by the hand 
up out of their bondage in Egypt---
a covenant broken, 
even though I stood as head of household 
for them, strong and caring, says the Lord.
But this is the new covenant I will make 
with my beloved people after those days,
the Lord says: 
my law will be an inner guide,
etched on their hearts
as surely as if on stone;
I will be their own, 
and they will be mine.
The need for second-hand knowledge of me
will pass away;
"Know God" won't have to be spoken,
for my people will know,
from least to greatest in the land,
says the Lord;
for I forgive the shortcomings
of my beloved people,
and cede my right to remember their wrongs
from now till forever.
---Jeremiah 31:31-34 (para. laca)

...the good of the crossroads

My prayer for the holy city:
"May the lives of all who love you
be enriched in the very act of loving.
Peace fill the spaces between your walls,
pervasive safety make watchtowers obsolete."
For the sake of love,
for my beloved ones, I gladly say,
"Let peace reign!"
For the sake of the abiding place 
of Mystery, the heart of love,
I will seek the good of the crossroads.
---Psalm 122:6-9 (para. laca)

Jerusalem is an important city, and has been for thousands of years. The meeting place of three major world religions, and too often their boiling point. Open the newspaper (or, more likely, your home page) and, chances are, it won't be hard to find a headline concerning unrest in the Holy Land. Ironically enough, as holy days approach, the tensions ramp up, religious fervor fueling the fires of suspicion and hatred.

Open the Scriptures, and you see the same stories, Beta version. Jerusalem, the city with peace (salem) in the name, but none in the streets. Religious strife, political machinations, tribal feuding all kept Jerusalem from experiencing shalom, the 'wholeness that leads to life' that we translate peace.

And we should pray for peace in this holy place, pour out our hearts for peace. And we should add feet to our prayers, acting in ways that promote peace in this part of the world where it is possible for us.

But the world is a kind of Jerusalem. Through global travel, internet, and media of all kinds, our world has shrunk considerably, and our global village is just that. And our Jerusalem is an incredibly diverse place, with innumerable divisions of race, clan, faith, gender, politics, and economics. And those divisions cause distrust, and inequity, and violence, and hoarding. And fear, which may be the long, ugly taproot of them all.

Our Jerusalem is this world at the crossroads. And we are all in the crosshairs. We can be destroyed by the fear we foment. Or we can be enriched by the very act of loving. This is peace.

Seek the good of the crossroads.

Enjoy a beautiful sung prayer for peace by a talented woman I am privileged to know, Amanda Powell:
https://youtu.be/VX9L3zfZ_dc

...I sing you

I sing you,
with all my soul I sing you!
I seek to give my spirit wing
with each new day,
with rising song lift you 
for my ever.
I've found gladness in knowing 
your help is my sure footing,
your hope is my soaring,
maker of under and over,
the blue all around.
You are faithful:
you pursue justice for the innocent accused;
you fill hungry mouths by your provision.
You grant freedom to the bound,
clarity to the unseeing;
you carry the burden of the bent as if
it were you own;
you rain down love on those 
consumed with law, drown us in love.
You keep watch over the unnoticed;
you stand for the underserved and neglected,
you shake your head as the wicked 
bring about their own destruction.
The community you dream for us 
will be forever. 
I sing you.
---Psalm 146:1-2, 5-10 (para. laca)

...as if to touch you

Hear, for I call;
in your faithfulness, listen,
in your righteousness, answer.
Reserve judgement against me,
for who among the living 
can stand under your perfection?
I stretch my hands as if to touch you,
my thirsting spirit longs 
for your quenching.
Will you answer?
I have grown weary with the waiting.
Do not turn away from me,
or I will surrender hope like one
damned to hell.
Let me hear the morning song
of your hesed, your steadfast love,
for all my trust is lifted to you.
Let me know your wisdom
and I will follow,
for all my soul is lifted to you.
Teach me what you have in store,
for you are mine.
In your goodness make my path,
and lead me on it
...for I am your servant.
---Psalm 143:1-2, 6-8, 10, 12b (para. laca)

...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)

...you envelop me

You, and you alone, 
have looked on me long enough
to know my soul.
You know the minutiae of my mundane,
the sinking, the rising;
the thoughts that occupy me,
dark to dark.
You seek both my footfalls
and my resting breath
with equal concern;
no way of mine is an 
unknown quantity to you.
Before my thoughts take tone,
leave lip,
you know them for what they are,
even what I intend them to be.
You envelop me, 
I am surrounded by your care.
Nothing in my heart or mind can grasp 
the beauty of knowing this,
knowing you, Mystery.
---Psalm 139:1-6 (para. laca)

...heart, be broken

Let your heart be tender and your vision clear ---

see the world as God sees, serve Him far and near:

Let your heart be broken by another’s pain,

Share your rich resources --- give and give again.

---Bryan Jeffery Leech, 1975

I’ve heard it…have you? Someone who has dedicated his or her life to serving “the least of these” is described as a “bleeding heart”. The implication is that if you are giving to others, serving others, you are being taken advantage of. And perhaps that is sometimes true. If you are going to pour out your life for others, you will be used from time to time. Perhaps Jesus was.

In this verse from the hymn, we are called to two complementary characteristics to guide our actions. We are to cultivate both tender hearts and clear vision. We are to serve, act, share, and give, all guided by hearts that feel the pain of those in distress and vision that clearly sees the source of that pain. With heart and eye, we seek to salve wounds and seek solutions. With heart and eye, we serve God in a way that the practical world may not ever understand.

And that’s OK.

...short of soul

From Mount Hor the people set out by the way to the Sea of Reeds, to bypass the land of Edom; but, on the way, they became long of grumble, and short of soul.
---Numbers 21:4 (para. laca)

The people of Israel, during the sojourn in the wilderness, often remind me of the Keystone Cops --- one frantic, hopeless, ridiculous antic after another as they bumble their way toward making a 40-year journey out of an 11-mile weekend jaunt. Could they be any more clueless? Could they have any more positive signs that the One God was leading them? Good grief! Yet, time and again, God's chosen people checked 'NO' and tried their best to pass the note back across the row to the hopeful-looking kid in the new sneakers and shy grin.

Things had gotten bad. A few verses later, the people even yelled into the sky that they hated the miserable food.  That fell out of the sky. Every day. For free. Just because. Yeah. They were those people. The ones movies and Buzzfeed Videos and SNL skits (and we) like to make fun of. Partly because they deserve it. Partly because they are such an easy target.

You see, they'd got impatient. With the journey. With Moses, for sure. Most definitely with the once miraculous-seeming manna (the very name of which translates, "What IS it?!"). And they were impatient with God. And the Hebrew word used here that we translate with our English word 'impatient' can be illuminated with the phrase 'short of soul'.

Short of soul. I've been down that 11-mile path before, dusty and thirsty and bone-weary and ready for anything but the same old thing. I've been long of grumble, and short of soul.

And a grace was raised up for me in that dry place, and it wasn't on my own strength my soul was restored.

...there is mercy

From depths I could not have imagined
I call to you, One.
Hear. 
Will you hear?
This mystery ---
let the ear of your attention
note the voice of my reaching.
For, if you, if you are the one
who measures shortcomings, 
which of us could stand?
But with you there is mercy, 
mercy;
and we count it holiness in you.
I wait for you, my soul stills itself,
my hope rests on a word from you;
my spirit longs for your advent
more than the sleepless search the sky
for the first streaks of cold purple dawn.
---Psalm 130:1-6 (para. laca)

...you enwrap me

My gaze endlessly scans the rugged foothills ---
if help is there, 
where?
Is it you, Mystery,
spinner of loft and loam?
It is you who will steady
my wavering step;
you stand guard through the night 
to keep watch beside me.
You who keep your beloved
will neither doze nor dream,
not in all the watches of the night.
You nursemaid me;
you protect me from the harshest of life.
When light and heat prove too much,
you shelter;
you enwrap me in your safety when moonlight
feels sinister.
You keep evil from overwhelming me;
you preserve.
You sanctify my goings and comings 
now and tomorrow and 
tomorrow.
---Psalm 121 (para. laca)

...joy in the coming

A clarion call from the heart of earth,

"The Unsearchable is the most high!

The world you have imagined for us

is set in its course; there it shall spin.

You rule among your people 

with an even and discerning hand."

The stars sing,

the very earth thrums with joy;

the seas churn and and foam their praise,

creatures of the deep take note;

the waving fields bend, 

ready for the offering, 

beasts of the field yield up praise. 

Now the trees,

even the trees of the forest --

where the shadows lie 

long and cool and silent --

even the trees begin their humming.

I hear it, even now, a sound of pure joy

before you, Mystery; 

for you are coming,

you are coming to be judge

on this blue and green planet.

And there is joy in the coming, 

because in the judging, most high,

there is truthful rightness.

---Psalm 96:10-13 (para. laca)

...set us all shaking

I will sing you something new;
the earth bursts with it,
blessing your name;
every song a new attempt to tell 
the fullness of your ongoing salvation;
every shout a new chapter in your story
to all the world,
of your moving in the world.
You are vast;
o, that my praise could match 
that vastness.
Any god I could imagine, you exceed;
only you create on a universal scale.
Majesty and dignity herald your coming,
strength and beauty adorn the 
place of your abiding.

Let it be known, tribes and peoples,
the One who is Mystery 
is the source of strength.
What will you offer,
when you find yourself drawn to the heart 
of the Presence?
Offer the best of who you are
to the One wrapped in brilliance;
let it set you shaking, 
let it set us all shaking.

---Psalm 96:1-9 (para. laca)

...might this please you?

I will speak the language of you
with music in my voice;
I will fill the space where you are
with expansive gratitude.
Might this please you more than an offering
of bloody carcasses, 
drug onto a pyre?
Perhaps those life has drug 
onto its own pyre will hear,
and hope;
perhaps they who have sought you
will renew their own songs.
For you have always heard 
the cry of the downtrodden and desperate;
and you, in your tenderheartedness,
could not look on your loved ones, bound,
and not grieve their chains.
---Psalm 69: 30-33 (para. laca)

...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.

...the place of your abiding

Lovely is the place of your abiding,
God of the stars!
The deep places in me respond 
with longing 
for the place you are;
the joyful song I offer is 
the gift of my heart and my body,
my all echoes your all.
The tiniest bird, least of all,
finds home, and sure security
for raising her young,
in the shadow of your altars,
my Own.
To dwell in your presence,
my being reverberating with praise of you,
wraps me in happiness.
---Psalm 84:1-4 (para. laca)

...beneath your wings

Show mercy to me, my God,
more mercy than I deserve,
my soul seeks sanctuary 
hidden in you;
I nestle in the safety and shelter 
beneath your wings
while storm winds tear apart the sky.
I call out to you,
you, who know the way ahead of me.
You will clear the path 
when there is none,
when obstructions block the way.
Your free-flowing love and 
faithfulness meet me where I am.
---Psalm 57:1-3, 5 (para. laca)

There they are, on the webcam. The bald eagle couple, the most famous on-campus residents of Berry College in Rome GA. The pair have nested high in a tree on campus for some time now, and the unfolding domestic drama has lured throngs of viewers to follow the...action, if you could call it that...on their own little nest-cam. With the entirety of campus designated a wildlife sanctuary, encounters of the wild kind are not uncommon; but even at Berry, the eagle family is big news. Rumor is that construction of an on-campus football stadium has been put on hold because its site includes the nesting tree!

So, I was interested to see how the eagle's nest would fare during the recent winter storm in north Georgia. After all, eggs were in the nest, and the eagle couple had been taking turns, sitting in the nest, precious treasures closely guarded under wing. Sure enough, heavy snow covered the Rome area, and the nest-cam showed a thick blanket of white (and not much else) on the nest, high in the tree. Where were the eagles? What would be the fate of the eggs, so vulnerable in the nest? And then I looked closer. And a small hole in the snowy blanket revealed an opening just big enough for a beak, and maybe a black, darting eye piercing the otherwise unbroken expanse of white. The eagle had been there, eggs tucked safely underwing, braving the ferocity of the storm to protect a future she dreamed for her young, a future he cleared the way for by showing up, over and over.

You, my shelter and my guide, steady and loving.

...before I move on from here

Do you hear my plea, Mystery,
does my cry turn your head?
Notice my weeping, do not
sit silent and aloof.
For I am a sojourner,
a gypsy, a rambler,
like all my people before me.
Do not pierce me with your gaze,
let relief flood my features,
before I move on from here.
---Psalm 39:12-13 (para. laca)

There have been times, I am sure, when we have all felt like flying under the radar; when going unnoticed would have been a good thing. There may be times we want to blend in, or times when what we were doing was distinctly un-noteworthy (sometimes being noticed would have been the worst thing!).

In these verses, though, I feel the psalmist's yearning for God to notice, to really see, the person in the crowd. Begging for God to hear, to turn, to soften to the suffering of the alien in this land of belong-ers.  Not as one of the crowd, although maybe that, too. But See me, God. Individually. Equally. Valuably.

Mark my passing through. See me.

...to wait in this quiet

Hear me, the words 

slip from my lips,

turn your grace toward me,

answer me, hear me.

My heart whispers to me

to seek your face.

I desire to meet your gaze;

you hear me-- let me look 

into your eyes.

I trust that your goodness 

will be revealed to me

here in the fullness of life.

I will wait with expectation for you;

I am strong enough, my soul 

courageous enough,

to wait in this quiet, for you.

---Psalm 27:7-9, 13-14 (para. laca)

God, give me the strength to wait on you when no word is forthcoming. The peace and stillness to sit in emptiness, to wait in active hope for something I am not guaranteed. Quiet my anxiety over what you will or will not do, and teach me to simply desire to meet you.

...one choice, one time

When you think of me, Otherness,
call to mind your mercy,
your compassion,
timeless, ageless.
Put away from you 
the memories of 
my missed marks, 
my rebelliousness;
see me through the lens of
your changeless love,
because you are love.
---Psalm 25:6-7 (para. laca)

When we think of someone, we have a choice. We can choose to think of them in light of who they are and what they have done. Or we can choose to evaluate them in light of who we are. This choice is a fundamental, bedrock decision for us.

Choose the former, and we will be making continual decisions based on circumstances beyond our control, overwhelmed with stimuli and variables. Each person will be judged on their choices and behaviors at every given moment, at every interaction with us. Whew.

Choose the latter, and we see others through the lens of our own compassion, and treat them accordingly. Consistently, compassionately. Based not on who they are, or what kind of mess they've gotten into, but on who we are, on our own depth of compassion. One choice, one time, acted on continually.

I choose continual compassion.

...shown up dressed alike

Here we are  Lord.

We’re dressed in suits and blue jeans,

Skirts and capris,

Sandals and high heels,

Polo shirts and ties.

Here we are Lord.

We’re dressed in robes of celebration,

Masks of insecurity,

The sack cloth and ashes of mourning and grief.

Here we are Lord,

And we’ve shown up dressed alike ---

Clothed in your mercy and grace.

We’ve all shown up dressed alike---

And we are grateful.

We stand in awe of your ability to speak to each of us,

All of us,

And we are listening.

...rolling over me

Jesus! What a help in sorrow! While the billows o’er me roll,

Even when my heart is breaking, He my comfort, helps my soul.

Hallelujah! what a Savior! Hallelujah! what a friend!

Saving, helping, keeping, loving, He is with me to the end.

---J. Wilbur Chapman, 1907

While I have spent a few days on beaches in Hawaii and New England, and lived as a child close to the Atlantic beaches and marshy waterways of Charleston, and I’ve enjoyed Atlantic coast vacations from the Carolina barrier islands down to St. Augustine, I’m most familiar with Gulf Coast beaches. I’ve seen the waters stirred up ugly café au lait in front of a storm, foam blowing up onto the sand. I’ve seen them full of jellyfish or stinging nettles, too bothersome to play in. I’ve seen them placid as a lake, glassy green surface reflecting a yellow sun. And occasionally I’ve seen the perfect Gulf beach day, the one from all the tourism ads --- azure sky, sapphire water, dazzling-white sand, even some waves breaking thirty yards out. And while I’ve been knocked down by the surf in Hanauma Bay, and cut to shreds by what passes for sand in the frigid surf on Wingaersheek Beach, this Gulf is my experience of the sea.

So when I picture sea billows rolling over me, I have no context from real life. And so I turn to the beautiful classic surfing films The Endless Summer and Morning of the Earth. Oh. Those billows. Wow. The kind of waves that carry tons of water volume in them, the kind that can crush you. Those. Even when life is doing to my heart what those waves do to surfers who catch the wrong edge, Jesus. Even then, Jesus. When I’ve had to let go control of what happens next --- because, let’s face it, the wave is in control --- even then, Jesus. When I am not sure when the end will be, or which way is up, and I’m not too sure the tumbling will stop, Jesus.

Saving, helping, keeping, loving. To the end.