A few weeks ago, my church choir sang a choral arrangement of this hymn.  A number of people commented to me afterwards on how beautiful it was, and how meaningful it had been to their worship that Sunday.  So it stuck in my head and I thought I would have a think about it this week.  The tune is an old American folksong from around 1828 and the words are, of course, Isaac Watts’ 1719 paraphrase of the 23rd Psalm.  I suppose it is no surprise that these words are meaningful to many – they are so familiar and offer so much comfort.

My Shepherd will supply my need;
Jehovah is his name.
In pastures fresh you make me feed,
beside the living stream.
He brings my wand’ring spirit back,
when I forsake his ways,
and leads me, for his mercy’s sake,
in paths of truth and grace.

When I walk through the shades of death
thy presence is my stay.
One word of thy supporting breath
drives all my fears away.
Thy hand in sight of all my foes,
does still my table spread.
My cup with Blessings overflows,
thine oil anoints my head.

The sure provisions of my God
attend me all my days.
Oh, may thy house be mine abode,
and all my work be praise.
There would I find a settled rest,
while others go and come,
no more a stranger, nor a guest,
but like a child at home.

This is a hymn that speaks of great faith.  Faith in something that will provide what we need – when we are in good places, bad places, self-inflicted negativity or situations beyond our control… always.  But, as much as I suspect many want this kind of faith and the comfort it brings, it is often an enormous task to get to a place where we are wholly confident that all our needs will be met.  Because sometimes they are not.  Sometimes the pastures are filled with dead, brown grass and the stream is dry. Sometimes we can hardly breathe in the midst of our fear, our tables are bare and our homes cease to exist.

So, once again, I read these words as instructive. We all have different perceptions and understandings of the concept of God; adherence to one of many religious traditions or a preference to none. But I find that so often the ideals we have established about what God is, or what God does, seem to be descriptions of how we should behave.  In some ways, it ceases to matter what the specifics of our religious leanings are as we take in the words of thinkers from our collective past.  These words guide us if we are willing to consider what they can imply about how we live.

Do we provide food and water for those that cannot find them?  Do we carefully lead people back from wrong decisions so they can live out their lives in truth and grace?  Do we breathe safety into the spaces where some are facing illness or death?  Do our hands hold those in deep fear and share blessings with all who are in need?  Are our homes a home for whomever needs one, allowing them to be like a welcome child rather than a stranger or a guest?

These can be simple personal choices that we make, or they can be the greater acts of our communities, our cities, our countries.  But we are failing.  When I hear that we are more concerned about business success than paying fair wages, I cringe. When I hear that we are more concerned about saving money than ensuring safe drinking water for our Indigenous communities, I cringe.  When I hear that we need more jails and crime control rather than programs and education that encourage the prevention of desperation, I cringe.  When I hear that we must cut hospital’s nursing budgets rather than supporting this caring work, I cringe.  When I hear that refugees are not welcome because they cost too much, I cringe. When I hear that people are not welcome because they are different and therefore perceived as a threat, I cringe.  It is a selfish time.  A time where good stewardship is limited to spending less in the moment. Period.  With little or no consideration to long term costs, to the human or environmental impact.  We have no idea what it is to be a shepherd.

As I’ve been thinking about these words, I keep asking myself if I am a shepherd.  A shepherd tends to the sheep, guiding and directing their well-being and safety – the safety of the entire flock being the goal.  It is a big job.  It takes constant vigilance.  We live in a time where most of us can barely look after ourselves.  But this world needs us to be shepherds – for those that are falling off cliffs now, for those that need catching later.  For ourselves, for our neighbours, for our families, for the strangers we have yet to meet – or will never meet.  Our value, as part of the flock and as individuals, is both intrinsic and unknowable, as future contributions cannot be predicted.  And, I suspect, when we are all safe, the settled rest we find becomes much, much more secure.  For if one of us is in danger, all of us share the risks.

These words are personal and speak to what we will receive if we have this kind of faith, and some need it to be so.  But if we choose to turn it around and consider what the world receives when we become shepherds, imagine the impact.  Not strangers, but carers of this beautiful earth we call home and all its beautiful inhabitants.  Each deserving of the love and care a shepherd provides.  Each receiving that which makes their lives safe.  Each learning to tend a flock that is filled with every possible kind of beauty, emotion and potential.  What a joy.

The idea of beauty keeps coming into my mind.  What beauty is and what value it should have in our lives.  There are times when it is a stumbling block, if understood in a superficial way.  But there are times when it opens up our souls to things beyond ourselves; things that lift us from the mire and into a place of vision and reward.

Open now thy gates of beauty, 
Zion; let me enter there,
where my soul in joyful duty
waits for One who answers prayer.
Oh, how blessed is this place,
filled with solace, light, and grace!

Gracious God, I come before thee,
come thou also unto me.
Where we find thee and adore thee,
there a heav’n on earth must be.
To my heart O enter thou,
let it be thy temple now.

Speak, O Lord, and I will hear thee;
let thy will be done indeed.
May I undisturbed draw near thee
while thou dost thy people feed.
Here of life the fountain flows,
here is balm for all our woes.

This hymn speaks of the latter kind of beauty and I must say, I love the image of the gates of beauty.  A special passageway into something that is blessed.  The word blessed is one of those that gets tossed around frequently these days.  I’ve heard so many people say they are blessed – because they are successful, healthy, wealthy, lucky…. whatever.  But to me, being blessed is about a sense of relief.  A shift, from being burdened by the many things that weigh us down, to seeking out the spaces where we can see beautiful views.  I’m not convinced it has anything to do with what we have or what we receive, but rather with those magical things that run like currents through our world and remind us of the Divine, of what is good, of what we can never understand. To me, these things make up the land of beauty – that place found when we open the gates.

As I think about the weights of this world – environmental concerns, injustice, sadness, pain, sickness, hatred, stress and many others – I find myself feeling heavy. I’m sure this is common.  I hear people speak of this weariness, of this sense of drowning in the filth.  We have access to so much information that is soul destroying.  And we take it in.  Someone said to me this week that there was no such thing as good news.  It was a kick in the gut – for how does one live with that in their mind?  How do we even begin to create good news when we no longer believe it exists?

But it does. And more and more I am thinking it exists in beauty.  True beauty – that which reflects our most beautiful souls.  The artist’s ability to recollect a lost family member’s presence in the beauty of their painting.  The composer’s notes that transcend our ability to speak and bring us closer to what we feel.  The garden’s ceaseless transition from dormancy into bloom and decay, echoing our own lives with all its stages of loveliness – each one different, each one precious.  The ocean as it moves with a constancy that brings calm reassurance and exciting motion all at the same time.  The grain dancing in the wind in fields that breathe of our nourishment.  The footsteps of those walking beside us that fill the air with a song, when we have nothing left but silence.  The stars, the planets, the comets – the darkness of night that reveals something larger than we can ever imagine.

There is beauty everywhere.  There is simply not enough evil in this world to wipe it out.  Whether we see it or not, it is constant.  When we are able to find it, something happens and we start to see beyond ourselves.  When we look through human history and see bits and pieces of beauty in amongst our horrors, we find hope.  When we take time to look at something beautiful, we start to cherish things differently, to honour them, to protect them.  When we offer a moment of beauty to someone who is so weighed down that they can’t find it themselves, we give a small blessing, a small relief from their pain – sometimes unrecognized, but inserted into their memory to be received when they are able.

Beauty is a powerful thing.  Seeking it is rewarding but so challenging in a world that has defined it in ways that tarnish its depth of importance.  Sharing it is generous and infectious, even if we are afraid to reveal how beautiful we really are.  Surrounding ourselves with it is healing, even when our world remains filled with pain. Finding the beauty that reflects the very best of your soul allows you to enter those gates, and often empowers others to follow.  And in that beauty filled space, the fountain of life flows.

I’ve been thinking about this beautiful world we live in this week.  It’s autumn, such a perfect season for those of us that love the changing colours of the leaves and the crisp, refreshing weather.  But, perhaps you prefer winter with its sparkling white stillness and peaceful dark evenings.  Or summer, with its lush gardens and radiant sunshine.  Maybe your favourite time is spring when everything is bursting with life.  The possible variations of beauty offered to us are many.

This old hymn, written by Isaac Watts in 1715, speaks to the beauty of nature.  His understanding of the value of all these wonders is quite powerful.  Mountains rise, seas flow, skies are lofty, the sun rules the day, the moon and stars shine at night.  There is the goodness of food and creatures, and there is not a plant or flower that doesn’t express something glorious.  These words speak to the incredible value of what we have and what we share.

I sing the mighty power of God 
that made the mountains rise, 
that spread the flowing seas abroad 
and built the lofty skies. 
I sing the wisdom that ordained 
the sun to rule the day; 
the moon shines full at God’s command, 
and all the stars obey. 

I sing the goodness of the Lord 
that filled the earth with food; 
God formed the creatures with a word 
and then pronounced them good. 
Lord, how thy wonders are displayed, 
where’er I turn my eye, 
if I survey the ground I tread 
or gaze upon the sky!

There’s not a plant or flower below 
but makes thy glories known, 
and clouds arise and tempests blow 
by order thy your throne. 
While all that borrows life from thee 
is ever in thy care, 
there’s not a place that we can flee
but God is present there. 

When Watts wrote these words, I suspect his focus was on the power of God to create all these wonders.  And, for many, this continues to be a meaningful understanding of creation, of our world.  But even if you have a different understanding of our origins, there is something rather amazing about having a place on a planet so full; living amongst these things that are so easily seen as remarkable.  The beauty that surrounds us implies our own beauty, by association and by virtue of us being a part of the wonder of this beautiful world.

And yet, this week the UN panel on climate change released a report that paints a sad picture of how we have treated our planet.  Perhaps not entirely new information, but it is clear and quite dire.  We are said to be on a very short road to catastrophe. The impacts have already been seen and felt by many.  As I read through this hymn text, I was struck by how easily we praise the natural beauty around us – whether we consider it to be divinely derived or not – and how little we are willing to protect it when doing so means sacrificing our lifestyles, our aspirations, our wealth and our convenience.

If I really consider these words, I wonder if I am willing to go beyond my own enjoyment of the seasons, the glories of nature, the treasures of the animal world and really do what is required to protect all of these things I claim as beautiful. For that which is beautiful is something to be cared for, to be sheltered, to be encouraged to thrive.  These wonders are not merely for our consumption. They are essential for our health, welfare and future.  But if we believe in their intrinsic value, they are also worth conserving simply because they exist. The beauty of our earth is life giving and inspirational.  It is our saviour and our fortune.  We treat it as though it is our possession, to be used at our whim.  It is not. We owe it much more than we have been willing to repay.  We borrow our lives from it, and it is good.  We need to treat it as the treasure it is – a gloriously made gift to all who live now, and in days to come.  A gloriously made gift to be shared and cared for with a well-deserved tenacity and commitment.

This earth is our home.  Look around and take it all in.  It is worth so much more than we have given.  It is a mighty power – and it is beautiful.

Thanksgiving is upon us and this is the weekend to be thankful.  It is when we take a moment to celebrate our blessings and remember what we treasure, what we have, our abundance.  While I quite enjoy the tradition, I will admit that there is a part of me that feels a little discomfort with our ideas surrounding thankfulness.  When we sit at our gatherings and go around the table and say what we are thankful for, we hear about friends, family, health.  Good and worthy things to be thankful for.  We hear about the bounty of the harvest and the food we eat, the homes we live in, the clothes on our backs – jobs, education, freedom.  The list is understandable.  It is good.  The words of this familiar hymn reflect all of this.  We are safe and we are provided for.

Come, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of harvest home;
All is safely gathered in,
Ere the winter storms begin.
God our Maker doth provide
For our wants to be supplied;
Come to God’s own temple, come,
Raise the song of harvest home.

And yet, in all of this goodness, I am left wondering.  As someone overly blessed with all of these things, it isn’t that my gratitude is absent.  I am deeply thankful.  But it may be that the source of my discomfort can be found in my blessings.  It is a simple fact that not everyone is as blessed with these kinds of riches as I am.   My thankfulness reminds me of the incredible imbalances found in the world – in my neighbourhood and across the seas.   The imbalances of wealth, the imbalances of health, the imbalances of how people are treated, the imbalances of education, the imbalances of opportunity, the imbalances of warmth and love.  So how do I celebrate all that is good in my life and acknowledge my great luck at the same time?  For what I have, those things we are thankful for, are indeed mostly about luck.  And it is in this state of privilege that I must recognize how much I am required to use the harvest of my blessings for some greater good; for some rebalancing in an unfair world.

But all that is good isn’t a permanent state – for anyone.  The harsh reality of any of our lives is that we all suffer, and I am also left wondering about the things that cause pain.  The things that challenge me.  The things I am really not thankful for.  Am I missing something important in the presence of the bad, the unpleasant, the hurtful in my life?  I think so.  For it is in my own pain that I learn to carry someone else’s pain.  It is in my own sadness that I understand another’s sadness.  It is in my own loneliness that I am able to see the lonely.  When I despair, I go to a place where many, many live.  I dearly need to see, feel and experience these places too, even as I struggle to bear up under their weight.

It is hard to be thankful for these difficult moments in our lives, but they offer us an opportunity to learn about resilience and they teach us to care. It can be a powerful act of generosity to walk through your own pain and then choose to use its lessons to carry another.

I rarely feel thankful for things that cause me pain, but I wonder if that is where my discomfort with Thanksgiving comes from. The strange mixture of gratitude for the good and disdain for the bad leaves me out of sorts. And while I don’t relish dwelling on painful experiences, especially those that are unresolved or even unresolvable, sometimes we must. Often we have no choice.

Perhaps as we express our thanks, we can consider our blessings and our pain.  Raising the song of the harvest home – both the perfect and the bruised fruit alike.  For all that we gather in our lives becomes our nourishment, and therefore part of the banquet we serve those around us.  In the moments when our voices are able to sing, it is the whole picture that colours our tune.  And when we cannot sing, hearing those who can is much richer knowing they have both survived the bad and rejoiced in the good.  Whether we are singing or just listening, let us do it in truth; in sadness and in joy.

Come, ye thankful people, Come!