This week marks the final Sunday of the liturgical calendar.  It is the end of the year – before we begin again with Advent.  It is sometimes referred to as the Reign of Christ Sunday, or the Feast of Christ the King.  It is a day when the anticipated kingship of Christ over all is fulfilled; when this reign is celebrated.  Well, I suppose this leaves me feeling a little unsettled.   I will admit to being uncomfortable with the language of class utilized in this celebration and in the associated hymns.  I’m not entirely convinced that concepts of superiority are ideal when speaking of the Divine.  I’m not convinced that Kings and Lords are our best metaphors for God. And I often wonder if imposing one faith practice on the world is more about the imposer’s reign than anything divinely inspired.

In looking at the hymns usually attached to this Sunday, many are full of this language – of the King, the Lord, crowns, sovereignty and a few hails.  Not surprising.  We live, and perhaps always have lived, in a society dominated by hierarchy.  Those at the top are considered most valuable – and we seem to look to them as such.  So it makes sense that we perceive the ultimate goal as achieving a reign over all. Our words of faith reflect that. Being uncomfortable with this language led me to this old hymn written in 1742, translated into English by Esther Bergen in 1959.   What really struck me, however, was the tune. This tune was part of the oral tradition of Russian Mennonites and it is quite gentle and doesn’t really have that character of pomp usually associated with regal proclamations.

I will admit that hearing this in German did wonders to settle me, as I don’t understand it well enough to get bent out of shape!  But since part of this project is to find meaning in places of discomfort, I did turn to the translation.

The Lord is king, O praise his name,
O’er all the earth his grace proclaim!
From age to age, from day to day,
His wonders grow more gloriously.

Oh, see the mighty hand of God,
His love and mercy changeth not!
His blood and righteousness avail,
His grace and pardon never fail!

This shall the song forever be
Of saints before the crystal sea:
O Christ, that on the cross hath bled,
Hath safely through life’s valley led.

O Star that lights the pilgrim’s way!
Our Lord of lords, our hope and stay!
The head to whom we homage bring,
The rock to which our faith may cling!

As I read through these words, I find an exclamation of personal faith.  A celebration of that which has carried someone throughout their life. Acknowledgment of glorious wonders, safe leading, love and mercy.  Praising the solidity of the rock clung to and the hope received.  Yes, there is the language of kings here, but I like the way that it is a king’s grace, not power, that is being proclaimed.  It is this that I find most comforting in my unsettled state.

Grace.  The bestowing of love and mercy whether deserved or not.  Such a challenge.  But maybe this is what the end of the year and the beginning of the next is really all about.  Looking back and seeing all the times we were able to give this gift, all the times we received it.  All the times we missed its presence, by choice or accident, stubbornness or preoccupation.  Considering how we may move forward into the realm of grace in the new year – choosing this beautiful act over our desire to reign supreme.  Looking for the times others gift us in this way, and responding with gratitude and joy.

Understanding the concept of grace seems so critical to our ability to impact our world.  So critical to defining the very best possibilities of who we can be. Perhaps it is this aspect of the sovereign that we should look to for guidance.  Not power, ability to rule and maintain a position, acquisition of followers or dominance over all others.  But rather, the ability to be gracious. The language of this Sunday implies superiority.  The meaning of true grace implies something very different.  It is not bothered by rank or power.  It is concerned with generosity, kindness and love.  May this be a year filled with grace, given and received.  A sky full of stars lighting the way.

It is the first snowy day of the winter.  And it is quite lovely.  I know many dread this day – with its accompanying traffic problems, cold temperatures, snowsuits and boots, short days.  But there is also a beauty in these tiny crystals of frozen water than never fails to amaze me.  Another piece of our world that brings joy to children and photographers alike; playful exuberance and thoughtful chronicling of this sparkling wonder.  And so, I thought of this hymn mostly because of its title. The morning stars were singing today as they looked upon the splendour.

When the morning stars together their creator’s glory sang,
And the angel host all shouted till with joy the heavens rang,
Then your wisdom and your greatness their exultant music told,
All the beauty and the splendor which your mighty works unfold.

When in synagogue and temple voices raised the psalmists’ songs,
Offering the adoration which alone to you belongs,
When the singers and the cymbals with the trumpet made accord,
Glory filled the house of worship, and all knew your presence, Lord.

Voice and instrument, in union through the ages spoke thy praise.
Plainsong, tuneful hymns, and anthems told your faithful, gracious ways.
Choir and orchestra and organ each a sacred off’ring brought,
While, inspired by your own Spirit, poet and composer wrought.

Lord, we bring our gift of music; touch our lips and fire our hearts,
Teach our minds and train our senses, fit us for this sacred art.
Then with skill and consecration we would serve you, Lord, and give
All our pow’rs to glorify you, and in serving fully live.

This is an old tune from around 1741, but the words were written in 1969 by Albert F. Bayly.  He was a Congregationalist minister in England from 1928 to 1972.  He began to write poetry and hymn texts in 1945 as a response to modern scientific knowledge and contemporary problems – one of a number of post-war hymn writers doing so at the time.  He was inspired by nature and science, perhaps among the first to have this focus in their hymns.

I find these words quite interesting in that they comment on the beauty and wonder of creation, or nature if you prefer to think of it that way. Not unusual for a hymn, but he takes it a bit further by speaking of our ability to join the voices of the past as we sing.  I love that. A large part of what these hymns mean to me, lies in that idea.  Thousands of voices singing together over time about things that are so basic to our human experience.  Beauty. The wonders of nature.  Wisdom.

And then we arrive at the final verse and are reminded that music is a gift we bring.  A gift. Something that we must be inspired to learn and master so that this sacred art is skillfully presented.  What a challenge.  Perhaps it is meant specifically for those of us that engage in music making, but I think it is more than that.  We live in a spectacular world.  When we hone our skills, whatever they may be, we reflect our surroundings. When we take the time to be our full selves, despite the struggles we all face, we begin to practice our sacred art. When we share our sacred art with the world, whatever it may be, whomever we cross paths with, we are giving this gift.  We are serving and we are contributing.

So those tiny snowflakes in all their beauty and all the ways they make our days more difficult, can also remind us of our beautiful uniqueness and our need to work towards skillful ease.  To fully live as we experience and serve those around us, our environment and our world.  We give our gifts and are rewarded with morning stars singing together above our efforts; reflecting the beauty of our songs, our skills and our blessings.

Remembrance Day is complicated for those of us with a Mennonite heritage.  Our belief system is firmly grounded in pacifism.  Many of our ancestors were conscientious objectors and whole communities migrated numerous times in order to maintain this commitment. So each year when this day arrives, I have mixed feelings.  I do not believe war is the answer, nor should it be glorified.  But, there are those who have sacrificed much, including their lives and those of their family members, in wars that have resulted in freedoms from which I benefit.  I do not wish to disrespect the different experiences and histories we all have with war.  And, I suspect, very few wish this horrific human act upon anyone.  Ever.

As I was looking for a hymn that addressed both my personal peace perspective and the reality of others’ service and sacrifice, I came upon this one.  I don’t think I’d ever heard it, but the words speak to the possibility of peaceful interactions – whether we are serpent or dove.

And is the gospel peace and love?
Such let our conversation be;
The serpent blended with the dove,
Wisdom and meek simplicity.

Whene’er the angry passions rise,
And tempt our thoughts or tongues to strife
On Jesus let us fix our eyes,
Bright pattern of the Christian life.

O how benevolent and kind!
How mild! how ready to forgive!
Be this the temper of our mind,
And these the rules by which we live.

The words are by English poet, Anne Steele, written around 1760.  One account indicates that she was an invalid most of her life, and spent her time writing poetry and engaging in dialogue with “Dissenting” ministers.  I’m not sure what that means exactly, but I like the idea that this woman was challenging the status quo over 250 years ago.

Remembrance Day is a moment that allows us to consider tremendous loss.  It is a time to honour those who gave of themselves – some willingly, others reluctantly.  I believe we need to respect these lives.  But as we do, we need to consider that all of them, and their families, would have preferred to live out their lives in peace.  It is this fact that reinforces the idea that the act of remembering is an important reminder of what we still need to accomplish.  As the oft used phrase states, to remember is to work for peace.

When I think of the idea of working together for peace, it seems so fundamental to what I’ve been taught all my life.  But how do we do this when we have such varying perspectives?  I don’t know.  What I do know is that kindness, forgiveness and wisdom are far more effective weapons than hatred.  I had a conversation this week with someone who spoke with such a hate filled perspective that I was stunned into silence and felt almost sick after the conversation was over.  My immediate thought was to rid my life of this person (not easy in this situation). My second thought was that I had missed an opportunity to flatten the speaker with my own retorts. I’m not sure either response exhibits kindness, forgiveness and wisdom, and therefore provides no opportunity to encourage peaceful change.  As I think about the next time I must deal with this person, I am acutely aware that I have a responsibility, as a pacifist and one who aspires to be decent, to engage with them in a way that reflects my values.  I can neither be silent in my discomfort nor destructive in my response.

And so, we all work for peace in our small ways.  It is not easy.  It can cost us.  But as we consider those who gave their lives, we must work towards an ideal where no more need be lost.  It starts with our small interactions.  It starts with living our values so they grow – treating people with respect, kindness and love.  In wisdom and meek simplicity.

Dona Nobis Pacem

Anger.  It is a complicated thing.  It is often a manifestation of profound pain, frustration and sadness.  It can be the thing that spurs us to action, that requires us to remedy a wrong.  But it can also be a force of evil.  Evil against others; evil against ourselves.  We all feel it, and we all must come to terms with how it will inform our behaviour.

This past week we heard about another tragedy.  Another group of innocents slaughtered for being who they were.  Slaughtered in a place that should have been free from this kind of hatred.  They join many who have found themselves the targets of hatred and have paid much too high a price.  Children in their schools, young women studying at university, worshippers of all faiths, groups that are defined as different – and somehow wrong – from the majority, people simply walking down a street, crowds enjoying a concert or having a night out for some dancing.  All these lives taken because we live in a time where ideology trumps safety. Our perceived rights are more valued than our necessary responsibilities – even if it means fostering a culture of hatred and destruction.

It makes me angry.

As I listened to the news this week, I was reminded of this hymn.  When I was in high school, a girl a few years younger than I was abducted and murdered.  At her funeral, our school choir sang this hymn.  We were teenagers; children. We felt confusion, sadness, fear and anger.  It was a powerful experience that I have never forgotten.  I know it is often sung at funerals, especially those of children.  It is not difficult to understand why.  The words speak to a God that holds these lost ones with mighty arms; a refuge; protection that cannot be severed, in life or death.  For those who adhere to a belief in God this is an enormous comfort.

Children of the heav’nly Father, 
safely in His bosom gather;
nestling bird nor star in heaven 
such a refuge e’er was given.

God His own doth tend and nourish;
in His holy courts they flourish. 
From all evil things He spares them; 
in His mighty arms He bears them. 

Neither life nor death shall ever 
from the Lord His children sever; 
unto them His grace He showeth,
and their sorrows all He knoweth.

Though He giveth or He taketh,
God His children ne’er forsaketh;
His the loving purpose solely
to preserve them pure and holy.

As I read these words, they stir up many emotions.  Because we are not always safe.  And some of us are privileged to be much safer than others.  And this disparity feeds my anger.  I sometimes wonder at those who are so convinced of their religious superiority that they are unable to see that we have created a God that serves us and our needs, with little concern for those outside our doors. Who are God’s own?  Who are her children?  When we see our neighbours, near and far, slaughtered, do we ask ourselves what we have done to be God’s mighty arms on this earth?  Do we fight to ensure every nestling bird is given refuge? Are we willing to make our purpose solely that of preserving all children, old and young, in the safety of our bosom?

Clearly, the answer is no.  We might fight for those like us.  We might get angry when we hear of horrific acts of hatred, but we have forsaken many. And their bodies are piling up – here, across borders, across the seas.  Our anger is apathetic.  Our anger seems to be less about protecting others than it is about justifying our own safety and quality of living.  I know there are things in my own life that contribute to the problems of this world. I know I am rarely angry in a way that spurs me to action or makes a real contribution to change.  When I am honest about this, my anger feels empty and pointless.

I reread these words and find hope in the possibility of who we can become.  A culture focused on sparing all from evil things could be immensely powerful.  I relinquish my weapon, just in case it causes you pain.  I relinquish my privilege, just in case it steals from yours.  I relinquish my religious superiority, just in case it diminishes all you hold dear.  It is not that large a price to pay for the safety of all.   For the ability of every star in heaven to shine with the splendour it was meant to have.  For millions of stars shining together creates a sight of astounding beauty. One that benefits us all.  One that lights all of our paths.  Shine, children, with an anger that propels us forward into a world of safety and care.  Gathered together.  Pure and holy.