As we continue through the season of Lent, I am still drawn to the idea of reflection.  Taking some time to consider what is important.  What are we really willing to devote ourselves to because we have decided it is worth the effort, the time and the commitment?

These very old words are attributed to the 12^thcentury mystic, Saint Bernard of Clairvaux.  He was born into a family of nobility, but joined the Cistercian order and became a monk and scholar of significant influence in his own time, and far beyond.  It is said that Martin Luther admired him greatly as the “best monk that ever lived,” some four hundred years later.  He is thought to have founded 163 monasteries and was renowned for his religious devotion. The original poem, Jesus dulcis memoria, was a mere 42 verses – although, the most common English translation doesn’t require quite that much devotion of us anymore!

Jesus, the very thought of thee
with sweetness fills the breast;
but sweeter far thy face to see,
and in thy presence rest.

Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame,
Nor can the mind recall
a sweeter sound than thy dear name,
O Savior of us all.

O hope of every contrite heart,
O joy of all the meek,
to those who falter thou art kind!
How good to those who seek!

But what to those who find? Ah, this
nor tongue nor pen can show;
the love of Jesus, what it is,
none but his loved ones know.

Jesus, our only joy be thou,
as thou our prize wilt be;
Jesus, be thou our glory now,
and through eternity.

These words are quite lovely.  They describe feelings of complete love, joy and commitment – of being so convinced of the goodness of the subject of the devotion, that there is a sense that real peace has been achieved.  That just the thought or name of the beloved is enough to bring us what we require, the comfort we need and the joy of glory.

Sounds perfect.  Sounds easy.  And yet, finding something that has this much inspirational power can be a lifelong battle. One that is often difficult to reconcile with reality.  For some, the attempt at devotion, particularly within a religious context, can be quite debilitating.  The notion that peace can be found if we are pious enough – it just doesn’t always work that way.  For some, the idea of religion itself is so fraught with negative and damaging experiences, that it simply isn’t a place where any peace can be found.  For some, the circumstances of life are such that this approach feels like a slap in the face, a diminishing of the realities that threaten to swamp a life.

As has so often been the case, I am once again compelled to consider that these words are directive in nature.  Yes, they were written by a Christian monk to describe the characteristics of Jesus – something that will undoubtedly be meaningful to many.  But they are also a pretty good description of a person who contributes much to those around them.  Can we become someone that provides a place of peace and rest?  Someone whose name evokes sweet memories?  Someone who uplifts those that falter or soothes a contrite soul? Someone who is devoted to bringing joy and love?

It is a tall order.  To be a person that is able to fully commit to being this kind of spirit is hard.  We live in an era of self-focus. How we define almost everything is dependent upon our abilities to achieve success as individuals.  Successes of wealth, career, education, notoriety or fame, popularity and physical attractiveness.  We rarely vote for kindness or reward those who carry the weak or the needy. We are simply disinterested in those who do not exhibit the outward evidence of achievement.

But, these words are about a different kind of achievement.  They are about something deeply personal and deeply needed.  They speak to our common desire to feel surrounded by love and safety, by joy and reassurance.  If I look around my life, I can see special people who exhibit these life giving characteristics.  People who choose to cook for a neighbour who is not well.  People who sing for the dying.  People who give rides to the elderly.  People who help a child with their homework.  People who encourage a talent.  People who check if someone is okay.  People who say thank you.  People who remember and acknowledge a meaningful day.  People who volunteer.  People who keep our world clean.  People who are willing to speak out for good.  People who share their own joy.  People who live their lives fully despite many obstacles.  People who listen.  People who try to do what is right.  People who are simply available.  People who remember.  People who are kind.

There are many ways to become a giver of someone’s comfort, safety and joy.  Ultimately the task is begun with a choice.  I suspect this choice is relatively easy but the actual task can be difficult. It takes courage to seek out the needs of others. It takes honesty and openness to understand what’s actually needed. Providing for those needs takes strength.  It is a matter of listening carefully to the voices around us.  To the words, the actions, the hidden concerns, the underlying messages.  When we choose to see these things, and choose to act, we become part of that which is a sweetness that fills a space that was formerly empty.  Providing with our selves, a place of rest, and just maybe, the prize of joy.

It is completely beyond me that anyone could be so filled with hatred that they would take a weapon into a house of worship – or anywhere – and terrorize those within.  It is horrendous.  It is unimaginable.  And it seems to be happening with increasing frequency.  I have few words that offer any comfort or comprehension.

Simple Gifts is a song written by Joseph Brackett in 1848, an elder in a Shaker community in Maine.  He wrote only one verse, although many others have since been written and all sorts of variations on the tune have been created by a number of people for a number of purposes.  This original verse, however, is what I want to consider.

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come ’round right.

The Shakers were a small religious sect that believed, among other things, in a communal lifestyle, pacifism and equality between the sexes. They were known as Shakers because they literally shook when they worshiped – they were very enthusiastic.  They composed thousands of songs and they danced.

The words of this song are all about the freedom these people found in their worship.  The freedom to be in a place that was just right, the freedom to move as inspired, the freedom to be filled with love and delight as they practiced what was dear to them, what they believed.

We all believe different things.  We all express our beliefs in different ways.  To me, this creates a beautiful patchwork quilt that can encircle us all with warmth and interest.  There is no threat in another’s beliefs unless we choose to invent one based on our own ignorance and arrogance.  I am weary of hearing that who I am and who you are, is so different that we must shoot at each other to survive – literally or metaphorically, because some of our bullets come in the form of words and behaviours.  It is wrong.  It is folly.  It is heartbreaking.

Let us all find that space that is just right and be free to live there – worshiping, singing and dancing.  Actually, let us do more than that.  Let us make a space for what is just right for our neighbours. Give those that are different from us what they need.  There is room for us all and when we bow and bend, we shan’t be ashamed.  It is a simple gift.

Lent is a time of reflection.  Obviously, it is specifically associated with the Christian church and its preparation for Easter, but I suspect it is not a bad idea for any of us, regardless of our individual beliefs, to regularly take some time to consider who we are, where we’ve been, and where we’re going.  We make choices every day that impact our direction. Even not making choices sends us down one path or another.  So many things influence us.  So many circumstances seem to either stand in our way or open up doors.

Thinking about how we become who we are, and why, led me to this hymn.  It was written by Kenneth Morse around 1942 – so quite a new hymn for this project! What caught my attention was the idea that something, in this case the Spirit of God, is needed to guide us, lead us and make us strong.

Move in our midst, O Spirit of God.
Go with us down from your holy hill.
Walk with us through the storm and the calm.
Spirit of God, now go with us still.

Touch now our hands to lead us aright.
Guide us forever, show us your way.
Transform our darkness into your light.
Spirit of God, still lead us today.

Strike from our feet the fetters that bind.
Lift from our lives the weight of our wrong.
Teach us to love with heart, soul, and mind.
Spirit of God, your love makes us strong.

Kindle our hearts to burn with your flame.
Raise up your banners high in this hour.
Stir us to build new worlds in your name.
Spirit of God, O send us your pow’r!

Once again, I am moved by some powerful images.  This unseen thing that walks with us through both storms and calm, strikes the fetters from our feet, teaches us to love, is transformative, and lifts the weight of what is wrong from our lives. These are the things we all seek in our journey through life – this mysterious force that can raise us up above circumstances and ensure we can live the lives we hope for.

I recently had a conversation with someone who is struggling deeply with life’s disappointments.  In trying to be of some comfort or help, I was reminded that I am extremely fortunate.  I know this, of course, but when faced with someone who appears less so, it becomes very piercing. As we carried on our conversation over a period of days, what became more and more clear to me, was that this person was simply unable to find that silent, quiet, mysterious thing that carries us through storm and calm.  And I felt as though the weight of the world’s wrongs was so heavy that it had become almost impossible to carry with only their own strength.

I had no answers to give, and no acceptable suggestions.  It is very difficult to conquer anything when we assume that there is nothing out there that can help us.  But, I know there is.  Maybe it lies in faith.  Maybe it lies in therapy.  Maybe it lies in honest reflection on our lives.  Maybe it lies in art, music, literature, nature, activity or rest. Maybe it lies in our relationships. Maybe it lies in the choices we make. Maybe it lies in places we can’t even imagine, but help does exist.

When I go back to these words, I am certain that the most critical part is the invitation for something to enter our lives and move. Move in our midst.  There is much that we have absolutely no control over.  But there is much that we do.  When we are able to separate these two realities, we are able to see above the mire we sometimes find ourselves in.  We are also able to see above our luck – and understand that there is much more out there than our own good fortune.  To see that there are options when we feel we have none, and responsibilities when we’ve received our hearts’ desires.

Our lives are joyful and sad.  This we share.  As we take time to reflect, consider which side you find yourself on at this moment. And invite that beautiful, mysterious thing in that will carry you through or encourage you to carry another. Make the choice to rise above the good and the bad – for all is fleeting.  Who we are is more than our circumstances and what we do or do not have. We are wondrous creatures.  We can live wondrous lives, despite the views we are sometimes required to take in.  We are equal in value and have treasured gifts.  We can learn from each other, be kind, share, grow and change.  Or we can be self-focused, dissatisfied, greedy, stagnant and stubborn.  To ourselves and to others.  Either way.

So, move in our midst.  Kindle, teach and guide.  I choose to accept these things from the sources I have found, from the sources that feed me.  I want to move with them – sometimes very slowly, sometimes like the wind.  I choose to accept that although my life is not what I envisioned, it is more than enough. And I am grateful.

We have entered the season of Lent.  Generally, it is considered to be the period of forty days leading up to Easter.  I found a reference to traditional Lenten practices that described them as acts of justice – prayer (justice towards God); fasting (justice towards self); and almsgiving (justice towards others).   This is interesting because we hear a lot about people giving things up for Lent, but very little about why we do so.  If I think about what justice means, I wonder if it is more about actively giving, rather than giving something up.  Ensuring all have what they deserve, rather than accepting continued scarcity.  Requiring change, rather than maintaining comfort.

The words of this hymn, originally written in 1664 by Samuel Crossman, tell the story of Christ’s experience of jeering crowds all the way to his crucifixion.  For those of us who are of Christian backgrounds, this is very familiar.  It is a story retold year after year.

My song is love unknown, my Savior’s love for me:
Love to the loveless shown that they might lovely be.
But who am I, that for my sake,
My Lord should take frail flesh, and die?

He came from heaven’s throne salvation to bestow.
But they refused, and none the longed-for Christ would know.
This is my friend, my friend indeed,
Who at my need his life did spend.

Sometimes they crowd his way and his sweet praises sing;
Resounding all the day hosannas to their king.
Then “Crucify!” is all their breath,
And for His death they thirst and cry.

Why, what has my Lord done to cause this rage and spite?
He made the lame to run, and gave the blind their sight.
What injuries! Yet these are why
The Lord most high so cruelly dies.

With angry shouts they have my dear Lord done away.
A murderer they save, the Prince of life they slay!
Yet willingly he bears the shame
That through his name all might be free.

In life, no house, no home my Lord on earth might have.
In death, no friendly tomb, but what a stranger gave.
What may I say?  Heav’n was his home,
But mine the tomb wherein he lay.

Here might I stay and sing, of him my soul adores.
Never was love, dear King, never was grief like yours.
This is my friend in whose sweet praise
I all my days could gladly spend.

What struck me about this hymn, was actually the very first line.  My song is love unknown.  I had to speak these words a few times, because they are quite something.  My song is love unknown.  In these five words, both the depth and appreciation of a loving sacrifice is expressed.  The mystery of love.  The value of the unknowable.  The need to voice the beauty of this love without fully knowing what it is, but knowing that it is worth singing about.

There is much that is unknowable about life.  There are so many ways to try to understand the unknowable – be they religious or philosophical or scientific or some combination of facts, ideas and perspectives.  There are often very few answers. There are often many questions. We struggle to find solutions.  We fail.  We try again.  We think we’ve arrived only to find cracks in our foundations, and implications of our own conclusions on others that we hadn’t considered.   But, there is something about love that, in its mysterious nature, overrides much of this. It is very difficult to treat someone unjustly once you look into their face and make a conscious decision to love them.  Whether we express this directly or from afar, it is an act of justice. And it is a powerful tool.

Choosing to love someone requires us to provide what they need.  In whatever ways we are able.  Sometimes these are small things, sometimes they are monumental.  Sometimes they require sacrifice, sometimes they require strength and courage.  Sometimes they are easy, sometimes they are incredibly difficult. The story of Christ’s life and death outlined in this hymn, is one that many hold as a meaningful example of both active and sacrificial love.  An example of someone choosing to love in a way that offered much to those who were willing to accept it; in a way that required much more than most of us will ever have to give.  I find it incredibly sad that we have taken this act of selflessness and used it to justify religious superiority and all manner of unjust acts throughout the history of the Christian Church.  I’m not convinced that either love or justice are well served by assuming some sort of inherent ownership of truth.  This kind of arrogance does not make me want to sing.

So, when I read these words or hear them expressed over this Lenten season, I want to think of those that are most different from me. Those I understand the least.  There is tremendous value in cultivating unknown love.  The love that is bigger than us – that we don’t understand, that makes no sense and that may even scare us.  The love that says, all are worthy of your song – whether we know them or not.  Even when these songs require our lives to change.  Even when we find ourselves needing to learn new languages and tunes.  Even when we must relinquish our privilege and honour another’s experiences.

For there is joy in these songs.  There is harmony in the multitude of voices – dissonant, consonant, clashing, crashing, sweet and lovely combinations. Singing because love exists.  Working together in generosity and openness.

My song of love unknown.

One of the reasons for doing this project, is to consider hymns I don’t know.  There are many.  This is one of them.  The words are based on Psalms 103 and 104, and were written by James Montgomery in 1819 (this particular version was revised in the 1990s by Jean Janzen).  They are well-known.  The tune, however, I didn’t know – although it felt familiar.  With a bit of searching, I found that it was actually written by Giovani Paiesello for his 1787 opera, La Molinara.  Interestingly, Beethoven also wrote variations for the piano using this tune. Somewhere along the way, someone decided to use it as a hymn, and it shows up in the St. Alban’s Tune Book in 1865.

The story of this tune travelling through time in various forms, for various purposes, reminds me of how little we can predict what our contributions to this world can become.  Perhaps our endeavours will not have quite as illustrious associations and long lasting impact as this, but what we contribute – good or bad – has a tendency to spread. To ripple through our immediate circles and out into the world, in small and big ways.

Thinking about this, and reading these words, I can’t help feeling that, once again, I am being guided to behave in ways that will result in ripples of good; in a legacy that is about kindness and truth.

O bless the Lord, my soul!
God’s grace to you proclaim,
And all that is within me join
to bless God’s holy name.

God clothes you with great love,
Upholds you with the truth,
And like the eagle God renews
The vigor of your youth.

Love’s mercy bear in mind
When you are plagued with wrong.
God’s anger will be slow to rise;
Love’s patience stretches long.

God pardons all your sin,
Prolongs your feeble breath,
Heals all your sickness, ev’ry pain,
And saves you from your death.

Then bless God’s holy name,
Whose grace has made you whole,
Whose lovingkindness crowns your days;
O bless the Lord, my soul.

If I think about these words in terms of an example to follow, I’m drawn to the words grace, love, truth, vigor, mercy, patience, pardon, healing and lovingkindness.  That’s a tall order.  For those who adhere to a belief in God, it is pretty easy to assign these characteristics to a divine being.  But if we start to consider what adopting these characteristics means for each of us, the effort seems monumental.  I like these ideals.  But following them can be enormously challenging – particularly when faced with the behaviours and attitudes of others that seem to require more aggressive responses.

There are times when my instinct is to fight against what I disagree with, what I find repulsive, what seems to be wrong.  It is a good instinct, but I find myself thinking more and more about what the fight looks like.  I see and hear a lot of resentment and negativity in this easily accessible world we live in.  A lot of divisiveness.  Much of it justified.  But some of it is more about the image than the progress; more about being right than creating change; more about winning than gentle guidance and real leadership.  It is so hard to consider the humanity of the other side … when they are always on the other side.

As I think about the ideals expressed in these words, I am conscious that how I choose to behave will have some impact on the world. I don’t know, nor do I really care, whether that is great or small.  But I do care that it is good.  I do care that it doesn’t damage, betray or bring pain to another beautiful soul.  There are times when I have failed at this and times when I have succeeded. The depth of what it means to choose to wear a crown of lovingkindness requires us to stand up for truth and be vigorous in our actions and patience.  It is neither passive nor weak, it is strong beyond our immediate understanding.  History has had far too few that have adhered to this philosophy wholeheartedly, but there have been those who remain inspirational and to whom we can look as examples. Find them – those we only read about, those we know personally.

Choose to create a legacy made up of what you truly believe, admire and value.  Doing so will guide your path in ways that you won’t always understand and that won’t always be easy.  But these paths take us where we need to go, and leave a trail for others to follow.  They will sing your operas, create beautiful variations and offer hymns.  And souls will be blessed.