As I have looked at hymns over the past year (or more!), there are a few common themes that come up time and time again.  One of these is hope.  That we look for it; that we provide it; that we need it.  Our tastes in music and our views on life and spirituality may have changed over time, but there are some things that remain shared in our human experience.  This is one of them.

Thinking about these African American Spirituals is complicated.  I have a sense that we need to respect where they came from even as we welcome them into our lives and sing them to reflect our perspectives.  This one is no different.  It was written by Wallace Willis, a Choctaw Freedman, towards the end of the 19^thcentury.  A Choctaw Freedman was an Indigenous person of colour – granted freedom from slavery and citizenship in the Choctaw Nation in 1885.  It is a complicated history involving the horrific practice of slavery because some of these people were first slaves to European colonists, and later to Native American tribes who held them as captives after battles. It is difficult, from my privileged position, to fully grasp all of this.  It is hard to reconcile these practices.  Hard to understand the myriad layers of devastation arising from our Colonial past.

The song’s words were reportedly written when Willis was hard at work with a view of the Red River in Oklahoma.  Bringing to his mind the biblical story of crossing the river Jordan to something better.  Working.  Slaving. And, dreaming of freedom beyond the bonds that kept him where he was.

Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home

I looked over Jordan, and what did I see?
(Coming for to carry me home)
A band of angels coming after me
(Coming for to carry me home)

If you get there before I do
(Coming for to carry me home)
Tell all of my friends, that I’m coming there too
(Coming for to carry me home)

Whenever I consider one of these spirituals, I am astounded at the strength of those souls that wrote them.  If I look back on my own life, it would be difficult to find much of inspiration that came to my mind in moments of apparent hopelessness. In fact, at my lowest points, I don’t think I have been able to see the bands of angels coming to carry me anywhere – blinded by my own preoccupations.  I suspect I am not alone.  When we are in the midst of a struggle, it can be difficult to see beyond the mess and the pain.

But as we breathe the fresh air of Spring, we know we have been carried.  Through the winter’s cold.  Through the summer’s heat.  We don’t see the band of angels in the moment, but it is there.  Be it made up of our family, friends, therapists, pets – or our experiences, our creativity, our drive to accomplish something.  Maybe it is the tiniest flicker of a flame within that sees the smallest bit of beauty and says, that is enough.  Maybe it is our rawness that opens our eyes and shows us another’s pain, and in that moment allows us to spread our own angel wings and offer shelter and companionship.

What is hope?  Is it something we need to see?  Or, do those who have walked this earth before us, some in horrific situations beyond our comprehension, teach us that it is simply something that exists. Independent of our ability to see it or even believe it is there.  We have all, at times, looked for hope and found none.  But within the multitude of talents that others possess, there are ways across rivers that seem unnavigable.

So, as we wander along rivers both calm and turbulent, know that the band of angels walks beside us.  Sometimes we are part of that band, sometimes we are not.  Sometimes we feel these special souls, sometimes we don’t. But when we are carried to the other side, we meet them.  We greet them with gratitude and we join in, for a time, as part of this strength. Sharing what we know, what we’ve seen, where we’ve been.

Thank you, Mr. Willis.  Your vision inspires.  Your strength resonates through the ages.  Your pain is lamented.  Your story is remembered.  Your chariot flew to us and taught us about hope.

This is the time of year where I start to get weary. As a musician and teacher, it is close, but not quite the end of another busy year.  I can feel myself losing patience with, and sometimes interest in, the various projects, jobs, activities – and even people – I am involved with.  I suspect this kind of weariness is completely normal and very common.

So, we look for ways to rejuvenate.  Sometimes we just need a break.  Sometimes we need to make adjustments to find balance. Sometimes we need to look beyond the day to day and find fresh perspectives and renewed vision.  This hymn speaks, in a very simple way, about just that.  It doesn’t provide answers, it merely suggests that we seek guidance and support; asking for replenishment from a valued source.

Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me.
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me.
Melt me, mold me, fill me, use me.
Sprit of the living God, fall afresh on me.

In this case, the Holy Spirit is invoked to provide this renewal.  Personally, I like the definition of the Holy Spirit as a paraclete.  This word, originally from the Greek, means advocate, helper, sometimes counsellor, and has been commonly associated with the Holy Spirit in Christianity.  There is some comfort in knowing that we have access to a helper.  Something beyond ourselves that can provided a freshness that molds and fills us; renews our usefulness.

Increasingly, it seems that we are a weary society.  We are tired of how things are.  Many people want change.  There is something exciting about this – possibilities and opportunities opening up for those previously disregarded; reparations being made to those historically denied.  But this thirst for change also brings many things that are horrifyingly frightening – a desire to return to ideals and practices of the past that served some and destroyed others.  Visions of tremendous personal benefits, with a complete lack of regard for the backs on which they are built.  It is a strange time of division.  It is a scary time when philosophies of greed and discrimination are cleverly disguised as beneficial and reparative, and even morally superior.  Our weariness is easily manipulated.  Easily swayed.

The words “melt me, mold me, fill me, use me” are interesting.  The idea that when we seek out guidance and advocacy, it has the power to do these things. It is here that I find myself asking, what am I allowing to melt and mold me? What am I being filled with? For whom will I be useful?

I believe God to be immense.  I do not believe we can fully understand what God is.  This is the mystery and wildly inspirational nature of God.  To me, God is not small enough to fit within our explanations or traditions, rituals or practices.  So, when I consider the Spirit of a living God, it is with great care that I do so. Because it requires me to open myself up to the reality that I know so little about this advocate, helper and counsellor.  I must listen carefully to those around me and across our planet to catch a glimpse of this wisdom.  To my neighbours, to scientists, to artists, to givers, to carers, to writers, to thinkers and those who possess deep spiritual understanding.

And how refreshing that can be.  There is a wealth of knowledge and wisdom and creativity and joy being expressed in every corner of this world.  It is alive.  It cannot be hidden in the shadow of the filth that we hear spoken in many quarters these days, by those mouths that should inspire rather than defile our human experience.  This beauty that is everywhere should be celebrated and upheld.  It should guide our steps.  We should seek it when we’re weary and be renewed.

Whether we believe in God or simply in the possibility of human goodness, there are many options in which we can find inspiration to carry on in our weary lives.  They are often not at the forefront of our news, social media or conversations – so we must work hard to seek them out.  Renewal emerges from the persistent consumption of what is good.  Difficult when we are weary, but refreshing when we insist.

May this spirit of renewal colour your life.  May you look for where it lies and allow it to fall upon you.

There is something special about the people in our world who are givers.  I don’t mean just the people who write cheques, I mean the people who actually do things for others because they see a need.  As some of us celebrate mothers this weekend, I am reminded that my mom is one of those.  For many, many years I have observed as she has made meals for others (something I have rarely, if ever, done!), looked out for neighbours and volunteered in various capacities – spending her retirement years helping out at a Mennonite Central Committee thrift store and cuddling babies in intensive care.  She knows her skills and shares them.

This hymn is about just that.  Freely giving of what we have. Considering that our lives are best lived when we offer up whatever is our bounty and sharing generously.

Grant us, Lord, the grace of giving
With a spirit large and free,
That ourselves and all our living
We may offer unto Thee.

As I thought about this, I began to wonder about what kinds of giving are best.  And really, there is no answer.  It sometimes feels as though certain types of generosity are touted as what we should all be doing.  I’ve heard and read many sermons, articles or talks on the value of hospitality.  People have much to say about giving money. These are important.  But, if I am judged on my hospitality skills, my life will be a resounding failure.   If financial gifts are a deciding factor, people without those particular means will feel endlessly inadequate.  How does one volunteer if working two jobs to support their family, or is low on energy because they are battling a physical or mental health issue?

Giving is not about what you give.  It is about understanding what you have.

And then, sharing it.  With a spirit, large and free.

I am impressed by many things.  I am impressed by my mother’s, and many, many others’, commitment to volunteer work.  People giving of their time to do much needed work that might not otherwise get done.  I am impressed by people who make large and small donations to worthwhile organizations. Providing funds for things that are important to all of us, things that improve lives and make society a better place.  I am impressed by those who continuously invite people into their homes and share their meals.  Opening their private spaces whether they have time for the cooking and cleaning or not.

But, I am also impressed with people who take two seconds to thank me for my piano playing, week after week, making me feel as though I’ve contributed something valuable to their lives.  I am impressed by the mystery person who picks up garbage on my street.  I am impressed by my student who thought to bring me a freshly baked, still warm cookie.  I am impressed by my letter carrier who is endlessly cheerful.  I am impressed by my regular grocery store clerk who, although a bit flustered by a new computer system, did her best to make my check-out pleasant.  I am impressed by the artists in my world that work so hard to provide moments of refuge in this challenging world, often for little recognition and compensation. I am impressed by friends, near and far, who remember the smallest details and often provide things, be they words, gifts or actions, that are exactly what is needed.

The act of giving is a vast realm of possibilities. It is a way to reflect on one’s own good fortune.  We give what we have, we give what we value, we give what is needed.  Giving is not an act to be judged or ranked.  It is an act to be celebrated – in all its forms; big, small, obvious, secret, quiet and loud. Thinking about this cultivates a desire to be thankful and to consider carefully what we actually have to offer, often much more than we realize.  Giving these things freely is a celebration of the recipient, and of our own abundance.

Give with grace.  For there is no such thing as a small gift when given with a large spirit.

We all dwell on the earth.  This seems important.  Not so much for the obvious reason that we don’t, currently, have any other options, but because it is something we share.  As I’ve been thinking about these hymns over the past few years, I suppose that is something that has become precious to me.  The idea that we share a great deal.

This hymn uses a tune by Louis Bourgeois from the Genevan Psalter of 1551, and it just may be one of the best known tunes in any modern hymnal.  It is sometimes sung with different words, but these are pretty close to the original, based on Psalm 100, written by William Kethe in 1561.  People have been singing this for a really long time.  It started in Geneva, moved to England and spread from there.

All people that on earth do dwell,
sing to the Lord with cheerful voice.
Serve him with joy, his praises tell,
come now before him and rejoice!

Know that the Lord is God indeed;
he formed us all without our aid.
We are the flock he surely feeds,
the sheep who by his hand were made.

O enter then his gates with joy,
within his courts his praise proclaim!
Let thankful songs your tongues employ.
O bless and magnify his name!

Because the Lord our God is good,
his mercy is forever sure.
His faithfulness at all times stood
and shall from age to age endure.

I like this tune – it is so familiar.  In my own family and church tradition, we sang it with the words of the common English doxology, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow…” before special meals as grace.  We sang it together, in four-part harmony.  All of us. We knew it, we joined our voices.

In this version, we are reminded of the need to praise with a cheerful voice.  Reminded of the source of life, mercy and faithfulness.  It is powerful to look beyond oneself to something bigger, something shared.  Certainly we all define this differently – for some it is God, as in these words, for others it is the earth itself, in all its beauty, majesty and power.  For me, I’m not convinced these kinds of differences matter very much, but I am convinced that when we join our voices to praise that which is truly good, and that which we share, we are likely to move together.

Perhaps it is this act of sharing the earth that struck me, in the wake of last week’s Earth Day.  We all look with wonder at the same stars, whether we practice the same religion or not.  We all need clean air and water.  We live our lives celebrating in good weather, worrying in bad.  We notice our neighbour’s flooding and mourn their losses – we attempt to help; we ask ourselves what more can we do?   We share the experiences of this world, for better or worse, amongst the ages and across our borders.  No matter how much we try to divide ourselves, the earth shows us over and over that we are one.  What I do here, impacts how you are able to live there.

For some reason, this hymn spoke to me about our connectedness.  The details of our praises may vary.  The importance of knowing we are small and need to look far beyond our own spaces, is clear.  When we see only our own space, we miss not only the needs of the other, but the very definition of the Divine.  And we miss the beauty and joy to be found; to be treasured; to be protected.

All people that on earth do dwell.