There are times when I read through these hymn texts and I find the language we use to describe God very limiting.  In fact, I sometimes wonder why we are interested in such a small God, defined as a mere reflection of only some of us, in terms that can feel one dimensional.  In this hymn, written by William H. Burleigh in 1859, God is appealed to as a father. For those of us who have enjoyed the presence of good fathers, this is relatable and positive.  For those that have not, it is problematic.  For those of us that are seeking something beyond an earthly creature, perhaps we need a little more.  For those that wish to find themselves in the face of God – but are not fathers – we crave imagery that represents who we are, inspires what we wish to become, and reveals all that we hope to reflect.

As I looked at this hymn, I noticed that, in tiny print at the bottom of the page, alternate words were included.  For me, these are welcome and helpful.  They begin to expand this Divine being into something far greater than one human role fraught with complexity, as all human roles are.  They begin to guide my vision towards the character of God.

Lead us, O Wisdom, in the paths of peace;
Without thy guiding hand we go astray,
And doubts appall, and sorrows still increase.
Lead us, through Christ, the true and living way.

Lead us, O Teacher, in the paths of truth;
Unhelped by thee, in error’s maze we grope,
While passion stains and folly dims our youth,
And age comes on, uncheered by faith and hope.

Lead us, O Guardian, in the paths of right;
Blindly we stumble when we walk alone,
Involved in shadows of a mortal night,
Only with thee we journey safely on.

Lead us, O Shepherd, to thy heav’nly rest,
However rough and steep the pathway be,
Through joy or sorrow, as thou deemest best,
Until our lives are perfected in Thee.

This prayer is full of requests to find paths that most of us are, on some level, interested in pursuing.  Peace, truth and all that is right.  I have no doubt that we vary in our definitions of what each of these pursuits mean, but maybe the idea that we are all seeking is useful.  The line that says, “blindly we stumble when we walk alone,” is particularly meaningful.  In this context, alone means without God, but walking alone – whether in our day to day lives, or in the ways we develop and process thoughts and ideas – is a path that is filled with shadows.

What I like about the expanded words in this case, is the understanding that our search for peace and truth requires the contribution of a variety of sources, be they spiritual or earthly.  There is no single definition of what we need to achieve our state of rest, or find our place of fulfilment.  We need wisdom, we need teaching and we need to be cared for, shepherded and guided through whatever our paths come across.

Leadership can be found in many places.  In faith.  In knowledge.  In those around us, near and far.  In those we know, those we don’t.  In the thinker’s ideas and the writer’s words.  In the artist’s expressions and the gardener’s labour.  Leadership can be found amongst the highest echelons of power and the lowest states of poverty.  It can be corrupt, and it can be pure.   When we pray, hope, desire and beg for peace, let us be careful of whom we ask it.  Because the characteristics of wisdom, teacher, guardian and shepherd are not always found in the obvious places, but they are always necessary to build this particular path.  These are characteristics of strength, not self.  They are characteristics that give, rather than take.

When I go back to the idea that how we speak about the concept of God, I am conscious that to expand our language means to open up space for many more of us to be included.  These things that define those that lead us through the joys and sorrows, the rough and steep pathways, are characteristics we can all exemplify.  A bigger God requires more from us.  Perhaps that is the real challenge.  Perhaps that is what we are often resistant too. Creating these paths of peace is hard. It means moving out of the way for gifted leaders to show us new ways.  It means relinquishing status that has become meaningless in its self-serving nature.  It means understanding that peace for some is superficial if it exempts others.

So, I look for leaders.  I consider my role along the path.  I seek peace and truth and hope to avoid error’s maze.  And I say: Lead us, O Father, Mother, Daughter, Son, Child, Adult, Wisdom, Teacher, Guardian and Shepherd.  For we simply do not know where we are going.

PI had never really given much thought to this hymn. It is very familiar, but not sung that often in my circles.  It feels like an old gospel song that should be found on a movie soundtrack, the scene set in the countryside with a small congregation holding a summer service out of doors.  A simple time. Hard working people singing and looking forward to something better.  Well, it’s probably been used that way, but it’s origins aren’t quite what my imagination conjured up.

This hymn was written by Robert Lowry in 1864.  He wrote both the words and the music, not that common, it turns out, in hymnody.  The context was the American Civil War and the story goes that in a moment of rest from the heat of the battle, both literally and figuratively, Lowry began to imagine the relief cool flowing water could offer, had there been a river available.   He composed the hymn in that moment, also reflecting on a biblical passage that spoke of a river flowing from Christ’s throne – a place for all to gather.

Shall we gather at the river,
Where bright angel feet have trod;
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?

Refrain:
Yes, we’ll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river;
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.

On the margin of the river,
Washing up its silver spray,
We will walk and worship ever,
All the happy golden day.

Ere we reach the shining river,
Lay we ev’ry burden down;
Grace our spirits will deliver,
And provide a robe and crown.

Soon we’ll reach the shining river,
Soon our pilgrimage will cease;
Soon our happy hearts will quiver
With the melody of peace.

These are really quite beautiful words.  The imagery of crystal tides, silver spray and the shining river are lovely.  These are visions that are filled with that magical thing we experience when we are privileged to see the beauty of nature. When we take in those moments that can never quite be described or captured by a photograph.  The sights, sounds, smells of beauty, of our earth, of a single, fleeting moment.  These experiences that we seek again and again because they are so precious.

What’s interesting to me about these words, is the idea that we gather at something beautiful because to do so offers us the opportunity to find a melody of peace.  A melody of peace.  Emerging from this wondrous river that flows from something beyond us.  Maybe you call it God, maybe you call it nature, maybe you call it science or the universe.  Or maybe you have no idea what it is, but hope for something deeper than yourself and gather for a glimpse nonetheless.  Humans have been seeking the beauty found in this river for all time.  We talk about it, we write about it, we create its potential imagery, we sing about it.

We also fight about it.  We seem unable to come to a place where this melody of peace can be sung in both harmonic consonance and dissonance with all the other voices gathered. All the other ways of seeing its beauty, of understanding its power for good.  For me, the battle is not beautiful.  The desire to be right is ugly.  The promotion of arrogant supremacy is the exact opposite of a sparkling crystal tide and the shining silver spray.  For these are characteristics found in many places; seen with many eyes; understood by many hearts.

It is a simple hymn. It probably means something different to me than it does to you, or, I suspect, it meant to its author.   But I like that we can find a connection in the belief that beauty is both healing and worth walking towards.  I like that we understand that gathering for a common good is a path to peace.  And, I like that peace can be a melody.  One we can sing together.  All voices, all languages, all rhythms, all possible notes.

Shall we gather at the river?

It is no secret that the tradition of singing is strong in my family heritage.  In fact, I was born when my parents had moved from the Canadian prairies to Detmold, Germany in order for my dad to pursue his education as a singer.  There are many musicians in my extended family. Many music teachers.  Enough to form a choir – and possibly a small orchestra. The ability to play an instrument is completely ordinary, reading music is assumed.  I am grateful for this heritage – and as we celebrate Father’s day this week, I thank my dad who in his quiet way, laid a foundation of song for me.  A foundation that I stand on to this day.

Sing praise to God who reigns above, the God of all creation,
The God of pow’r, the God of love, the God of our salvation.
With healing balm my soul is filled, and eve’ry faithless murmur stilled.
To God all praise and glory!

What in almighty pow’r was made, God’s gracious mercy keepeth.
By morning glow or evening shade, God’s watchful eye ne’er sleepeth.
Within the shelter of God’s might, lo! All is just, and all is right.
To God all praise and glory!

Our God is never far away, throughout all grief distressing,
An ever-present help and stay, our peace, and joy, and blessing.
As with a mother’s tender hand, God gently leads the chosen band.
To God all praise and glory!

Then all my gladsome way along, I sing aloud thy praises,
That all may hear the grateful song my voice unwearied raises:
Be joyful in the Lord, my heart! Both soul and body, bear your part!
To God all praise and glory!

Singing is one of the great joys in life.  Every human being on this planet has a voice. Some are small, others large.  Some are shy, others bold.  Some are less than beautiful, but filled with spirit and emotion.  Some are glorious as though coming from a higher place.   Some are merely enthusiastic.  Others have yet to be discovered.  All cultures sing in one form or another.  It is free, requires no equipment, can be done in any context and with any number of people or completely alone.  It is our birthright; it is our privilege.

What I like about this hymn, written way back in 1675 by Johann J. Schütz, is that it is an unapologetic use of song as a means of praise. The writer is stating an admiration of his God through his singing voice.  It is an important act to do so – implying that a loud voice devoted to song is an appropriate form of worship; an appropriate means of celebrating that which was, presumably, of great significance.  A voice singing, unwearied and with both soul and body.

So, why do I sing?  For lots of reasons.  It is my tradition, beginning before I was born.  It feeds my spirit like nothing else.  It is my livelihood and profession.  It allows me to connect with others – both within and as a result of the songs.  It expresses emotions that I may not otherwise be comfortable expressing.  It shows me things of beauty that open my eyes to others’ experiences – some shared, and some completely unfamiliar.

But mostly, I sing because I must.  Because I have a voice – as we all do – that wants to rise and fall; that loves to combine with other voices; that simply enjoys being part of beauty.  There are times when the beauty is obvious, and times when it is not.  Some things I sing well, others sound terrible.  But the beauty isn’t always just about what it sounds like.  Often it is about the experiences surrounding the music.  The words, the notes, the memories, the satisfying work of learning, the sharing of the harmonies, the driving in the car, the laughter at mistakes, the rewards of achieving excellence, the insight into a composer’s genius or a songwriter’s perceptiveness.

And, I sing because it is good.  It opens space to express all that is valuable to me.  To any of us.  Maybe it is about spiritual matters, or feelings or emotions.  Maybe it is about our stories, our history, our desires, our hopes, our dreams.  Maybe it is about our pain, our trauma, our expectations of a better world. It is a means, as this hymn writer knew, of saying things of the utmost importance in ways that can be ingested both easily, and with greater depth for those willing to dig. Allowing us to examine ideas in the context of beauty; giving us a chance to consider and evaluate and, importantly, to participate.

These hymn texts are important to me.  As a singer and an observer.  They tie me to the past, to the present and to the future. They allow me to see others’ ideas about so much that I both need and wish to think about.  Singing the words is a beautiful act – thinking about whether the words I sing are still relevant, is challenging.  In some I find great wisdom, in others tremendous distaste.  There is a kind of beauty in this too, unravelling our histories and understanding none of us is without error.

So, I will continue to sing.  Alone and with others.  Experiencing the magic that is the human voice.  Expressing the variety of experiences found in the limitless collection of songs that we possess.  Singing for understanding.  Singing for excellence.  Singing for fun.  Singing for beauty.  Singing for praise.  Singing because I have a voice, and it will not lay silent.

This Sunday is Pentecost in the Christian tradition. It is the day commemorating the Holy Spirit’s descent upon the Apostles, and is sometimes thought to represent the birth of the early church.  It is considered a celebration of great joy that marks the end of the Easter season.  In some traditions, the celebrations are marked with the colour red in various forms to symbolize the Spirit’s fire and to acknowledge the light provided once the recipient has been given this gift.

The author of this text, George Croly (1780-1860), was a literary man who wrote poetry, plays, novels and theological works.  He eventually became rector at St. Stephen Walbrook in London where he is described as a powerful preacher who managed to fill a previously empty church, and even caught the attention of people like Charlotte and Anne Brontë who made a special visit to hear him preach on their first trip to London.  He was also appointed as the afternoon preacher at the Foundling Hospital, although he didn’t last long there as his style was criticized as being inappropriate for the children.  I found an amusing quote by a Mrs. Hall (whoever she may have been …) describing him thus: “Dr. Croly is an almost universal poet.  He is grand and gorgeous, but rarely tender and affectionate; he builds a lofty and magnificent temple, but it is too cold and stately to be a home for the heart.”

So, here was an apparently successful, spiritually driven man who, if I read these words correctly, had doubts.  Doubts about his strength, his faith, his patience.  His need – his desire – to receive something from the Spirit to support his weaknesses and renew his energy.

Spirit of God! descend upon my heart.
Wean it from earth, through all its pulses move.
Stoop to my weakness, mighty as thou art,
And make me love Thee as I ought to love.

Hast, thou not bid me love Thee, God and King?
All, all thine own, soul, heart and strength, and mind.
I see thy cross, there teach my heart to cling.
O let me seek thee, and O let me find!

Teach me to feel that thou art always nigh.
Teach me the struggles of the soul to bear,
To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh;
Teach me the patience of unanswered prayer.

Teach me to love thee as thine angels love,
One holy passion filling all my frame;
The baptism of the heav’n-descended dove,
My heart an altar, and thy love the flame.

I suppose renewal and seeking the presence of God is what Pentecost is all about.  This receiving of something, slightly intangible, that we can carry with us into our lives. But even if one isn’t a believer in these specifics, I suspect there is a need to find something that is the unseen support for whatever is encountered.  It is difficult to imagine facing all we need to face – good and bad – without some kind of spiritual or emotional or psychological strength. And, in fact, in those moments where these supports are depleted, most of us require assistance.

I understand that faith is critically important to many.  I understand that others are baffled by the concept.  It is a very personal thing, one that I don’t really comprehend – why some are so committed, others dismissive, others wavering, others struggling with guilt, others happily indifferent.  But, I have long felt that the Holy Spirit is the spiritual embodiment of wisdom. And, as such, offers an open door to the pursuit of whatever knowledge and guidance is available.  For me, the idea of receiving this spirit is not a simple matter of resignation, basking in the glow of some ethereal creature, it is alternately an act of discovery, an act of pursuit.

We all have doubts.  I read these words and find myself wondering if asking for things like the skill of love, faith, strength and patience is really enough.  Surely wisdom requires us to do more than ask.  It is tempting to simply request what we need and sit and wait for it to arrive.  My experience is that that rarely happens.  I’m not convinced that this is the essence of faith.  I’m not convinced that we receive everything we think we need simply by asking.

But there is something to be said for finding that thing that provides the strength with which to seek the fulfilment of our needs; the easing of our doubts.  It might be spiritual or found within our relationships.  Perhaps it is found in physical exercise, meditation or a walk in the woods.  Maybe it emerges when we listen to music, read a book or stroll through an art gallery. Whatever it is, let it descend upon your heart.  Let it open you up to the wisdom that is found all around.  Let it require you to actively live your life and seek what you need. Let it guide your steps as they then illuminate a path for others who also seek.  Let it be a holy passion filling your frame.

This week’s hymn is one I was only vaguely familiar with. The tune was written by Charles H. C. Zeuner in 1832 and I believe has been used several times with different texts. It has a strange feeling rhythmically, but as I’ve played it, there is something quite mesmerizing about its lilt.

The words were written by William M. Vories in 1908. Vories has an interesting story.  He was born in the United States, was an educator, architect and lay minister. In 1905 he moved to Japan where he opened an architectural office and eventually married a Japanese woman and became a citizen.  He founded a mission in Japan dedicated to education and businesses in the fields of architecture, medicine and medical treatment with the practice of investing profits into the local community.  It is said that he owned no property in his lifetime and spent his time contributing to those around him.   This cross-cultural and generous spirit is quite evident in these words.

Let there be light, Lord God of hosts!
Let there be wisdom on the earth!
Let broad humanity have birth!
Let there be deeds, instead of boasts!

Within our passioned hearts instill
the calm that ends all strain and strife.
Make us thy ministers of life.
Purge us from lusts that curse and kill!

Give us the peace of vision clear
to see each other’s good, our own,
To joy and suffer not alone:
the love that casteth out all fear!

Let woe and waste of warfare cease,
that useful labor yet may build
its homes with love and laughter filled!
God, give your wayward children peace!

When I read these words, I am drawn to the ideas of light and wisdom.  There is an implication of a need to open our eyes and see what we are as humanity – broadly. A need to open our minds and take in the experiences of our ancestors and those across the seas; the experiences of our neighbours and those we do not yet know; the experiences of all who are beautifully different and wonderfully the same.

These words are a prayer asking for the establishment of peace.  But they are not the words of one who is idle in this desire.  There is an understanding that it is through our deeds, our ability to see other’s and our own good, our useful labour, and our passionate hearts that homes filled with love and laughter emerge – and, ultimately, peace.  All these things together make us ministers of life. What a phrase!  A minister is simply one who attends to the needs of others. Being a minister of life is the deliberate act of contributing to the enrichment of another’s experience.  The ways in which we can do this are endless.

It is quite amazing to me that these old hymn texts still ring true so many years later.  It doesn’t matter to me that this writer had a particular religious perspective, it matters to me that he was interested in searching for the way to peace.  It is a search that many of us continue – both personally and on a more global scale.  I suspect his notion that we must be active in this search is accurate. It is not enough to ponder and discuss. Our actions contribute to the construction of the roads on which we walk, the paths that others find behind us, the ability for all to find a way forward.  What matters is how we walk through our lives.

Our lives are not about solving all the problems of this world.  But we can all be ministers of life.  Finding ways to lay our own special bricks in the foundation of peace for all.  Some of us will lay many bricks, others few. Some of the bricks have the strength needed for foundations that stand the test of time.  Others are the special decorative bricks that provide beauty and interest.  Others are the corners that keep things aligned.  Others have no bricks, but provide the mortar that holds it all together. Some design, some find the best sites on which to build, some oversee the construction, some bring water when the builders are thirsty.  Some encourage and offer gratitude.  We are actively the many pieces of this puzzle that can emerge as love, as laughter and as peace.

Ministers of life.  Together – all the wayward children.

Let there be light.
Let there be wisdom.
Let there be peace.