Looking back on another old favourite, this one has offered comfort to countless people at those moments in life when we’ve needed it most.  Looking at this familiar hymn again, I realise that what we need right now is the knowledge that we are not alone. We are not alone.   We are in this together.  Whether we cling to spiritual traditions and practices or simply spend time chatting with our friends and family, being generous and caring for our neighbours, we abide. Many things have ended for us over the past weeks, many more are likely to be changed.  Hang on to those things in your life that remain; those things that are most valuable.  Take, and offer, comfort.

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As I near the end of my year of song, I felt it fitting to include this beautiful hymn. This is one that is usually reserved for funerals, but it also speaks to endings; it speaks to our fears about what the future holds.

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

The story goes that these words were written in 1847 by Henry F. Lyte as he lay dying from tuberculosis. Although, I also read that he was haunted by the phrase “abide with me” that had been repeatedly muttered by a friend who was dying. Either way, there is a sense of desperation in these words; a sense of urgent need when passing into the unknown – in this life or the next.

This is a hymn that has offered comfort to many. When William Monk wrote the familiar tune in 1861, he apparently did so to help his wife get through a difficult time. And there are many other stories of its use. Everything from being played on the deck of the Titanic as it sunk to being sung in the trenches of World War I. It was used as a theme in a prelude by Ralph Vaughan Williams and recorded by Thelonious Monk with his jazz septet. It is even said to have been a favourite of Mahatma Ghandi.

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

What I take from all of this is that fear of the unknown is pretty common. There is much in life and death that we do not understand. Try as we might to find answers, there frequently aren’t any. Often what we think will lie at the end of any path, is simply not there at all.

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile,
And though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,
Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee.
On to the close, O Lord, abide with me.

When endings arrive we all need something to bear us into the unknown. Something that reassures us in the midst of uncertainty and sometimes real fear. We need to feel cradled in care – or at least as though we don’t walk alone. What comes next isn’t always bad, but not knowing is frightening and difficult when faced alone. These words are not about finding answers or ignoring reality.  They are about finding something that will be a companion along the path of the unknown. Something that will listen when the words “abide with me” are spoken; something that cradles that request and fills our view with peace.

I need Thy presence every passing hour.
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.

How do we even begin to process what is going on in our world right now?  Borders have closed.  Travel has stopped.  Schools have been suspended.  The way we work is radically different, or nonexistent. We are isolated.  We fear for our health and the health of those around us.  We are uncertain as to our ability to acquire food and other essentials over the coming weeks, or months.  We are questioning if we are over or under reacting.  For the first time in any of our lives, we have truly lost our bearing.  All of us.

Perhaps the most disconcerting reality is that we simply do not know how this will unfold.  We don’t have any answers.  Each day brings more change.  Each day we wonder what will become of our plans and our futures.  We simply do not know what is coming.  And this, is difficult.  I sense we are struggling to balance letting go of things with remaining hopeful; being realistic with being optimistic; adjusting to new realities without abandoning commitments and dreams.

We find ourselves in a space that requires a great deal of patience.  The kind of patience that some people have been forced to wield for all time.  The kind of patience that certain groups have been asked to exhibit at every turn, with every request for answers, and every attempt at resolution.  For those of us living lives accustomed to comfort and security, this is new.  And maybe it is a time for us to learn this skill.  To begin to understand what it feels like to have to wait.

There is an old Spiritual that speaks to this; speaks to the need to be patient and look forward to the promise of what will come, of what can come.  These words are about surviving devastation and calling forth a new world.

My Lord! What a morning;
My Lord! What a morning;
Oh, my Lord! What a morning,
When the stars begin to fall.

You’ll hear the trumpet sound
To wake the nations underground,
Looking to my God’s right hand
When the stars begin to fall.

These Spirituals often have hidden meanings, and this one is no different.  It is said to represent a time when slaves would be emancipated and the trumpet would call all within the “underground” to challenge racism and segregation.  The metaphor of falling stars may have stood for the Union Army’s campfires as beacons of freedom.  These are hopeful words.  Words about rising up, but also the reality of the wait before the glorious morning arrives.  About the expected celebration when that morning finally arrives.

Maybe this is where we are right now.  Maybe we have something to learn from all of this.  Maybe we are being called by this excruciatingly loud event to challenge ourselves, our leaders, our world.  Maybe there are bright stars falling before our eyes that can teach us what we need to know, what we need to understand.  And maybe, we’re just not ready for our morning of celebration yet.

In the past week, much has been lost to each of us.  There are certainly those who will feel the impact much more than others.  And that’s an important fact.  There are those whose health will suffer.  Those whose financial situations are or will become grave.  Those who are stuck far away from their homes and families with few options.  Those who do not have enough to eat.  Those who are alone.  It is clear that we are starting to see these people.  And it is clear we are starting to respond.  Despite a few reports of price gauging and hoarding, generally I have witnessed kindness and generosity emerging.  People are raising money, delivering food, organizing support, sharing ideas, communicating however they can, taking people into their homes, trying to be conscious of others’ fears and loneliness.  We are starting to take the time to do these things.

The trumpet is sounding loudly.  When the whole world stops, we need each other.  We are being called to offer whatever we have to whomever needs it.  We are all in this together.  Whatever this is, whatever it becomes.

Are we disappointed by our losses?  Of course.  Do we wish for the chaos to end quickly?  Absolutely.  But a part of me can’t help think that what we have been given is a huge opportunity to re-evaluate what is important; to check ourselves.  To begin to understand how our impatience has so often impacted others.  To begin to really understand what forced waiting can feel like, and proceed in a spirit of generosity that will seek to eliminate the interminable waits we have imposed on those with whom we share this world.  Patience can teach us about others’ needs as much as it can about waiting to fulfill our own.  It gives us the time required to consider and process our neighbour’s view.

This time is a gift.  May we use it wisely.  May we be patient.  And may we see those stars falling with a brightness that fills that morning when it arrives.

And then, let us not forget what we’ve learned.

I originally posted this hymn last summer with the intention of contemplating the role that service plays in our world.  How we can change the world through our kindness.  How relevant this is today.  How much we need each other to be kind.  To be generous.  And, to express love and compassion to all in real, tangible ways. 

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It is not unusual to observe that life is completely unfair.  It is not difficult to look at what is going on in our world and be convinced of this fact.  We see it in the lives of friends, relatives and strangers who are faced with challenges far beyond what they deserve, sometimes far beyond our own.  Perhaps we experience this truth ourselves, endlessly pursued by trials that feel as though our last bit of energy is being drained.  Sometimes we are faced with moments of sheer terror at what is to come, or what we hope, pray and wish will never be.  Heavy burdens abound.

As I read through the words of this hymn, I was struck by the depth of understanding the writer had of both the reality of life’s unfairness and the value of compassion, mercy and love in girding ourselves against whatever comes our way.  The words are not very old, written in 1961 by Albert F. Bayly.  I couldn’t find much information about Bayly, but he was an English minister who is said to have been a gracious and humble man, who loved painting, music, astronomy, literature, gardening and walking.  His words are quite beautiful.

Lord, whose love in humble service 
Bore the weight of human need, 
Who upon the cross, forsaken, 
Worked your mercy’s perfect deed; 
We, your servants, bring the worship 
Not of voice alone, but heart, 
Consecrating to your purpose 
Every gift which you impart. 

Still your children wander homeless; 
Still the hungry cry for bread. 
Still the captives long for freedom, 
Still in grief we mourn our dead. 
As you, Lord, in deep compassion, 
Healed the sick and freed the soul, 
By your Spirit send your power
To our world and make it whole. 

As we worship, grant us vision, 
Till your love’s revealing light 
In its height and depth and greatness 
Dawns upon our quickened sight, 
Making known the needs and burdens 
Your compassion bids us bear, 
Stirring us to ardent service, 
Your abundant life to share. 

I don’t know if Bayly suffered many tragedies, but he clearly understood that we should be aware of those suffered by others.  We should be aware.  The notion that love is a revealing light is exceptionally powerful.  In a society where love is often defined as a superficial feeling, these words challenge us to consider it as a means of giving us vision; giving us the ability to see what is going on around us.  This powerful love, in this case emerging from God, is one that bears these weights.  In a world that is broken.  Still.

For me, the second verse is the most wrenching.  Homelessness, hunger, captivity, grief, sickness and weary souls.  They are with us – still.  We see these things.  In the lives of the people we know, in the spectacle of world politics, in our communities, in the news.  It would be difficult to claim a lack of awareness in this age of hyper media access and constant connections.

Life can be abundant in many, many ways.  Despite its unfairness.  But sharing that abundance can also be difficult.  Possibly because we define abundance in such small ways.  Partly because we are self-focused and a bit greedy.  Partly because we simply don’t know how to tackle the problems we see.  But, I love the words spoken here that say we are to be stirred to ardent service.  Ardent is not a word we use all that often, but it’s a good one.  Implying passionate enthusiasm.  Imagine if our service was driven by this kind of exuberance; imagine if service was a broadly valued attribute – the measure of success.  Perhaps that’s not very humble an idea, but it’s a thought.

This hymn is about the power of love.  The way love can open our eyes not only to that which is beautiful, but that which is not.  The way love is a magnificent tool in combatting the unfairness of life and the challenges that are faced by all of us.  If we choose to use it with our voices, our hearts and our actions.  Looking for and understanding the needs we see, choosing its strength to bear those needs and ardently serving the ultimate goal of healing our broken world.

It’s a tall order.  But a life lived with compassion is one made up of small steps.  Millions of them.  Listening to someone’s pain or fears.  Being present in a conversation.  Accepting help.  Challenging injustice.  Welcoming the oppressed.  Celebrating in someone else’s way of experiencing the world, their culture, their understanding of the Divine.

Not one of us can repair the brokenness that we see every day.  But all of us can begin to rebuild one tiny corner – in the words we speak, the choices we make, the support we offer, the gratitude we express and the kindness we extend.  And, all of us can begin to rebuild one tiny corner – in the words we hear, the choices we observe, the support we accept, the thanks we’re given and the kindness we receive.

Love is a humble servant.  It bears the weight of all our needs.  Share it, accept it and feel its power.  In its truest form, it gives purpose and abundance.  In its truest form, our choice to wield it will make our world whole.

It was not my intention to continue with this project.  After 124 hymns, I felt I had reached the end of my capacity to offer anything, the end of this line of creativity.  But sometimes life throws us a curveball and we revisit old decisions.  In the midst of the current pandemic situation, it seems to me there is a place for more contemplation, sharing and music.  It seems to me there is a need for these things; a need for us to remember that we are still here and our lives are still wondrously intertwined.

I have arranged the tune Dona Nobis Pacem before.  In fact, it was the second song presented when I began this project back in 2014.  At the time, I was thinking about this very familiar tune and words in relation to the International Day of Peace that happens every September.  Over the years, I reposted it several times as we received knowledge of various violent acts in our world, both near and far. These words always come to my mind when I hear of these things.  They are hauntingly questioning:  Grant Us Peace.  They have been spoken by countless generations, countless voices, in countless prayers.  We don’t definitively know the origin of this tune, but many of us find it familiar and comforting.  It frames our deepest desire for peace within a simple, yet lovely melody, and it offers us the opportunity to sing in canon form – creating an astounding beauty as we combine our different parts and voices, at different times into a complete picture.  A picture of what can emerge when we sing, or work, together.

This morning as I sat down to find something to contemplate, this popped out at me almost immediately.  Yes, I’ve looked at it before, but today feels very different than the last time so I started again with different eyes and ears.  I think we are all looking for a special kind of peace right now.  The peace that reassures us that we are safe, that we are healthy.  The peace that reassures us that we will find our way home, and our loved ones will do the same.  The peace that reminds us that our disappointments are real, but life will carry on.  The peace that encourages us to help our neighbours and support those struggling.  The peace that helps us to remember to breathe.

None of us knows what is to come over the next weeks, or even months.  The unknown is stressful.  Slipping into despair because of the unknown, the cancelled, the boredom are very real possibilities.  It is my wish that we are all able to find that special peace in all of this.  A space where it’s okay to cry, but also okay to rejoice.  Those extraordinary bits of memory and sharing and gratitude that will carry us through this incredible set of circumstances.

Find that thing to hang on to; that tiny bit of joy that opens up the window of peace – even if only a crack.  Seek it diligently, for losing sight of all that is beautiful will surely darken our path.  Share it if you can, for these bits of light will also guide those around you.  Our world is different today than it was.  Let us be the answer to this question of peace.  Let us learn.  Let us grant peace to those we meet – even if we cannot do it in person.  Let us sing.  Let us speak.  Let us savour this special time.  It may turn out to be an unexpected gift.

Dona Nobis Pacem