I had planned to post something else today, but it didn’t seem right.  And then this popped into my mind and I think it reflects what I’m feeling today.    There is something very illuminating in the faces of those we love.  They bring us comfort, joy, wisdom, entertainment, laughter, care, provision and even tears. We seek out these special people to share our experiences.  We often feel things in similar ways.  But I am also struck by how much we share these things with those beyond our immediate circles.  It is so clear right now that people all over the world are thinking, feeling, struggling and simply doing things in similar ways. Offering their experiences, knowledge and skills to all, whether we’ve crossed paths or not. Near and far, similar and different, old and young.  We are looking at the same sun, feeling its illumination and sharing deeply the life it provides.

*

Let us break bread together on our knees.
Let us break bread together on our knees.
When I fall on my knees with my face to the rising sun,
O Lord, have mercy on me.

Let us drink wine together on our knees.
Let us drink wine together on our knees.
When I fall on my knees with my face to the rising sun,
O Lord, have mercy on me.

I’ve always liked this Spiritual.  It is traditionally used by many as a communion hymn, for obvious reasons.  The ritual of sharing the bread and wine in Christian worship is honoured with the humility of partaking on one’s knees.  It is a powerful statement of our smallness, and God’s greatness.  And very meaningful for many who adhere to this belief system.  Quite beautiful.

But as I thought about these words and the haunting music, I found myself drawn to the history of this African-American Spiritual –  and how it speaks to our communities, our friendships, our fellowship.

While it is not certain, there is speculation that this song originated with slaves from West Africa.  The line, “When I fall on my knees with my face to the rising sun,” is said to reflect the West African tradition of the sun being the source of spiritual light.  There may also, as in many Spirituals, be hidden in these words an indication that a secret meeting is to take place, “when I fall on my knees.”

For me, these are important ideas.  The words provide us with guidance to humbly, on our knees, eat and drink together.  Whether we do so in a spiritual sense, or simply socially, the request to do so is deeply felt.  And deeply invited.  We need our communities.  They carry us.  Even when we are forced to meet in secret.  Or perhaps more common for most of us, when we seek out those with whom we have common experiences, challenges, pain, compassion or empathy.  We carry us.

And then we face the rising sun.  I can’t imagine a more beautiful image.  Seeking mercy in the light we all share each morning.  Whenever I travel, I am struck that I share the sun and the sky with every single person on this planet.  The sun is life for all.  On our knees we can see its brightness, feel its warmth and share its illumination.  This is a spectacular mercy.  A reminder that we may commune in small ways, with small groups of friends, family and religious or spiritual communities, but in reality, we eat and drink as a whole world.  When we fall on our knees in the radiant sunshine, we are asked to consider that the meal is not ours alone.  It is shared.

The sunlight reveals where mercy is needed.  It allows us to lift our faces together.  And shows us how when we do, we see each other.

I would like to write something about being joyful or having fun or being filled with a sense of excitement but that isn’t where I find myself today.  I am tired. I know I am not alone in this.  The days are adding up, and we are settling into a routine that feels, at times, dull and at other times, discouraging.  We are walking a path that we haven’t walked before, but it is not a grand adventure, it is the opposite. And yet, we do not walk alone.  We share this experience with everyone we know.  It is in this fact that comfort can be found.  So we walk. And as we do, we look for good. We look for wisdom.  We look for beauty. Always.

*

Way back in 2014 I spent a year with hymns.  Challenging myself to think about and arrange a different hymn each week and then, despite my own insecurities, share these thoughts with others.  It was an extremely revelatory experience.  I learned a great deal and was quite moved by the many responses I received.  I admit that by the end of the hymn project, I was a bit weary of the process and the self-imposed pressure to meet a deadline, so I mostly let this activity of hymn exploration go by the wayside.

But life has a funny way of asking us to do things for reasons we didn’t originally intend. When I started out I was simply looking for a project.  A way to understand and explore where I came from musically and spiritually, and a means of forcing myself to be creative.  Today I think there is value in embarking on another year-long challenge. It has been floating through my mind for months that I wish there was something I could do to counter the incredibly negative energy that has blanketed our lives in the past couple of years.  I am often overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of disturbing news, behaviour and events that I read about each day.  I am baffled by our desire to take in these things; to share them, to discuss them, to allow them to dominate our lives.  I wonder where the line is – when is it obsession and preoccupation with the information; when is it rising against injustice and being aware.  It seems we’ve lost something in our ability to work for good, rather than just be outraged and paralysed by the bad.

Now, hymns are not the answer.  Obviously. I don’t have any idea what the answers are, but what I do know, is that finding solutions comes far more easily from a place of shared strength and support than when we are helplessly flapping in the wind.  I haven’t much to offer, but I can do this.  I can look for words of wisdom in these age old texts.  I can attempt to soothe by providing sounds that try to fill our spaces with beauty.

So we begin another year of song.  These songs represent my heritage, my experience and my childhood.  These kinds of words and music have been a constant in my life and have become a part of me.  They are a starting point for me and do not necessarily represent all I am, or all I believe.  But, they have stood the test of time and I hope to find ways to understand them in a broader context – meaningful to many, despite our different experiences, circumstances and beliefs.

I want Jesus to walk with me;
I want Jesus to walk with me;
all along my pilgrim journey,
Lord, I want Jesus to walk with me.

In my trials, Lord, walk with me;
in my trials, Lord, walk with me;
when my heart is almost breaking,
Lord, I want Jesus to walk with me.

When I’m in trouble, Lord, walk with me;
when I’m in trouble, Lord, walk with me;
when my head is bowed in sorrow,
Lord, I want Jesus to walk with me.

I have always liked the idea that Jesus should be viewed as an example of the power of kindness. An example of how we should treat people.  Perhaps you have another figure that provides that example – be it religious or otherwise. Find that example.  We need these examples.  I read these words and think we are in trouble and we all need someone to walk with us.  We are in trouble and we all need to walk with someone else.  Wherever we find ourselves, we are on one or the other side of this equation – sometimes both.  So my desire for this second year of song is to walk with you all. Whether heart breaking or head bowed in sorrow, we walk together.  We walk in kindness.  We walk for good.

There seems to be a lot of talk about getting things back to normal.  People seem impatient, understandably so.  There is speculation about what life will look like as we slowly return to our various activities.  But it isn’t time yet.  We need to gather up our endurance in order to complete this task, to finish what we’ve started.  We are weary, but we must be wise.  Renewal is needed, not to get us back to where we were, but to help us continue to accomplish what is best for all.  Look for those things that renew your spirit, and stay strong until we have completed this most challenging task.

*

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.

A friend of mine has taken to sharing three items for which he is grateful – every day.  Simply looking at his day and finding the good.  Seeking it out, and stating it publicly.  It is a gift to read these lists, not because they are such grandiose things that inspire confidence in our world or our lives or our futures, but because they are simple things that we can all find, things we all have access to.  Things that are ordinary, but make our days worth celebrating.  Things that we often take for granted, but are the life blood that can keep us going.

This simple act of gratitude reminded me of another childhood song.  There are conflicting stories of where this one came from, and I’m not sure what the real history is, but suffice it to say, it involves understanding that speaking our truth is powerful.  There are stories about the origins being a man wrongly imprisoned being saved from execution due to his proclamation of faith.  There are stories about people singing this on long journeys that were difficult, adding verses as they went, finding comfort in the song and passing the time with a reminder of goodness.

God is so good,
God is so good,
God is so good,
He’s so good to me!

He cares for me,
He cares for me,
He cares for me,
He’s so good to me!

What we speak and how we express ourselves to the world matters.  It matters.  It can change us, it can change those around us.  Listing things that fill us with gratitude reminds us that there is always hope, no matter how small.  And, gratitude has a funny way of growing from gratitude.  In moments where it seems all is lost, speaking of goodness can paint a clearer picture of what can be, and of what actually lies beyond our disappointment or despair.  Sometimes it only takes one word to shift our gaze, to offer a view that fills our spirits with what is needed.  Sometimes it only takes one word from someone else’s lips to draw our attention towards the very thing we need to see.  The thing that will carry us.

For me, this little song is about knowing that good exists.  That goodness cares for us.  And, that we can find goodness in many ways, in the smallest of things.  God, or the universe, or nature, or love, or humanity, or whatever you relate to, is good.  Good.  Evidence of this is everywhere.  It is in the simple pleasures found in our daily activities – a delicious cookie, and friendly smile, a conversation, a beautiful song, a kind word, some gentle encouragement, comfortable shoes, the sunset, a task completed, a bird chirping, the sound of someone sleeping peacefully.  Its existence doesn’t mean challenges are not everywhere, it just means we can face them.  We can wake each morning with the knowledge that somewhere in our day, a little piece of goodness will emerge.  We may have to dig deep to find it, but it will always be there.

So, for all the countless ordinary things that make our lives rich, I am grateful.  They are good.  They are true.  They are important.  And when the spectacular moments are missing, or unavailable, these tiny bits of joy are invaluable.  Let them join together like a patchwork quilt – scraps and colours and textures that somehow create a warmth and beauty that is unique to each of us.  And offers a comfort that is simply good.

As we spend an unusual amount of time in our homes, alone or with those closest to us, it can feel as if there is nothing new to say, nothing new to hear. But if we listen carefully to what we are all doing, we will hear the voices of millions who are offering hope to the world.  A way to fight something we haven’t fought before, but also a knowledge that we have the capacity to work together.  It may be imperfect, there may be weak links in the chain, but generally, we are proving that we are a stronger voice together, than we are apart.  We are proving that all kinds of contributions are valuable, even indispensable, and that this isn’t dependent on some arbitrary assignation of status.  As we stay home, we are creating a place of hope.  Listen to it grow, speak about it loudly.  And find ways to offer it to this world, today and in all the days that follow.

*

Over the past number of weeks, I have been accompanying a choir that is learning a group of Spirituals for an upcoming concert. As I played through them this week, I realized that this is one of my favourites.  It is a beautiful tune – haunting and powerful.

As many of us know, these Spirituals were originally more than just religious songs.  They were filled with hidden meanings and messages that became important ways of both communication and strength for the African American slaves that sang them. This one is no different.  What on the surface implies the spiritual act of dying and being received into Jesus’ arms in heaven, is also representative of the actual act of escaping the bonds of slavery, travelling via the Underground Railroad into freedom.  It was also used as a signal by Virginia slave Nat Turner, and probably others, to gather slaves together to discuss their plans.

Steal away, steal away,
steal away to Jesus!
Steal away, steal away home;
I ain’t got long to stay here.

My Lord, he calls me;
he calls me by the thunder.
The trumpet sounds within my soul;
I ain’t got long to stay here.

Green trees are bending;
poor sinners stand a trembling.
The trumpet sounds within my soul;
I ain’t got long to stay here

My Lord, he calls me;
he calls me by the lightning.
The trumpet sounds within my soul;
I ain’t got long to stay here.

There was a lot of listening involved in sending these secret messages.  Those for whom they were intended were acutely aware that there was something coming; something that could potentially save them; something that offered a way out of a horrific situation.  They were looking for hope – listening for instructions.  There was also a lot of wisdom and courage required for those that sent these messages.  The ability to craft their words of hope so they could be received and heard; the ability to stand in the face of danger and speak, or sing, for the benefit of others. And there was faith.  Faith that someone at the other end would actually see the trees bending and open their arms, or homes, to those stealing away.  Trusting that safety and freedom were more than idealized concepts, but were possible and real.

As I think about these words and their powerful history, several things come to mind.  The power of hope is tremendous.  To say over and over, “I ain’t got long to stay here,” in the face of seemingly immovable circumstances, is beyond impressive.  To know that despite requiring monumental acts of courage and trust, there is something beyond your view that provokes trumpets, thunder and lightning in your soul, is inspiring.   The power of hope is also a gift given. Those who made the Underground Railway possible were giving hope – in the face of real danger.  All of this hope was both secret and loud, shared and individual.  They sang, they listened, they received.

There are, no doubt, many problems in our world that seem insurmountable.  There are parts of our history that have unresolved consequences and looking at one Spiritual doesn’t change that.  But there is something to be said for understanding the beautiful example that these people provided to us.  It is possible to look for, seek out and believe in hope.  It is possible to find those among us who can help provide its view; help us clarify its existence.  It is also possible to be the hope.  To look for, seek out and believe in the realities that need it most.

We all find ourselves on different sides of this equation at various points in our lives. Sometimes we need hope, sometimes we give hope. Both can be hard.  But, either way, it is our home that we are seeking. A home is built on the knowledge that all within are safe.  I’ve often wondered if safety for the few is shallow and unstable, whereas safety for all is filled with a kind of strength that most of us deeply desire. Perhaps this is what gives us the motivation we need to accomplish what can sometimes seem impossible.

So, in even the smallest of ways, I wish for us to steal away to the place where hope resides.  Look for it when we need it and give it when we are able. Hopelessness is not a home.  We are called to something better and we can both provide the path to find it, and choose to walk towards it.  Together.

Beauty is everywhere.  When the sun shines, when the rain falls.  When we feel joy, when we cry alone.  When we are busy, when we are bored.  It is everywhere.  You will find it if you believe it to exist.  Look hard.  We need it more than ever.

*

There are some hymns that are so familiar, I almost forget that they exist.  This is one of those.  When I played through it this week, it was as though I had been transported to the Sunday School of my childhood.  The tune is a 17^thcentury English melody but the words were written in 1848 by a woman named Cecil F. Alexander.  She was a well-known hymn writer at the time and penned nearly 400 hymns and poems, this being one of her most popular.

All things bright and beautiful, 
all creatures great and small, 
all things wise and wonderful, 
the Lord God made them all.

Each little flow’r that opens, 
each little bird that sings, 
God made their glowing colours, 
God made their tiny wings.

The purple-headed mountain, 
the river running by, 
the sunset and the morning 
that brightens up the sky.

The cold wind in the winter, 
the pleasant summer sun, 
the ripe fruits in the garden: 
God made them ev’ry one.

God gave us eyes to see them, 
and lips that we might tell 
how great is God Almighty, 
who has made all things well.

This is clearly a hymn about the Creator and all that is found in this beautiful world of ours. Such lovely imagery to describe how very good everything is – flowers, birds, mountains, rivers, seasons and the food we harvest.  I suppose it should have directed me to think about the value of our environment, the treasure that is this planet of ours.  But somehow, my mind went another way.

Perhaps you are a believer in God the Creator, perhaps not.  One thing that is clear to me is that, either way, we are living in and amongst wonders that are valuable beyond measure.  This hymn reminds me of that.  Reminds me of the immense variety of beauty that we have access to – the tiniest wing, the grandest mountain.  And when I start to think of this, somewhere very deep within me, I know this is a metaphor for all who live together on this planet.  We are beautiful.  Deeply and richly beautiful.  All of us. In our differences, in our sameness. Solely because we are part of this vast creation.

The concept of beauty is a tarnished ideal.  It is a difficult word to define and I don’t mean it as a superficial or temporary state. Beauty, to me, is about something that inspires us to look beyond our own perceptions and be awed by what is revealed. Nature often does that – as does art and music.  Pushing us into some other realm where we find all kinds of feelings and experiences.  One of our most difficult tasks as humans is to do this with those that are different from us – those with different experiences of this world, those with different practices, those from different places.  And especially, those that tell us that we’ve hurt them.  But we must be willing to see the beauty that lies in that which makes us uncomfortable because it is there.  Disregarding it reveals our ugliness. It makes our world very small and one thing I know most certainly, is that our beautiful world is anything but small.

So, in this time of building walls between us and them, of turning our backs on them in favour of us, I hope we can find a way to look past our insecurities and fears to find the beauty that exists within every living soul.  We protect nothing of our selves when we express hatred and ugliness, when we exclude and ignore – we simply tarnish our own beauty, and that is a tragedy. My beauty and yours may vary immensely, but so what?  We are mountains and rivers, summer and winter, sunsets and sunrises.  We are given eyes to see each other.  To see our beauty.  Look deeply and be inspired to feel and engage with the diversity that is humanity.   For we have truly been made well, all of us creatures, great and small.

There are many places to look to renew our energy.  Among the most powerful are the places where we are loved.  Love doesn’t remove our problems, our struggles, our pain.  But it provides strength and gives comfort.  It provides the energy to bear the unbearable.  We are carried by its presence; we are strengthened when it is shared.  Love both energizes and grows as it is received, and as it is given.  Love makes all things strong.  Look for it.  It is there.

*

We have another children’s song this week. I’m sure most will know this one, will have sung it as a child and probably can sing it from memory still. It may be the most well known Sunday School song out there and recently I listened to our congregation sing it during a children’s feature and all the kids, young and old, knew the words and sang along. So why is this one so enduring?

The origin of the text is interesting. It was actually a poem penned by Anna Bartlett Warner in 1860, to be used in a novel written by her sister, Susan Warner. The words were meant to comfort a dying child in the story. The original poem is full of comforting thoughts surrounding the strength of Jesus in contrast to the child’s weakness and the assurance of being carried to heaven when death arrives. Comforting, perhaps, but also pretty bleak and very sad.

Jesus loves me—this I know,
For the Bible tells me so;
Little ones to him belong,
They are weak, but he is strong.

Jesus loves me—loves me still,
Though I’m very weak and ill;
From his shining throne on high,
Comes to watch me where I lie.

Jesus loves me—he will stay,
Close beside me all the way.
Then his little child will take,
Up to heaven for his dear sake.

I suppose we all need something to carry us through the most difficult of moments. This hymn started its life as a means to do that. What could be more difficult than the death of a child. Surely we all look for ways to provide comfort in these moments; to give hope in situations that seem completely hopeless. I think the simplicity of this song and its sentiment of assurance that someone loves us enough to carry us through something horrific, is what makes it endure. It’s a child’s understanding of how to cope. Someone loves me, I’ll be okay.

I appreciate that this is probably not a complete answer to many of our challenges. But there is something in the innocence of this belief that we can learn from. Both as givers and receivers of unconditional love. This kind of love doesn’t solve our problems or eliminate suffering. What it does is makes things just a little more bearable. To face life’s challenges without it seems so lonely and sad; almost inconceivable to those of us fortunate enough to have found a loving foundation to stand on. My hope is that we all find this kind of assurance and care, be it spiritual or earthly. My hope is also that we share this kind of assurance and care – through our lives, our actions and our voices.

It will come as no surprise to those that know me, that I believe in the power of singing.  Not just the power of a song, but the actual act of producing the song with our voices.  I am also one of those that believes everybody can sing, everybody has a voice.  It bothers me deeply the many, many stories I’ve heard over the years from people who say they cannot sing because some adult told them as a child to mouth the words…because they weren’t good enough.  We are all good enough.  Simply because we are.  Our voices are a gift and our ability to raise them in song is fundamentally human, and fundamentally good.

So, today I offer a song about singing.  The words to this gospel hymn were written by Civilla D. Martin in 1905 and are said to have been inspired by one of her close friendships.  These friends were a couple consisting of a bedridden woman and a man bound to a wheelchair.  When Martin’s husband commented on their joyful hopefulness, the woman said, “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”  Martin was inspired by the kind of faith that could find happiness beyond day to day realities, lives that were bringing comfort to others.  Sharing the good that exists in every place, obvious or not.

Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come,
Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heaven and home,
When Jesus is my portion? My constant friend is He;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

I sing because I’m happy,
I sing because I’m free,
For His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know He watches me.

“Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear,
And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears;
Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Obviously these words are about a deep faith in God.  And for those who believe, it offers a great comfort.  The knowledge that even the smallest creature is cared for reminds us that we are all important, all worth watching over.  But even for those of us that may not look at things in these terms, there is something to be found in these words.  There is something quite powerful in the knowledge that none of us is insignificant.  We all matter.  Perhaps we are looked after by family or friends, or rejuvenate in the sunshine or fresh air.  Maybe we listen to music or read poetry and find our souls cared for by the creativity and gifts of others, past and present.  Every good gift offered is a way of watching over those we know, those we’ve never met, those who are not yet here.  These gifts travel over space and time, in all kinds of ways.  Feeding others who are then able to give, lifting the spirits of those who are resting.

So sing.  In whatever way you can.  The sound of your voice is far less important than the song you offer.  It is our collective singing that will watch over the sparrows, the lonely, the sick and the weary.  Your songs may be filled with practical help or simply express whatever we need to feel.  And, when we understand that we are being watched over, the discouraging shadows and loneliness begin to recede.  Our troubles rest on this goodness, allowing our doubts and fears to be lost.

Sing loud.  Sing strong.  Sing metaphorically or literally.  Our voices are filled with goodness.  We sing because we’re happy.  Not because this is easy, but because we can.  And this will set us free.

Hope is a marvellous thing.  It exists despite us.  It is there when we cannot see it, and remains when we forget we need it.  It comes from many sources, it is free and it is ours – to treasure, to share, to lean upon.  Hope gives us wings and shelters us; allows us to be strong and carries us in our weakness. Hope. Today, yesterday and always.

*

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.

It is a bright sunny day as I write this.  I am very conscious of how much sunshine is appreciated when stuck at home with no place to go.  While I don’t mind rain, or even snow, having the brightness of a clear sky with beams of light flooding my room, is welcome and needed.  Sunshine just makes us feel better.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are grey.
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.

This is a such a simple song.  It speaks to what we beam into each other’s lives.  It speaks to our ability to offer something when there is little else available.  It speaks to what our individual beams of light mean, whether we know it or not.  It speaks to our value and importance; each one of us worth keeping close.  It also speaks of our need, something we share, wherever we are – we cannot live without sunshine.

We sustain each other.  Not just when in a crisis as we are now, but always.  Always.  If there is one thing to be learned by all of this, it is how very radiant we all are.  Sunshine abounds, despite grey skies.  It is possible for us to care for one another, and it is possible to receive care when we are in need.  Sometimes we are beams of sunshine, sometimes we reflect the sunshine as it lights our way, encouraging the source.  This circle is both sustaining and beautiful.  It encompasses our pain, our challenges, our joys and our rejuvenation. It continues whether we see it or not, and when we do, it allows us to carry on.

There is something quite beautiful about the way many people are trying to offer sustenance to those around them.  To friends, family members, co-workers, strangers.  I think this should be celebrated.

For those delivering groceries and other necessities.
For those cooking and baking for others.
For those planning virtual services to offer spiritual care and connection.
For those teaching children.
For those entertaining children.
For those simply keeping children safe and fed.
For those offering financial support to those with old and new needs.
For those doing home repairs and housekeeping.
For those that smile as they walk through their neighbourhoods.
For those that suggest good movies and tv shows to watch, books to read.
For those that are still singing and making music.
For those that write poetry and prayers.
For those that share their art and the art of others.
For those that work tirelessly to treat and heal the sick.
For those that are planning for our economies and futures.
For those that are governing with the best of intentions.
For those that keep our neighbourhoods and hospitals clean.
For those that care for the vulnerable despite the risks.
For those that are beginning to share their sadness and fear.
For those who are able to seek help in their need.
For those who are just doing their best.

This list could go on.

We may never be able to truly thank those that are keeping us going.  Real sunshine covers a lot of ground.  It spreads, it warms, it keeps us alive. Its many sources are not known, some are close, some are far, but it sustains us all.  This collective outpouring of whatever we have to give.  It is powerful.  It is my hope that it will not disappear when this grey sky has cleared.

Please, don’t take our sunshine away.