What do we mean when we say amen?  It is often said at the end of a prayer. But it doesn’t mean…the end.  It means that we agree.  Or rather, that “it is so” or we have heard a bit of truth, or that we have some certainty in the validity of the words spoken or heard.  This is quite beautiful if you think about it.  The ability to state something so emphatically with one word.  It is not reserved for religious purposes, we’ve all heard or exclaimed “amen” when someone says something that we really want to praise, or confirm.

There are many reasons to say “amen” in all sorts of situations.  What I like about its use, particularly in the context of prayer or a religious service, is that we often say it together.  Even when we don’t quite agree.  We say it to confirm that we have heard each other.  Heard our thoughts, concerns and ideas.  It is a statement of understanding that our voices are important, until they are heard again.  In a way it isn’t so much an ending as a beginning – the point at which we have taken in information, and can begin to determine its value and what it means to us; what it requires us to do.  It is a symbol of our ability to listen, our ability to respect others’ voices.  A way of understanding our communities, and the vast array of options available to unite and celebrate each other.

Right now, we need to say “amen” together.  To listen, to consider, to ponder anew.  There is much to praise, and much to explore.  The ability to do so together, despite our differing views, will serve us well.

*

I love the autumn. The crisp weather, the sunshine through the changing leaves, the magnificent colours I am privileged to see in the eastern Ontario landscape. It is a time when many of my favourite activities get started and yet we also celebrate the end of summer, harvest and are thankful. As we prepare for Thanksgiving next week, this hymn of praise seemed appropriate. It was suggested to me by two friends who shared that it was sung at their wedding. They both expressed that it had been meaningful before this event, but became even more so after.

This is a song of adoration. The words were originally written by Joachim Neander in German in 1680, and translated into English in 1863 by Catherine Winkworth. I am often struck by how some of these hymns span hundreds of years and can still provide meaning and inspiration to us. My favourite bits are in the second and last verses. Verse two speaks of how God “shelters thee under his wings, yea, so gently sustaineth.” What an image. I can understand why someone would choose this to mark the beginning of a marriage. It is both celebratory and filled with the promise of care.

The final verse has a statement that, I must admit, chokes me up every time I find myself singing it with others.

Let the “amen” sound from God’s people again.

There is something very powerful about voices joining together in an “amen” – something sort of primal. The word is a declaration of affirmation. It comes up in Greek, Hebrew, Arabic and English – with variations in many other languages and is used in all sorts of religious practices. It sort of means we agree. Maybe it’s a bit naïve to think we actually agree on much – and as we look around the world it seems we really, really don’t. But there is something spirit building about being in a space with people and choosing to say “amen” despite our differences. Choosing to look for ways to work together seeking something better; encouraging positive change, acceptance, peace and kindness. Idealistic I know, but when I sing this hymn it reminds me of that possibility on a very basic emotional level.

However you choose to say amen, and with whatever group you choose to do so, I hope this can be a reminder of how important it is to find a community with which to share your celebrations, your adorations and your songs.

Every once in a while someone suggests a hymn for me to ponder.  I appreciate this.  Sometimes these hymns are familiar, but not personal favourites, so I haven’t really given them a chance.  I’m almost always glad when I do.  Sometimes they are unfamiliar and I find myself learning a little something new, or reading an interesting story or just enjoying a bit of music that I would have otherwise missed.  This one is new to me.  Although, once I read a bit about it, I can’t understand how I missed it!

Written by John Henry Newman in 1833, it was first published as the poem, “The Pillar of the Cloud” and later set to music, this particular tune by John Bacchus Dykes in 1865.   Newman’s words were written whilst he recovered from a terrible illness as he travelled from Sicily to England at the age of thirty three.  It is said he had many adversities, including the collapse of his father’s bank following the Napoleonic Wars, nervousness and anxiety and his sister’s sudden death.  It is clear when you read the words that he was looking for ways to cope.

Lead, Kindly Light, amidst th’encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on.
O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till 
The night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile, 
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!

This hymn has been used as a means of coping with adversity ever since.  And in some pretty well known circumstances.  Trapped miners sang it during one of the largest mining disasters in British history in 1909.  In complete darkness, 26 men sang, beside the 168 who died.  It was sung by Betsie ten Boom as she and other women were led into the Ravensbruck concentration camp during the Holocaust.  It was sung on one of the lifeboats from the Titanic, survivors having heard it in a service that had happened just prior to the ship hitting an iceberg.  It was sung in the trenches of the First World War, by British soldiers to the accompaniment of artillery fire.  It turns up in literature and is said to have been a favourite of Mahatma Gandhi.

I have no doubt there are many other stories.  These words clearly speak to the common experience of needing to be reassured that we are walking in the right direction – especially when we simply cannot see beyond our gloom.  Moving towards something that greets us with angelic faces and sunshine and all that we love.  Over moors and swamps, past cliffs and rushing water.  We walk until the morning breaks, and our gloom lifts.

The idea that sometimes we need to seek guidance when we can’t see the way seems quite relevant at the moment.  There are still many unanswered questions for most of us.  And we haven’t yet found the solutions we’d like to hear.  I suspect many of us are starting to come up with responses that suit us, that begin to return to us what we are missing, to regain what we have lost.  I wonder if that is pride ruling our will.  I’m not entirely certain it will bring us to the morning we hope for.

My favourite part of this poetry is the term kindly light.  What a beautiful image.  This is what we are told we can find as our guide.  It is obviously a reference to God in this case, but I relish the idea that it is also something we can all become.  Something we can aspire to.  When we look around at this strange world we find ourselves in, where are the kindly lights?  Are they those that offer a quick return to everything that was before?  Are they those that refuse to acknowledge their neighbours’ suffering or the potential for more suffering?  Are they those that concern themselves only with what is closest?  Are they those that have found ways to benefit from others’ downfalls?

No.  The kindly lights in our world are those that offer care.  For the safety and health of us all – the young, the old, the sick, the weak, the poor, the vulnerable.  They are those willing to stand up to the pressures of our usual ways and say, be patient.  They are those who seek real solutions, even if they are slower arriving than we’d like. They are those who shine bright, beautiful light into our gloom – not removing it, but helping us understand that beyond it is something better than a garish day, far from home.  Something that will offer us safety whether we are a healthy child or a weakened grandmother.  A kindly light cares no matter who we are and doesn’t evaluate our worth based on how many days we have left or what we are able to contribute.

Whom we choose to lead us is important.  Whom we choose to follow.  A kindly light is infinitely more valuable than a light merely showing us what we want to see.  Because we are sometimes wrong.  And we are sometimes selfish.  And when we are, it is easy to walk down the wrong path, especially when it is dark.

Look for a kindly light; aspire to be one.  Choose your path wisely and walk with care through the encircling gloom.  One step at a time until the morning comes and the faces of all we love return our smiles and confirm that we went the right way.

We cannot really gather in our usual ways right now.  But we do gather in our hearts and minds, our memories and our anticipation.  We resist gathering, as best we can, in order to achieve the peace of knowing that all are safe and that our actions do not make this thing worse for someone else.  This is a beautiful, and very difficult, thing.  We are gathering metaphorically at a beautiful river. One that offers much. We should feel proud and encouraged by our actions. And hopeful that they speak louder than the actions of those who care little for those around them.  This is the melody we sing, a melody of peace.

*

I 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?

I would like nothing more than to go on a stroll through the English countryside, as the writer of this hymn did, and where he found his inspiration. Not possible at the moment.  But, I did walk through a couple of local parks today.  I saw thousands of colourful tulips, a crowd of goslings rushing towards a river, a spectacular magnolia tree in full bloom, squirrels doing their usual dash and many, many blossoms.  I long to see beauty that is new to me, but was reminded that it is everywhere – free for the taking.  It is with us when we celebrate wonderful achievements and events and when we mourn the loss of the things and people that we love.  Find a bit of beauty today and treasure it. Let it fill you with joy and gratitude.

*

It is a gloomy day as I write this. The weather is unusually warm, but a bit muggy for my notion of an ideal crisp autumn. And yet, there is such beauty in the contrast of the colours of the changing leaves against the dark, cloudy sky. Somehow this contrast allows for seeing the range of oranges and yellows in a different way than on a sunny day.

For the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the skies…

This hymn was written by Folliot Sandford Pierpont as he went for a stroll on a spring day in 1864. He was reportedly inspired by the beauty of the English countryside. What he observed gave rise to a poetic text filled with gratitude, praise and beautiful imagery.

For the beauty of each hour, of the day and of the night,
hill and vale, and tree and flower, sun and moon, and stars of light…

Pierpont speaks so beautifully of what he sees in nature, but doesn’t stop there. He includes a verse with the simple thought of finding joy in our family and friends.

For the joy of human love, brother, sister, parent, child
friends on earth and friends above, for all gentle thoughts and mild…

Such lovely sentiments. Deep within them, I see a reminder to find the beauty in the whole range of what we see and experience in both the natural world and in our relationships. Day and night; hill and vale; those who are with us and those already gone. Beauty exists – on a gloomy, or sun filled day.

This our hymn of grateful praise.

There is something interesting to me about the concept of holiness.  Not necessarily in a specific religious sense, but in the way in which the human species has always searched for some way to understand our spiritual selves. Searched for something greater than ourselves, something that fills us with awe, something beyond the ordinary.  I believe there are many ways to answer these kinds of questions, and we all do so differently.  But what can unite us, is the knowledge that we are small and the answers we seek are big.  And they are holy.  They are not self serving nor can they be possessed by anyone.  The holy places we find are inexplicable but treasured.  We don’t have to understand, we may simply enjoy the rejuvenation and peace this mysterious thing brings.

*

Heilig, heilig, heilig, heilig ist derr Herr!
Heilig, heilig, heilig, heilig ist nur Er!

Holy, holy, holy, holy is the Lord!
Holy, holy, holy, holy God alone!

It is a beautiful spring day as I begin to ponder this hymn. I don’t know why I chose to place it this week, but as I listen to the breeze rustling through the leaves outside my window, I think maybe it was meant to remind me of the value of holiness. As I looked for a definition of the word holy, I found that it is sort of difficult to pin down. It can mean sacred and worthy of devotion; it can mean spiritual or religious. It can be about spaces, behaviours, people and the Divine.  It’s a little bit mysterious – and something I suspect we don’t contemplate very often in our modern world.

This hymn comes from Schubert’s Deutsche Messe (German Mass; 1827). It is the Sanctus portion of the mass, which is a prayer of thanks to God – sung with the angels, who are said to sing “Holy, Holy, Holy” unceasingly. Apparently this element of the liturgy is one of the oldest we have evidence of, dating back to St. Clement of Rome who died around 104. So the church has been honouring this holiness with song for almost two thousand years, probably longer. Interesting.

God, who, uncreated, God who always was,
endlessly exalted, reign for evermore.

Mighty, wondrous, loving, circled round with awe:
holy, holy, holy, holy is the Lord.

There is something peaceful about this music. The words are simple. The description of God is powerful. God is not created. No matter how we try to craft the Divine in our image, that simply isn’t the nature of this holiness.   And I think we do that often. It seems we desperately want to understand this thing that is beyond us. We want a God that makes sense. We want a God to back our ideas and justify our actions. We want a God that looks like us. But the Divine will not be diminished to fit into our ideas and spaces.

In a world where everything has been reduced to the easily grasped and the familiar, finding holiness becomes our challenge. Because we need mystery and we need awe. Wonder reminds us of our smallness in the universe while it gifts us an understanding of our worth. And we are worthy of holiness.

Like the sound of the breeze in the trees, there is a peaceful mystery to the holy. Listen.

I ask for forgiveness….this is, strictly speaking, a Christmas carol.  I know it is May, but we are in strange times, and I felt a little joy was needed. As I read over the original post, I realized that when I wrote it, I had no way of knowing how much I would need to put my thoughts at the time, into action right now. We celebrate joy in the Christmas season with vigor.  It is everywhere.  But, what we do with that joy the rest of the year, or when things are not so obviously tailored to encourage it, is telling of how deeply we understand the meaning of the word.  Joy is the tiny flame deep within that allows us to find the light we need when things are dim, as much as it is the spectacle of a brilliant sunset, easily seen in our view.  It is what we give; what we receive; what we seek and what we can discover.  It isn’t superficial or always easy to find.  But it exists.  Always.

*

We have looked for hope, considered peace and are now set to experience joy.  Or, rather, we are told that we are in a joyous season. We are inundated with joyful music, images and endless explanations on how to make our holidays cheery – from how we decorate to how we wrap our gifts, dress ourselves and plan our various parties and gatherings.  We are meant to be fully engaged in the happiest time of the year.  Easier said than done.

The impending birth of this baby is meant to bring great joy.  The significance, for those of the Christian faith, is immense – obviously something to celebrate.  The ideals represented by this child’s life, even for those who may not hold these specific religious beliefs, can be powerful – selfless and unconditional love, kindness and justice for all, treating the least of us as the most valued of treasures.  These are indeed ideals for which we should rejoice.

The words of this very old carol, originally from a 14^thcentury chant, speak to our seasonal joy.

Resonet in laudibus cum iucundis plausibus
Sion cum fidelibus, Apparuit quem genuit Maria.

Let praises resound with joyful applause,
Zion with the faithful: He has appeared who was borne of Mary.

There are many poetic translations of these words, and many variants used with this tune.  I found this English version, by an unknown author, in the United Church of Canada’s hymnal.

Joy is now in every place,
Christmas lightens every face;
now be with us, in your grace,
O hear us, bless us, holy Jesus.

May the star that shone that night,
making your poor stable bright,
fill our hearts with love and light,
O hear us, bless us, holy Jesus.

Through the New Year let it stay,
leading us upon your way,
making Christmas every day,
O hear us, bless us, holy Jesus.

Now and ever may we find
your good news to fill our minds:
peace and love to humankind,
O hear us, bless us, holy Jesus.

What I appreciate about this particular interpretation, is its directive to fill our hearts with love and light throughout the year.  The ideals of Christmas are meaningless if they only appear for this short season.  They are meaningless if they are not lived every day.  I know this has been said many times, in many ways, in many songs, in many cards.  But it remains elusive.  I sometimes marvel at the extent of the advertising at this time of year encouraging us to donate to our favourite charity.  I assume it is because people are in a generous mood, and organizations need to benefit from this reality.  But why is that?  Do we not care for those less fortunate, those in need the rest of the year?  Would the elderly not enjoy visits or concerts in July?  Do children stop eating in February?

Advent is a season of anticipation.  The celebration of the concept of joy is about what this anticipation promises.  We are joyful because there is hope.  We are joyful because we can make peace happen. Joy is not merely a superficial feeling of excitement or happiness in the short-term, it is a deep recognition of who we are and, consequently, what we have to give and what we are able to receive.  If I am able to give something that brings another soul some peace, surely that is worthy of intense joy.  If I am able to receive the hope that someone else offers, my joy – be it obvious or hidden beneath the weight of life – will begin to simmer.  Its tiny light brightening whatever stable I find myself in.  This kind of joy isn’t about sparkles and glitter. It is about understanding that we are one.  We are stumbling through this world together, bumping into each other and all the circumstances that we encounter.  But each little flame of joy we contain, lights the way for those around us, and for ourselves.

So applaud joyfully. Enjoy this season throughout the year. Sing loudly and give generously – of your time, your love and your joy.  And if you are unable, for whatever reason, to find your joy, listen to those beside you.  Feel their light warming your stable until you can find your own.

Resonet in laudibus.

I’ve lost track of how many days we’ve been living in this strange state; how many weeks, maybe months are a better measure.  Time moves fast, and yet feels so slow.  It is still hard to comprehend, and yet there are ways in which we are getting used to things as they are.  A strange surreal dream.  One we’re all having together.  In the middle of all of that, I have been reminded very clearly this week, that there are many, many who are facing both enormous and minor challenges, small or scary disturbances that have nothing to do with this pandemic.  Dealing with things that must be dealt with, in spite of this pandemic.  It sometimes feels as if we’ve forgotten this, but these struggles are also real.

For some reason, it made me think of this song.  Surely everyone knows this one.  We all sang it at camp or school or in some gathering of some sort, somewhere along the way.  It has been written about many times, sung by many singers, treasured for its ability to engender warmth and maligned for its naïveté.  It has a fairly long history, some of which has been disputed, some of which involves being co-opted for all kinds of uses, political and otherwise, but most agree it comes from the Gullah Geechee people in the Southern United States.  People who were, and are, descendants of enslaved West Africans.  These people were deeply rooted in music, and this familiar word, kumbaya, is said to mean ‘come by here’.  I suppose, it is a lament or a call for what is needed.

Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya
Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya
Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya
Oh Lord, kumbaya

Someone’s singing Lord, kumbaya
Someone’s singing Lord, kumbaya
Someone’s singing Lord, kumbaya
Oh Lord, kumbaya

Someone’s crying Lord, kumbaya
Someone’s crying Lord, kumbaya
Someone’s crying Lord, kumbaya
Oh Lord, kumbaya

Someone’s praying Lord, kumbaya
Someone’s praying Lord, kumbaya
Someone’s praying Lord, kumbaya
Oh Lord, kumbaya

When we find ourselves in need, where do we turn?  Some have difficulty asking for anything, I know I would fall into that camp.  When we look around and see the world in the state is in today, how much more difficult is this call for help.  We feel we are imposing.  We want to be independent, we want to be strong. We care about burdening others.  There are lots of reasons to face things on our own.  But there are better reasons to reach out, to ask for help, to share the load.

We are fragile.  But we are also immensely strong.  It’s a bit like the way time is moving fast and slow all at once.  We are simply too complex to be one or the other.  This means we need each other.  We need to give, we need to receive.  It is a beautiful symbiotic thing that we have with the rest of humanity.  With our friends, with our families.  We carry, we rest.  We are carried, we renew.  Our fragility connects us and invites others to both come to where we are, and show us how to find them.

When I sing these words, and it is difficult not to when I hear the tune, this interaction is so clear, so present.  Someone’s singing.  I hear you and then you draw me to where you are.  You hear and then find me.  Someone’s crying.  I see your tears and wipe them away.  You see my pain and enclose me in your care.  Someone’s praying.  I listen and understand your needs.  You listen and look for ways to fill mine.  These are remarkably simple words filled with incredible power.  I don’t think they are naïve at all, but wise beyond what I had really considered.  Come by here.  Meet me where I am.

We are all on different journeys.  Some have an overdose of pain right now, more to deal with than should be allowed.  I am incredibly inspired by those who are able to face their fragility with strength that seems to carry all those around them.  Strength that invites us all to participate, and encourage, and just be better.  No denial of the hardship or inability to acknowledge the fragility, but the wisdom to do what’s required to rebuild, grow and heal with the hope and knowledge that something better is coming.

This is kumbaya.  And when we see these special people, we come to their sides and we sing, we cry and we pray.  Oh Lord, kumbaya.

As time passes, I suspect we all have doubts about what is going on.  Are we doing the right things?  What are the next steps?  Where are the trustworthy sources of information?  Lots of questions.  It is our responsibility to seek wisdom where it lies, not simply accept the noise of the loudest voices.  We must also seek the strength and guidance of those that can reassure us in our personal doubts.  With our lives turned upside-down, many are questioning their value and relevance in the absence of previously secure circumstances.  Many are doubting their futures in the reality of already shaky situations.  There are lots of doubts, and lots of encouragement is needed.  Look for strength and wisdom. If you are able, offer these things. We will get through this.

[Note: It is not Pentecost Sunday this week, this hymn just seemed right today]

*

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.

How will we be remembered?  What groundwork are we laying?  With our lives, our actions, our words?  What are the results of who we are, for the present for the future?  I wonder about this sometimes, when everything is in its usual state.  I suppose it is just a variation on the question of the meaning of life. But it seems important right now.  As our lives have been paused in a away, and it is a strange opportunity to considerer our impact.  In big and small ways.  Our humour, our skills, our light, our work, our fun, our joy, our anger, our frustrations, our pain, our kindness, our care. They are all part of what we contribute.  We are complex, but we can choose what we offer, what we leave behind – even in our failures, there is space for us to shine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have no idea what prompted me to choose this hymn today.  It’s not a particular favourite, I don’t actually know it that well.  As I sit here thinking about these words and this tune, I find myself wondering if I made the right selection.  What’s odd, is that the words weren’t even written by one person.  The first two verses by the famous Isaac Watts in 1719, the last two added later around 1781, possibly by the editor of  A Pocket Hymn-Book, Robert Spence.  They are based on Psalm 117 – which is very short at about three sentences.  A simple act of praise, in gratitude for kindness and truth, faithfulness and love.  And, well, maybe that’s just what I needed.

From all that dwell below the skies, 
let the Creator’s praise arise; 
let the Redeemer’s name be sung, 
through every land by every tongue. 

Eternal are thy mercies, Lord; 
eternal truth attends thy word.  
Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, 
till suns shall rise and set no more. 

Your lofty themes, ye mortals, bring, 
in songs of praise divinely sing; 
the great salvation loud proclaim, 
and shout for joy the Savior’s name. 

In every land begin the song; 
to every land the strains belong; 
in cheerful sounds all voices raise, 
and fill the world with loudest praise. 

It is interesting that these words are based on a Psalm of David, and yet speak so fervently about New Testament themes of salvation and a saviour.  I’m not particularly interested in that, and find it quite strange, actually.  But I do like the idea that it is possible for the entire world to look upon creation and raise our voices in praise.  That all who dwell below the skies, can sing with cheerful sounds.  The last verse is quite lovely.  Not only does every land begin to sing, but the song also belongs to every land.  Think about that.  If we were to accept the songs offered by our neighbours across this world, if we were to sing together in our various voices, what a tremendous sound could fill the air.

Is that what we are doing?  Every day we hear about how the choices of people unaffected by this virus are protecting those who are vulnerable.  I sit here healthy, at home, so someone else doesn’t catch this thing; so a hospital near me isn’t stretched beyond its capacity.  It is a song I am singing in unison, in harmony with people all over this planet.  Millions and millions of people are choosing to raise this powerful sound; choosing to accept a difficult truth and act accordingly, from one shore to the next.  It is imperfect, but it is happening.

I understand this is not what the Psalmist intended.  The origins of these words are about praise to a loving, faithful God.  They are about asking all on this earth to join in that praise. But as always, I think there is more to this.  It is also a broader concept.  If God, or nature, or spirit, or sacred, can be bigger than our personal definitions, this is about everything on this earth and how connected we all are.  There is something about the ideas of love and truth and kindness and faithfulness that tie us together.  Being joined by these things allows the whole to flourish, whereas choosing self merely devises our end.  These things are worthy of our praise. It is folly to to praise selfishness, and its ability to deceive us, for it only sacrifices both the singers and the song.

There is tremendous strength in our voices, in our actions.  All of them.  Every land, every tongue.  When they are joined in praise of what is good, what is right, they are a powerful force.  There are eternal truths below the skies.  They are those things that offer the greatest love, kindness, hope, faithfulness, joy, beauty, and generosity to all without discrimination or expectation.  If what we say and do doesn’t meet that standard, it just isn’t worthy of praise.  But when it does, it will sound from shore to shore, till suns shall rise and set no more.