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.

*

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. 

*

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

There is not much left to say.  I have said most of what’s in my head and heart, maybe more. Over the past five years, I have contemplated 124 hymns.  Some that I love.  Some that I like.  Some that I hate.  Some that I didn’t even know.  Some were favourites gifted to me by friends and relatives.  Some I chose for reasons that were varied.  Some contained words that were beyond my understanding, some beyond my own convictions.  Most provided interesting challenges – musically, intellectually and spiritually.

I have come to understand that the written word has relevance that can span time and place, complications of history and evolution of creed.  And that it is a dynamic force – not necessarily stuck in its original intent, but offering opportunities to find more, or less, than others before me, or those yet to come. These words have motion.  They stand still only in our resistance to reading them with multiple lenses.

This is the last hymn in my church’s current hymnbook. It is a good place to end.  With words written by Thomas Ken in 1694 and set to the beautiful Tallis Canon, composed in the 1560s.  It is a tune that I could listen to forever.  It is a tune I could sing every day and never tire of.  It is special.

All praise to thee, my God, this night,
For all the blessings of the light. 
Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,
Beneath thine own almighty wings.

Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,
The ill that I this day have done
That with the world, myself, and thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.

Oh, may my soul on thee repose,
And with sweet sleep my eyelids close,
Sleep that shall me more vig’rous make
To serve my God when I awake.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.
Praise him, all creatures here below.
Praise him above, ye heavenly host.
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

I am thankful for these songs we sing.  I am thankful for those with whom I regularly get to sing them.  I am thankful for those who taught them to me first.  I am thankful for the gift that music is – giving me a place to think, struggle, learn, share, weep and soar.  The combination of words and music that exists in this world is the entirety of my wealth.  It is my greatest treasure and my most valuable collection.  For those who throughout time and place have and continue to create this treasure, I thank you.  You are not forgotten.  Your gift is received into my open arms, my eager ears and my vulnerable heart.

For all the blessings of the light, and beneath almighty wings, we sing in thanks. We sing.  We sing.

Well, I really couldn’t come to the end (almost) of this hymn project without including a Mennonite hymn.  And this one is just that, through and through.   Both the text and music were written in 1890 by Amos Herr, a farmer and Mennonite minister from Pennsylvania. Returning from caring for his livestock early one Sunday morning, in the middle of a blizzard so bad, the story goes, he and his family were unable to get to church.  So he took the time to remember all that he was thankful for, despite the hardships of farm life and bad weather.

I owe the Lord a morning song
Of gratitude and praise,
For the kind mercy he has shown
In lengthening out my days.

He kept me safe another night;
I see another day;
Now may his spirit, as the light,
Direct me in his way.

Keep me from danger and from sin,
Help me thy will to do,
So that my heart be pure within,
And I thy goodness know.

Keep me till thou wilt call me hence,
Where never night can be,
And save me, Lord, for Jesus’ sake;
He shed his blood for me.

There are a few themes that come up repeatedly in these hymns we sing.  One of them is gratitude.  I love the way this one speaks to the value of singing a morning song – in exchange for all there is to be thankful for.  A lovely gesture and a beautiful reminder of the treasure we each hold within our voices.  The ability to express our thanks.

I also love that we have this debt. To owe God, or whomever provides one with kindness, mercy, safety, light and goodness, is a privilege.  It is a good debt.  It is the kind of debt that carries us through storms and shelters us when we are under stress.  It is the kind of obligation that allows us to sit down and write words of gratitude in a blizzard and see beyond the moment into the possibilities that life has given and offers, despite its challenges.

And, I love the means by which we can remit our payment. We owe a morning song.  A song that recognizes all and says thank you anyway. A song that is willing to be beauty amongst ugliness, joy amidst sorrow.  A song that rises above the realities of our lives to spread something lovely for our own, and others’, ears to hear.  What better way to pay for what we owe?  What better way to receive payment?

I am once again struck by the power of our songs. The power of our voices.  We see it over and over again – concerts, recordings, videos, religious celebrations – people singing and those listening being moved. Moved to applaud, moved to cry, moved to be calmed, moved to act, moved to share, moved to challenge, moved to love. Our songs are who we are and what we believe.  They are our frivolity and our depth.  They express our humour, our creativity, our complexity and superficiality, our histories, our cultures, our beauty, our feelings, our experiences, our skills, our talents, our good and our bad.

So I’ve looked at these hymns and I’ve sung them in my own way.  Because I owe a morning song.  For all of my life, and the life I have left.  I sing alone, I sing with friends, I sing with strangers.  I sing in gratitude, I sing with thanks.

There are not many occasions to sing evening hymns, which is sort of unfortunate because some of them are quite beautiful.  Hymns that speak about the end of our day, both literally and figuratively, in ways that provide comfort, reassurance and peace. Words and music that carry us beyond the day’s struggles or celebrations into places of rest.

When John Ellerton wrote this hymn in 1863, his intention was for it to be used at the close of a church service.  A means of encouraging the parishioners to contemplate how their worship and faith could influence their interactions with one another, as they went about their daily lives.

Saviour, again to your dear name we raise
with one accord our parting hymn of praise.
We give you thanks before our worship cease;
then, in the silence, hear your word of peace.

Grant us your peace, Lord, on our homeward way.
With you began, with you shall end the day.
Guard now the lips from sin, the hearts from shame,
that in this house have called upon your name.

Grant us your peace, Lord, through the coming night;
turn all our darkness into perfect light.
Then, through our sleep, our hope and strength renew,
for dark and light are both alike to you.

Grant us your peace throughout our earthly life,
comfort in sorrow, courage in the strife.
Then, when your voice shall bid our conflict cease,
call us, O Lord, to your eternal peace.

There is an abundant use of the word peace in this hymn. It is interesting.  This plea for peace as a way to give thanks, to guard against shame and hurtful words, to renew strength and hope, to comfort our sorrow and to end conflict. Interesting, because we often think of peace as the end result of the absence of these things.  And yet, Ellerton seems to be suggesting that while we wish for peace, it is also the thing that allows us to achieve it.  What a circle!

There are lots of definitions of peace.  There are ambitious ideas of freedom from war and violence, and intimate interpretations about silence and calm.  Most of us are looking for all that this spectrum offers – and would happily accept the ability to achieve the result; to benefit from the accomplishment of peace.  But as I’m thinking about this hymn’s words, I am wondering if peace is something we achieve, or if it is something we must choose.

Choosing peace requires me to give thanks.  Even when I do not have what I want or need.

Choosing peace requires me to be kind with my words.  Even when I am justified in my criticism.

Choosing peace requires me to value who I am and what I contribute.  Even when I struggle with confidence or shame.

Choosing peace requires me to renew my strength.  Even when I need to seek renewal outside of myself.

Choosing peace requires me to be hopeful.  Even when I have no answers.

Choosing peace requires me to comfort the sorrowful. Even when I have no idea what to say.

Choosing peace requires me to end conflict.  Even when I am in the right.

Choosing peace is, in reality, extremely difficult. For example, that last one is an immense challenge.  How do we end conflict in the face of incredible wrongs?  It is a conundrum.  But peace is the absence of conflict.  How can we possibly expect to achieve it if we use the tools of violence to lay its foundations?  I suspect the answers lie in the previous assertion that peace is as much the starting point as the desired end.  How we choose to take on the challenges of our world – the injustice, the pain, and even the blessings – makes a huge difference.

Our lives are filled with so much that is beyond our control.  Yet we have a tremendous ability to influence our world with every decision we make. It is both a responsibility and a great privilege.  Not one of us is so small that these choices are meaningless.  We are individually and collectively powerful, often in ways we cannot even imagine.  Make your choices carefully and let peace be your guide.

Go in peace.

There is something very special about finding a community that fits.  A group of people that supports and cares for its members.  Some are small, some are large.  Some emerge from our beliefs, our faith, our interests, our jobs, our struggles, our desire to learn, our hobbies, our activism, our politics, our neighbourhoods, our families.  There are lots of options.  Sometimes these communities have common goals and similar perspectives.  Sometimes they don’t.  Sometimes they develop for unknown reasons, or merely because we live in close proximity.  We can become very close with people completely different from us, those we seem to have nothing in common with.  It is a bit mysterious.

I suppose faith groups have always been seen as a kind of community.  The regular meeting of people with shared beliefs, the inevitable socializing that happens, the sharing of life’s biggest moments – births, weddings, funerals.  It is not surprising.  There are many hymns that reflect this, as well as the idea of humanity being God’s community on earth, and all the expectation that implies. This is one of those.

This is a very old tune and very old words.  The music, originally a folk tune from around 1700, dates back to 1735 as a hymn, and the words to 1723.  Initially written in German by Nicolaus Zinzendorf, they were translated to English by Walter Klaassen in 1983.  Zinzendorf was of noble birth, a Count, who relinquished this life in exchange for missionary work, travelling extensively, even as far as the UK and the United States.  He wrote around two thousand hymns, the first at the age of twelve (although, it has been noted in a few places that not all of them were very good and perhaps, he should have written less!).  He believed strongly that Christians were meant to live in love and harmony, and encouraged the concept of Gemeinde, or congregation as a community.  These words speak to this.

Heart with loving heart united,
met to know God’s holy will.
Let his love in us ignited
more and more our spirits fill.
He the Head, we are his members;
we reflect the light he is.
He the master, we disciples,
he is ours and we are his.

May we all so love each other
and all selfish claims deny,
so that each one for the other
will not hesitate to die.
Even so our Lord has loved us,
for our lives he gave his life.
Still he grieves and still he suffers,
for our selfishness and strife.

Since, O Lord, you have demanded
that our lives your love should show,
so we wait to be commanded
forth into your world to go.
Kindle in us love’s compassion
so that ev’ryone may see
in our fellowship the promise
of a new humanity.

Loving hearts united.  Denying selfish claims.  A willingness to die for one another.  Compassion. Fellowship.  A pretty tall order for community members.  But if we are honest, pretty close to what most of us wish for in our closest circles.  That commitment to a care so deep, that all else falls away in times of joy and sorrow, in both our finest and our bleakest hours.  A lovely thought that is not always easy to find, receive or provide.

Should we be so fortunate to find that special place, it must be said that is not always easy to be part of a community.  There are times when our communities break. When trust is betrayed, safety eroded and fellowship unsteady.  We are, after all, human.  We fail. We hurt each other.  We are hurt.  When connections are deep, these times can be unbearable.  The loss of support, the loss of contact, the feeling of being in a strange place that was once so familiar.

Yet, without our various communities, most of us would feel quite lost and alone.  The value of connecting with others, despite our tendency to err, is immeasurable.  It is the thing that ignites the filling of our spirits.  Good communities, no matter how flawed, require us to express care. They require us to engage in conversations that matter to all involved – sometimes on subjects of great importance, other times not.  But there is something about participating in these interactions that provides an opportunity to see the world through others’ eyes.  To look beyond our own view to one that expands endlessly.

We all know people struggling within and without our various communities.  People who can’t find their place.  People who have been wounded and need time to recover.  They need the care we can provide – as individuals, but also as the group.  Inasmuch as there are many options for drawing us together, there are many options for what we can give when we’ve found our place.  There is safety in the fellowship that can be used to provide what is needed elsewhere, and can expand the boundaries of the space.  And for those that simply cannot find their community, keep looking.  For the benefits of these connections are vast. The risks are far outweighed by the rewards.

What is a new humanity?  Who knows.  Perhaps it involves what we choose to look at and what we really see.  I don’t know.  But I am sure that when we connect, we walk towards something that is better than when we don’t see each other.  And maybe, that’s what community really is.  And maybe, when we look at the state of our world, it’s what we really need.  To look, and to see.  Allowing our hearts to unite.  In love, compassion and fellowship.

Heart with loving heart united.

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, other than that 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 a very humble 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 us all.  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 all 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.

I’m not sure why I picked this hymn.  I’m nearing the end of this year long hymn project (part two…) and am actually struggling to find hymns I’m interested in.  Partly that’s weariness, and partly it’s a frustration with texts that do not inspire, some that even offend.  But if I return to my original purpose back in 2014 when I started this project, I am reminded that part of what I wanted to do was find meaning in places I thought there was none.  There is always something to be learned, something to uncover.

This is a tricky one for me, as it is said to deal with the theme of “Christian perfection.”  Well, I’m pretty sure that doesn’t exist, and I’m absolutely sure perfect Christians don’t exist, but I’ll wade in anyway.  The words were written by Charles Wesley in 1747, but it didn’t take much to discover that the first stanza is an adaptation of John Dryden’s text used in Henry Purcell’s opera, King Arthur, from 1691 (although then it was a fair isle excelling and Venus choosing her dwelling – ever so slightly different!).  The hymn is sometimes sung to Purcell’s music, but the version I am familiar with was written by John Zundell in 1870.

Love divine, all loves excelling,
Joy of heav’n to earth come down:
fix in us thy humble dwelling,
all thy faithful mercies crown:
Jesus, thou art all compassion,
pure, unbounded love thou art;
visit us with thy salvation,
enter ev’ry trembling heart.

Breathe, O breathe thy loving Spirit
into ev’ry troubled breast;
let us all in thee inherit,
let us find the promised rest:
take away the love of sinning;
Alpha and Omega be;
End of faith, as its Beginning,
set our hearts at liberty.

Come, Almighty to deliver,
let us all thy life receive;
suddenly return, and never,
nevermore thy temples leave.
Thee we would be always blessing,
serve thee as thy hosts above,
pray and praise thee without ceasing,
glory in thy perfect love.

Finish, then, thy new creation;
pure and spotless let us be:
let us see thy great salvation
perfectly restored in thee;
changed from glory into glory,
’til in heav’n we take our place,
’til we cast our crowns before thee,
lost in wonder, love, and praise.

What can I find in these words?  They are filled with the idea that we, as flawed humans, require cleansing in order to achieve restoration, liberty and salvation.  The love beyond all loves that God gives is invited to accomplish this.  Maybe this is a good thing.  I know many people who rely on this concept of God’s love to achieve who and what they wish to be.  Many people hold dearly to the idea that this powerful divine force will save them.  Save them.  It’s a formidable notion, one I continue to struggle with.  It is a focus I have difficulty relating to – and one that sometimes has requirements that seem to be exclusive and damaging to those that don’t agree and comply, or those that simply don’t succeed.  The preoccupation with salvation can be quite unloving.

If I look at the words differently, I do find some comfort. A love that is beyond all other loves, is a good thing.  The breathing of a loving spirit into our troubled souls, is a good thing.  The idea that there is a force that is defined by its lovingness is a marvel.  We live in a culture that defines success in terms of our careers and accomplishments, our wealth and possessions.  We don’t really consider our ability to express all-encompassing love as something to be held in such high regard that it surpasses all else.  When was the last time that special person you know who spends all their time and energy caring for friends and relatives received an award worthy of media coverage?  Never. When did the friend who simply held your hand in a moment of pain get a salary raise for their efforts?  Never.  When was an honorary degree bestowed upon the one that taught a child to ride a bike or drove a carload of kids to camp or fixed your flat tire or helped you move? Never.

When I start to think of the multitude acts of love that we experience each day, and throughout our lives, I am amazed.  Amazed at their power and amazed at how much we take them for granted.  In a way, these acts are our salvation – those we receive and those we give. Without them, surely we would be lost. In doing them we become fully human by sharing in the good and bad this life has to offer.  It may be that God’s example of love is a source of inspiration, but the definition of love can also be found elsewhere. It may be hard to find that inspiration, and it may require choices that involve tremendous strength and openness.  But I suspect within the concept of an excellent love lies one of the secrets to a good life.  The one we’re living in the here and now.

Love divine, all loves excelling.  What a pursuit.  Will it be my salvation?  I don’t know. But I do know a life lived with this goal will be rich in ways that can’t be predicted.  Ways that may not be obvious, easy or of our time.  Ways that will result in a view on our final days that will see a life’s beautiful landscape, painted with all the colours available, fully experienced and wonderfully lived.