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 was sitting in church last week when this hymn was sung, and I thought, I kind of like this one.  I don’t think I had heard it in quite a while, but the tune is very familiar (based on a traditional English melody) and feels like a pleasant walk in nature to me.  Obviously, the words also evoke this image – and were written by a Reverend Babcock in the late 1800s as a reflection on the many walks he took along the Niagara Escarpment in upper New York.  I will admit to being slightly perturbed by the excessive use of male imagery to represent God, somehow diminishing the grandeur of the Divine that is being described into an easily understood human package, but I will attempt to let that go as I consider this lovely little song.  Language of the time, I suppose.

This is my Father’s world,
And to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings
The music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world:
I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father’s world,
The birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white,
Declare their maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world,
He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father’s world.
O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world:
why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!
God reigns; let the earth be glad!

I could consider these words in terms of their beautiful description of our natural world.  The rocks, the trees, the skies, the seas; morning light and rustling grass. Wonders, all.  Understanding the presence of the Creator in nature.  Or, understanding the value of nature itself in its ability to remind us of something beyond ourselves, something majestic, something spectacular.

But it brought to mind something completely different.

What struck me in these words was the idea that nature sings.  The carols of the birds, the music of the spheres.  Of course this appeals to me – I love singing.  I love that we can sing together.  I love that it is possible for each and every one of us to join together and without needing anything beyond our voices, to produce extraordinary sound, emotion, spirit, meaning and community.  We can create astounding beauty – like nature itself does for us.

If I take this a step further, I realize that singing is as much an act of joy as it is an act of admiration.  We do it because it fills us with something difficult to describe.  It makes us feel good, it makes us feel sadness, it simply makes us feel.  But it also serves to remind us of what is greater than ourselves.  Be it nature or God – or be it the wisdom of the lyrics and the beauty of the notes.  The complexity of the harmonies, the simplicity of a lovely tune.  The laughter found in silly songs, or comfort offered in times of grief.  The rhythms that get our toes tapping, the solemnity that requires us to contemplate. The observations that reflect the entire human experience.

This beautiful act of expressing through song all that we are, all that we experience, all that we see, is one I value hugely.  It is universal – we all sing.  And it should be celebrated and protected, not merely as an act of mimicry, but as an act of deliberate participation.   Our voices can speak and offer so much.  I’m not sure we really understand that we need to sing, and that we need to fight for places in which to sing together.  We sing in our cars. Alone. But when we join together, something magical starts to happen.  We become connected – to each other and to the beauty of our world.  When we take the time to craft our singing, to learn from those who have spent their lives showing us this art and how to get the most from it, we bond with those we are working and playing with and we start to develop all kinds of skills and have all kinds of experiences.

When I walk through this beautiful world and listen to the music of the spheres, I want to sing along. Join me.  Our voices can unite for many reasons.  But mostly, to reflect the beauty we see every day – in the stars, in the birds, and in the eyes of someone listening.   For when the view is difficult, the sound of our voices becomes a beacon, a respite and a valuable tool in fending off that which threatens to weigh us down.  Sweet songs lulled us to sleep as children, and they can carry us as adults.  The act of singing is a powerful one that both gives and receives.  Filled with beauty and peace, comfort and joy. The human voice is an unsurpassed instrument.  So use it… sing and share, learn and grow, and let the earth be glad.

To be alone is a complicated thing. There are times when we are quite content to be alone – comfortable with ourselves and our thoughts and activities, at peace with whatever we are doing or experiencing.  But there are other times, when our deepest need is to be with someone who loves us.  To be in the warmth and safety of another’s presence.  To understand that, ultimately, we do not live in a lonely place.

Both sides of this coin are elusive.  It is hard to become content in our aloneness. It is hard to find that special presence, whether it lies in a person or in faith, that will carry us when we need carrying.  I suspect most of us spend our lives searching for and working at accomplishing both sides.  Some of us achieve the goal, others remain uncared for and lonely.

This hymn was written on June 6, 1882. Very specific. The reason is that its author, George Matheson, wrote of the experience as being an otherworldly happening that he felt was divinely inspired, and took him a mere five minutes to achieve.  He said, it was as if it was dictated by some inner voice that was not his own.  What is important to note is that he had suffered something, unknown to us, that caused what he referred to as “the most severe mental suffering.  The hymn was the fruit of that suffering.”

O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee.
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O Light that follows all my way,
I yield my flick’ring torch to thee.
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee.
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee.
I lay in dust, life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red,
Life that shall endless be.

There is such sadness in these words.  And such loneliness.  They sound like the words of someone who has suffered and who is so very tired.  And yet, each verse speaks to the presence of something else. Love, Light, Joy and Faith.  These foundations on which to stand in times of pain. These are not the empty sentiments of everything will be alright, these are the pillars that are being grasped because everything isn’t.  These are the strengths looked at when strength is gone.  These are the powerful ideals upon which a life is built.  These are the things left when we are alone.

We all suffer.  Some seem to suffer more than others, and I don’t really understand why. But there are times when I hear the words of someone who has suffered and feel a sense of tremendous strength.  Tremendous dignity.  Tremendous wisdom.  Some people come to these understandings walking a long and difficult road and somehow manage to achieve the gifts of love, light, joy and faith despite their circumstances, their suffering.  I admire this.  I aspire to own and exhibit these gifts.  These special people are valuable beyond measure.  Valuable in ways our world often doesn’t recognize.

Look around you.  Find those that suffer and admire their strength.  Perhaps the suffering is small, perhaps it is large, but open your eyes to the remarkable spirit that can rise above the mess thrown at it by life. Admire those who find their pillars, aware of their support even when all else is crumbling.

Look for those that suffer and are alone.  Perhaps you are the pillar that they need to grasp – give your love, your light, your joy, your faith.  Embrace the lonely if you have a strength to share.  Generosity of spirit is also an admirable gift.

Look at your own suffering and seek the smallest place to glimpse the love, the light, the joy and the faith that exists beyond yourself.  We are part of a richness of human spirits that can carry and reassure.  We are allowed to ask for help.  We’ve lost sight of this, but we are allowed to ask for help.

We are not alone.  We are many.  We are the love that will not let go.

I’ve been thinking about community lately.  It seems to be something that is difficult to find and, perhaps, not as common as it once was.  I recently had an interesting conversation with some people much younger than I about the subject.  We all wondered what the impact our diminishing community groups was having – on how we understand each other; on how we understand ourselves.

The idea of community is one that involves gathering together people with something in common.  This can be anything.  Politics, religion, family ties, culture, heritage, activities, geographic location, neighbourhood, work…. anything.  But it’s more than just having things in common.  It’s also about the bonds that develop.  The ability to connect beyond the shared interests.  The ability to both celebrate successes and carry the group and its individual members through challenges.  The ability to share lives.

In a world where we barely know our neighbours, and are often bombarded with the idea that strangers are somehow dangerous, how does community develop?  We need to gather.  And many of us are not great at that, myself included.  Making time for our communities requires effort.

This hymn was written around 1597, but first appeared in a 1625 collection of Dutch folksongs.  It has a bit of a strange origin in that it was written to celebrate a Dutch victory in a battle that was largely about being able to worship as Protestants.  I’m not a huge fan of military songs, but they were singing to celebrate their community’s new found freedom at a complicated time in church history.  They gathered to celebrate.  They gathered for strength.  They gathered for support.

We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing.
He chastens and hastens his will to make known.
The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing.
Sing praises to his name; he forgets not his own.

Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining,
ordaining, maintaining his kingdom divine.
So from the beginning the fight we were winning;
thou, Lord, wast at our side, all glory be thine!

We all do extol thee, thou leader triumphant,
and pray that thou still our defender will be.
Let thy congregation escape tribulation.
Thy name be ever praised! O Lord, make us free!

While I am uncomfortable with the literal battle imagery evoked in these words, I am interested in the idea of gathering as a community.  Of developing such strong ties, that we are able to withstand the metaphorical battles we all face. If I really think about this honestly, I have to say that this kind of community is much more complex than what seems to have become the norm.  Most of us have a handful of friends that we really like – and these dear ones become our communities.  But many do not have communities of any sort that include people of diverse ages, or backgrounds, or perspectives.  We stay with those who are like us – which, while being a real treasure, is not quite the same as being part of a healthy, thriving community.

There is something to be said of learning from those who are different than us.  There is something to be gained by hearing the wisdom of the old, the young, the tired, the strong, the sad, the newcomer, the enthusiastic, the joyful, the inexperienced, the differently experience.  There are so many ways to view this world.  There are so many ways to be good.  There are so many ways to offer kindness, love and compassion.

These remain uncomfortable words for me.  They speak to a kind of divisiveness that I’m not entirely sure promotes the ideal of community that I might desire.  I’m not terribly interested in winning a battle between my group and another’s.  However, if I stand back and think about how we can gather to become a force of strength, I am comforted.  I am sure that the writer of these words was looking to God to be that unifying force in this gathering.  Some may still do that.  Others will look to values or interests or ideas.  But, wherever we choose to look for the foundations of our communities, I suspect we should actively consider building with bricks of many colours, textures and materials.  There is beauty in our diversity.  When we cease gathering, and cease looking for gatherings, we miss it.

So, gather together and enjoy all the blessings.

I will admit that I picked this hymn solely because I liked its title.   I didn’t know it at all.  The tune isn’t very catchy and I can’t say I loved it.  It is one of those really, really old tunes (1539) that doesn’t exactly flow easily for our modern ears.   But I played it a few times and it started to grow on me.  And then, I read the words.

Now all the woods are sleeping,
through fields the shadows creeping,
and cities sink to rest.
Let us, as night is falling,
upon our maker calling,
give thanks to God, who loves us best.

The radiant sun has vanished,
its golden rays are banished
from dark’ning skies of night.
But Christ the sun of gladness,
dispelling all our sadness,
shines down on us in warmest light.

Now all the heav’nly splendor
breaks forth its starlight tender
from myriad worlds unknown.
And we, this marvel seeing,
forget our selfish being
for joy of beauty not our own.

Though long our ancient blindness
has missed God’s loving kindness
and plunged us into strife,
one day when life is over
shall death’s fair night uncover
the fields of everlasting life.

I love the idea of night.  The darkness, the quiet.  The possibility of peaceful sleep.  The time to let go of daily concerns, busy schedules, pressing concerns.  The beautiful feeling of comfortable aloneness. A time to rest and restore our bodies and minds.  The idea of night.

Then, there is the reality of night.  Lying wide awake wondering if sleep will ever come. All the concerns of days past and days to come swirling around like a flock of crazed birds.  Worrying about how difficult tomorrow will be because of not enough sleep.  The sadness found in loneliness.  The reality of night.

I find these words speak to both the ideal and the reality.  Lovely shadows creeping through fields as we sink to rest, yet we find the radiant sun’s golden rays have been banished.  These words are full of the suggestion that we need something to hold us when we find ourselves alone.  Alone with our fears.  Alone with our thoughts.  Alone with our failures.  Alone with our pain.  Alone with loss. For those moments we find ourselves facing the darkness of night, unable to find its beauty and peace.  We all need something to shine warmth when we are cold, tenderness when we are raw.

In the past few weeks, I have spoken with a number of people who are facing some of life’s deepest challenges.  We all have these times.  In these moments of night that bring no real peace or rest, it is easy to feel very alone.  For those that find themselves unable to see beyond the darkening skies, it can be debilitating to find any warmth.  For those that must go through difficult transitions, it can be so tiring to have the patience to walk the path.  For some the darkness is insurmountable.

Where do we find the sunshine of gladness to ease our way? I don’t know.  For some, it is in their faith, as this hymn suggests.  For some it is in their friends and family. For some it is in their therapist’s office.  For some it is in the beauty of nature, art or written words and ideas that they seek comfort.  But I suspect there is something in the act of seeking the warmth we need that helps us through the nights.

And yet, there are those times that the weight of the night is so heavy it is difficult to see beyond it or to seek what we need. It is in these times that those of us fortunate enough to find ourselves in moments of sunshine need to be the rays of warm light.  We may not have solutions, but there is something to be said for being a listening ear, a caring hand and a giving soul when darkness has become a thick fog. For loving kindness is a powerful tool against ancient blindness. It is present and it is warm.

Loving kindness has a tendency to reveal a beauty that is not our own.  The kind of beauty that resides in both day and night, in both sadness and joy.  The kind of beauty that gives us the opportunity to receive and offer peace and rest to the weary. When we deliberately walk in loving kindness we reveal the possibility of night’s safety.  And, just maybe, we are able to find paths in the darkness of the sleeping woods.

There are times in all of our lives where we just need to take a moment and find some calm.  Times when we need to allow ourselves to find peace – even if momentary – in amongst the stresses and challenges of our lives. Times when we give ourselves permission to spend time nurturing our souls so we can regain even a tiny bit of strength to carry on.  Because, life can be hard, and facing all it entails can be draining and debilitating.  For some this is about meditation or prayer. For some it is about exercise or going for a walk.  For some it is about taking a nap or listening to music.  Whatever it is, these times are necessary tools of rejuvenation.

The words of this hymn were written around 1845 by William Walford.  He was an uneducated wood carver who happened to be blind.  Apparently, he was a deeply religious man who spent a great deal of time memorizing Bible passages and eventually became the minister of a rural church in England. He wrote poetry, but relied on others to write it down as he could not.  This one was relayed to an acquaintance and, sometime later, was published by The New York Observer.  It was subsequently set to music by William Bradbury and has remained a popular hymn ever since.

Sweet hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer, 
that calls me from a world of care, 
and bids me at my Father’s throne 
make all my wants and wishes known. 
In seasons of distress and grief, 
my soul has often found relief, 
and oft escaped the tempter’s snare,
by thy return, sweet hour of prayer! 

Sweet hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer,
the joys I feel, the bliss I share, 
of those whose anxious spirits burn 
with strong desires for thy return! 
With such I hasten to the place 
where God my Savior shows his face, 
and gladly take my station there, 
and wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer! 

Sweet hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer, 
thy wings shall my petition bear 
to him whose truth and faithfulness 
engage the waiting soul to bless. 
And since he bids me seek his face, 
believe his word, and trust his grace, 
I’ll cast on him my every care, 
and wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer!

I’m pretty sure I’ve never spent an hour in prayer or meditation.  In fact, the times I feel closest to that kind of communing with my own spirit and my own understanding of the Divine are usually when singing. Sometimes this communion is found when I experience some kind of beauty – be it natural or human made.  I have known many who take this kind of time to consider their concerns and joys – I remember hearing that my grandmother would get up at around 4:00 a.m. every day to pray for a long list of people, myself included.   I know these words speak to this kind of prayer.

There are a few words in this hymn that strike me.  First, the idea that we are anxious spirits.  The second is that we are souls waiting to be blessed.  There is something powerful in the combination of these two ideas.  Yes, we are anxious and yet we can be blessed. I’ve been thinking about this a fair amount recently.  The notion that our anxiety may well be permanent, but this doesn’t rule out our capacity to find blessings in this life.  There are a multitude of reasons for our anxiety – some with solutions, others without.  There are long lists of justifiable reasons to be dissatisfied, frustrated, disappointed and unhappy.   Is it possible to find peace in a mere moment of calm?  I think maybe it is.

When we take time to breathe only for ourselves, we can access our essence.  That part of us that came before the circumstances, the illnesses, the stresses, the pain.  It is not easy to find this place.  There are so many layers between reality and this deepness.  I suspect my grandmother’s daily practice of prayer didn’t come naturally but was a skill developed over many years – and there were probably days she could have used more sleep instead.  I suspect there are times in our lives when laying aside our struggles is a monumental task, sometimes impossible without assistance.  This hour of prayer practice is one that requires immense commitment.  But, perhaps it is worth it.

Spending time rejuvenating one’s soul is a valuable act.  It allows us to live.  How we choose to do this is very personal and will vary for each of us.  In this hymn, the sweet hour of prayer results in wings that bear our petitions.  What an idea. The act of taking this time to be calm within ourselves, can result in something that then carries us forward. Not with solutions, or even answers, but with wings that help us bear the weight.  It is a beautiful image.  It is the flight of the heavy ladened made a tiny bit less burdened.  Take an hour, a few minutes, a moment to find these wings.  And then, fly.

It is a rare person that makes it through this life without moments, long or short, of deep pain.  Times that challenge, bend and sometimes break us.   Days (weeks, months, years) that take every bit of energy we have to move forward.  Sometimes this pain is circumstantial.  Sometimes it is about health – physical or mental.  Sometimes we are able to share it with others, sometimes we are not.

As I was thinking about the reality of the presence of pain in our lives, I was drawn to the section of my hymnal that is intended for use at funerals.  In these special hymns, there are words – and melodies – that are meant to comfort us; to help us walk through our most difficult of moments.  These hymns are, understandably, often about reassuring those that grieve.  Reminding them that their loved ones have moved on to a place of beauty.  Moved on to a place where their pain is finished, where they are reunited with those that have gone before, and are able to meet their God with joy.  Comforting, indeed.

This particular hymn was written in 1864 by Richard Torry.  I understand that we all have different views on spirituality and what it means for this life, and the next, should we believe that there is something beyond the now. But these words convey the message that as we pass from this world, we follow a beautiful stream to a place of freedom from pain, and comfort for our weary souls.  And, I suppose, regardless of what we believe, there is an idea that somehow in death, we are welcomed home.

Oh, have you not heard of the beautiful stream
That flows through the promised land?
Its waters gleam bright in the heavenly light,
And ripple o’er golden sand.

Its fountains are deep and its waters are pure,
And sweet to the weary soul.
It flows from the throne of Jehovah alone,
O come where its bright waves roll.

This beautiful stream is the river of life,
It flows for all nations free.
A balm for each wound in its waters is found;
O sinner, it flows for thee.

Oh, will you not drink of this beautiful stream,
And dwell on its peaceful shore?
The Spirit says: Come, all ye weary ones, home,
And wander in sin no more.

As always, I am left thinking that there is much more to these words for those of us still wandering amidst the realities of life. There is something to be said about these beautiful streams that carry us through our living pain. Sometimes they run into each other, follow the same path, merge, diverge; these streams that are everywhere.

The streams we are given.  Our parents, grandparents, mentors, teachers, aunts and uncles, sisters and brothers, families. These people that flow through our lives and offer wisdom and knowledge. That prepare us for what’s ahead.  That give us tools to swim.

The streams we seek.  Our doctors and nurses, our therapists, our counsellors. Our ministers, rabbis and imams.  These people that provide what we need to be healthy. The ones that are trained to offer life preservers when the waters are rough and we are unable to swim.

The streams we stumble across by accident.  Our friends, our colleagues, our neighbours. These people that support us and help us grow.  The ones that walk with us as we become who we wish to be.  The ones that share burdens – great and small.  The ones that say good morning.  The ones that say good night.

The streams we discover.  The places and experiences we treasure.  The beauty of nature.  The fullness of music.  The energy of activity.  The freshness of the air.   The exquisite depth of a painting.  The skill of the talented.

The streams we choose.  Those nearest to us.  Our mates. Our partners.  Our closest of friends. Our dearest companions.  These special souls that understand our pain.  That carry our pain with us.  That remind us of all the streams we have access to, even when we can’t see them for ourselves.  The ones that sit with us when we are dying because their love is great and their generosity allows them to put aside their own sadness in order to walk us through that final stream.

For all these small and large rivers of water that flow, I am grateful.  For myself, and, as I look out upon others’ lives.  And, in the refrain of this hymn, I hope we can find some understanding of how we are all connected.  These streams may not be easy to navigate, as we seek to find them or to be them, but they are a means of finding our home.  And they offer ways to provide safe spaces in which to feel, carry and recover from our pain.

O seek that beautiful stream,
O seek that beautiful stream.
Its waters, so free, are flowing for thee,
O seek that beautiful stream.

There are some words that, due to overuse and misuse, make me cringe.  Awesome (are you really in awe of your specialty coffee beverage?).  Amazing (are you really amazed by your specialty coffee beverage?).  And, well, blessing (have you really been blessed by your specialty coffee beverage?). Blessing, blessed and blessings, are not words I use often in my day to day life, although I may have used them on occasion over the years of these hymn commentaries.  There is nothing intrinsically wrong with any of these words, but I do find it difficult to reconcile the superficial way in which they’ve become part of our lexicon.

And yet, I can’t help feeling that I have experienced some real blessings this past week.  It has been a week of hearing from friends, relatives and even strangers that something I said, or did, or wrote, was in some way helpful or meaningful. The blessing is not that I had the wherewithal to do anything, but that there are people in this world who take the time to express gratitude for seemingly small things that have touched their lives.  These people are blessings because they require us to acknowledge that how we choose to live is much more significant than we can fully realize.

It all reminded me of this hymn.  Written in 1757 by Robert Robinson, a minister who was originally apprenticed to be a hairdresser (perhaps more like indentured, as, from the sounds of things, he was quite poor).  He wrote many hymns and apparently ended up with a congregation of over a thousand.  This particular hymn is about divine grace.

Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace.
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount I’m fixed upon it,
mount of God’s redeeming love.

Here I raise my Ebenezer,
hither by thy help I’m come,
and I hope, by thy good pleasure,
safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
wand’ring from the fold of God.
He, to rescue me from danger,
interposed his precious blood.

Oh, to grace how great a debtor
daily I’m constrained to be!
Let that grace now, like a fetter,
bind my wand’ring heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love.
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above. 

I suppose there are many definitions of what divine grace is, but one that struck me was that the divine within us influences how we behave; how we act, react and interact with those around us. This is not just a Christian concept; many religions and spiritual practices incorporate similar ideas into their understanding of how we are connected. Because we take on whatever we believe, it emerges.  Good or bad.  This is powerful.  We simply do not know in any moment which bits of who we’ve decided to be are floating from us into the world.

I suppose it is easy to say that we decide to be one way or another, and much more difficult to actually adhere to any decision, but I wonder if we have more influence than most of us believe.   Perhaps not to influence outcomes or circumstances, but to view this world with lenses crafted by our beliefs. And, consequently, to walk through it with a particular kind of vision.

The words of this hymn are quite expressive.  We’re asking to be taught a melodious sonnet, tune our hearts to sing, safely arrive home, be rescued from danger.  All these blessings being sourced with our divine. We raise our Ebenezer – the stone of help – and keep our eyes fixed upon it, fettered to it, because we are prone to wander.  What a lesson.  Whatever we attach ourselves to, whatever we keep in our view will determine who we are, what we do, how we react and what we send out into the world around us.

So, as I reflect on the blessings I received from others this week, I am reminded that who I choose to be is important. Something about my choices resulted in kind words returned to me.  I am conscious of how I look at this world, at my life.  And how my vision, how I choose to view this world and my place in it, influences my actions.  I am grateful for those who made choices to send blessings so I might be both encouraged and reminded of my own accountability.  I welcome the blessings.  I look for them. And in doing so, it is in deep streams of mercy that I find myself.  It is there that I choose to sing.

Epiphany.  The twelfth day after Christmas.   The day our decorations should come down, or, according to some traditions, we will have bad luck all year!  The day that Jesus was visited by the Magi (how they arrived so quickly, I do not know). The day we look for a prize in our galette des rois (if you haven’t had one, find one!).  The day the divinity of Christ is revealed – his appearance, his manifestation, his baptism, his light.

How brightly beams the Morning Star!
What sudden radiance from afar
Doth glad us with its shining,
Brightness of God that breaks our night
And fills the darken’d souls with light
Who long for truth were pining!
Thy Word, Jesu, only feeds us,
Rightly leads us, Life bestowing;
Praise, oh praise such love o’erflowing.

This old hymn was written by Philipp Nicolai, a German Lutheran minister, in 1599. Nicolai faced a number of challenges in his life, including religious persecution – he was forced to hide and carry on his preaching in secret house churches on many occasions.  When he was the pastor in Westphalia, 1300 of his parishioners died of the plague within a six-month period.  Hard to imagine.  He wrote to comfort his community in what must have been desperately sad and confusing times.

The idea of epiphany is one that gets tossed around quite commonly. I suspect we generally think of it as the feeling of suddenly understanding something.  Suddenly making a discovery, having one’s eyes opened, experiencing the proverbial lightbulb moment. What I wonder about, however, is why we think these moments will be, or need to be, a surprise.  Are we looking for these priceless bits of illumination in our lives?  Or are we just waiting for them to arrive?  Are we actively seeking out that which lights our way, our understanding, our world?

When I think about what fills my soul with light, the list is long.  Much of it comes from others – and I am grateful for what I have received; grateful for the generosity others have shared of their own epiphanies.  But, to really find a place in the kind of light and revelation that can shape my life and the world I live in, I must also look for the insights.  Longing for truth is meaningless without active searching; active thinking.

I recently had a conversation about the pace of our 21^st century world.  Everything is so very fast.  We want instant results.  We want instant information.  We want instant change.  We are not terribly concerned with accuracy, or truth.  We don’t seem to even know what they are anymore – are they about journalistic integrity?  Popular culture?  Technological capabilities?  Who knows.  But the speed at which we are bombarded with information purporting to represent these ideals is dazzling.  The perception that we regularly achieve incredible insight has become commonplace.  We sit and take in epiphanies as though they are entertainment, to be consumed and then tossed away in favour of the next one.

And yet, radiance is in short supply.

As I read the last verses of this hymn, I was, once again, struck by the call to action.

Come, heav’nly Bridegroom, Light divine,
And deep within our hearts now shine.
There light a flame undying!
In your one body let us be
As living branches of a tree,
Your life our lives supplying.
Now, through daily earth’s deep sadness
may perplex us and distress us,
yet with heav’nly joy you bless us.

Oh, let the harps break forth with sound!
Our joy be all with music crowned,
Our voices richly blending!
For Christ goes with us all the way,
Today, tomorrow, every day!
His love is never-ending!
Sing out! Ring out! Jubilation! Exultation!
Tell the story! Great is He, the King of Glory!

We can be living branches of our communities.  Whatever those communities might be, they are able to supply life in the midst of sadness.  They bless us with joy and growth – and provide space in which to gain insight.  When we work together with richly blending voices, we can actively achieve what is needed.

As we long for truth in the darkness of a world that is speeding towards many unknowns, let us choose to seek light that provides what is needed, what is right. Let us pursue knowledge, revelation, understanding, insight, truth. Let us remember that all are meaningless if they do not influence our choices; all are difficult to find if we do not choose to look; all are suspect if taken from a buffet as though free and easy.

Search for your morning star – there are many.  Allow it to inspire, guide and comfort.  And then, sing out with jubilation for what you have learned. Break forth with sound, exulting in the joy that can come from a life lived with purpose.

The season of Christmas is nearing its end and we continue to celebrate – singing our way into the new year.  This is one of the oldest carols I know, the tune going back to at least 1305.  The words are thought to have been written by Heinrich Seuse around 1328.  The story goes that he encountered angels singing these words and joined with them in a joyful dance.  It seemed an appropriate way to approach the new year.  Full of joy and dancing with angels.

In dulci jubilo,
Nun singet und seid froh!
Unsers Herzens Wonne
Leit in praesepio;
Und leuchtet wie die Sonne
Matris in gremio.
Alpha es et O!

These words are all about how now that our hearts’ joy lies in the manger, we rejoice sweetly with singing while this baby shines like the sun, the beginning and the end of all things.  The promise of this child clear and something to be celebrated with enthusiasm.

What is this promise?  There is much written on this subject. I am no theologian, so won’t even attempt to weed through it all, or even understand the varying positions, descriptions, interpretations, dogmas and theses.  When I look at the words and music I’ve been thinking about throughout this season, I come back to the advent themes.  Hope. Peace. Joy. Love.  Four simple ideas.  Four powerful words.  Four pieces that together make up one enormous promise.  A promise of what our world could be.  Hope for all that is good.  Peace for all that live. Joy to share generously. Love to encircle us in its warm embrace.  These need not be matters of complicated or divisive theology.  These need not be owned by a few or reserved for the approved. These are fundamental human choices that we can all commit to, that we can all engage in, that we can all receive.

As we enter a new year, let us sing and dance with the angels.  Look for them – they come in all shapes and sizes.  Some are religious.  Some are not. Some are beautiful.  Some are sad.  Some are weary.  Some are boundless.  Some are us. Some are them.  What I know for sure, is we need to both welcome them and become them; receiving and giving.  For at the beginning and the end of all things, we are hope, peace, joy and love.

In dulci jubilo.