For the first time since I began looking at old hymns, a friend asked if I had anything using a particular text.  I have had many requests for specific hymns, but never for specific words.  She hop…

Source: Take Time To Be Holy

For the first time since I began looking at old hymns, a friend asked if I had anything using a particular text.  I have had many requests for specific hymns, but never for specific words.  She hoped I might post something that would be of comfort to a friend of hers who was going through a difficult time.  After a bit of research, I found this old hymn written around 1882 by William D. Longstaff.  As far as I can tell, it’s the only hymn he wrote and while it is familiar to me, I hadn’t heard or sung it in a very long time.

Take time to be holy, speak oft with thy Lord;
Abide in Him always, and feed on His Word.
Make friends of God’s children, help those who are weak,
Forgetting in nothing His blessing to seek.

Take time to be holy, the world rushes on;
Spend much time in secret, with Jesus alone.
By looking to Jesus, like Him thou shalt be;
Thy friends in thy conduct His likeness shall see.

Take time to be holy, let Him be thy Guide;
And run not before Him, whatever betide.
In joy or in sorrow, still follow the Lord,
And, looking to Jesus, still trust in His Word.

Take time to be holy, be calm in thy soul,
Each thought and each motive beneath His control.
Thus led by His Spirit to fountains of love,
Thou soon shalt be fitted for service above.

The words in this hymn are powerful.  I was struck by how relevant they are for all of us – whether we believe the specifics of the language or not.  We live in a world filled with turmoil, anxiety and stress.  Our days are busy.  Our minds are full of thoughts, good and bad, happy and sorrowful.  We worry and we struggle to achieve all that is on our calendars.  We are constantly adding to our schedules, fitting things in, trying to balance the details.  Sometimes we succeed and sometimes we fail.  We are faced with unknowns, with crises, with the unexpected.  This is our normal.

And yet, as I read these words, I was reminded of our deep need to take a moment and be still.  To be holy.  One of the definitions of holy states that it is something worthy of our complete devotion.  For some of us that is about God.  For others it may be something else, or maybe it is just about quiet contemplation or meditation.  I think the key is that it involves our complete devotion.  It requires us to put everything else aside and take the time.

I love the way these words exhort us to take this time.  I love how they suggest that we need to feed on what is holy.  I love that they suggest that this feeding involves calming our souls but also helping the weak and becoming fitted for service.  These words are about renewing ourselves and then looking outward.  Past the rush of the world and into a place where our friends can see this little bit of holiness.  We are rejuvenated, but we also rejuvenate those around us.

During this very busy time of year, these words are a comfort.  Taking a moment to be calm and looking upon whatever is holy for you, is a gift.  It may be difficult, but the renewal is available.  It may be lonely, but these secret moments bring their own blessings.  These moments allow what we believe to be strengthened and renewed, maybe even found for the first time.  These moments allow us the space to become who we wish to be; allow us to see past the chaos in our lives.  These moments encircle us with what we hold dear, what we truly believe – they help us see what is holy.  And these are the soft places where we find our peace.

Tomorrow is All Saints’ Day.  Traditionally it is a day where the church celebrates those in heaven and the spiritual bond that those left on earth have with the departed.  Many cultures have simil…

Source: Help Us to Help Each Other

Tomorrow is All Saints’ Day.  Traditionally it is a day where the church celebrates those in heaven and the spiritual bond that those left on earth have with the departed.  Many cultures have similar celebrations – the Mexican Day of the Dead which goes back to the Aztecs, the Qingming Festival in China, Chuseok in Korea and the Nepalese holiday of Gai Jatra.  All of these cultures choosing to remember and honour loved ones that have passed.  Understanding the value of ancestors, celebrating the lives lived and respecting the losses.

I have been thinking about loss lately.  And in particular, the loss of those still living.  While I understand the finality of death is a deeply emotional and painful experience, there is something about losing someone who is still living that presents a challenge that can be devastating.  These losses can significantly impact our lives – as when a marriage/relationship ends or a close friendship is broken or simply diminishes. The camaraderie, companionship and love disappear but the need for these comforts does not.  Sometimes amidst anger and hurt and even a need to move on, the longing for what once was, or what could have been, can be very strong, and very painful.

As I looked for a hymn that might address this kind of loss, I found an old poem by Charles Wesley (1742), set to music by François H Barthélémon in 1833.  It wasn’t familiar to me, but the words struck me as a guide to a beautifully simple approach – bear each other’s crosses.  I think it’s what most of us try to do when we see a friend faced with these losses, but perhaps it’s something to also consider when we ourselves are experiencing the loss.

Help us to help each other, Lord,
each other’s cross to bear;
let each his friendly aid afford,
and feel another’s care.

Up into thee, our living head,
let us in all things grow,
and by thy sacrifice be led
the fruits of love to show.

Touched by the lodestone of thy love
let all our hearts agree;
and ever towards each other move,
and ever move towards thee.

This is the bond of perfectness,
thy spotless charity.
O let us still, we pray, possess
the mind that was in thee.

As I ponder the losses to be faced, I am conscious of how difficult it is to share the weight when the loss is our own.  When we feel alone.  When we feel as though our kind of loss has never been felt by anyone else in quite the same way.   For many of us it is hard to receive care and it is hard to move beyond the loss.  For many of us it is hard to provide care when it is not easily or well received.  And yet, Wesley’s words remind us that moving towards each other begins to create a “bond of perfectness.”  How beautiful.

Whatever our losses are, I hope there is space to accept those that draw near and attempt to carry part of the load.  I hope that we find ways to move past our shame, our pain and our anger in order to feel another’s care.  I hope we offer that care, and I hope we receive it.  And mostly, I hope we can help to help each other.

It has been a summer of passing.  A number of friends’ parents have died.  I’ve heard about friends’ and acquaintances’ friends, relatives and spouses moving past this life.  I suppose that is alwa…

Source: God Be With You Till We Meet Again

It has been a summer of passing.  A number of friends’ parents have died.  I’ve heard about friends’ and acquaintances’ friends, relatives and spouses moving past this life.  I suppose that is always the case, but for some reason, it’s been closer to home over the last few months.  I don’t know that I have anything to say about death or grieving, but having attended a few funerals recently, I was privileged to find some beauty in these difficult, yet sacred moments.

The first is the beauty of the community that gathers to carry those left; those closest, those who feel the pain deepest.  Most of us don’t really know what to say or do in these situations, but we show up. I can only imagine that the process would be entirely different if experienced all alone.

I have also seen tremendous beauty in the strength of those willing to share their intimate portraits of loved ones with this gathered community. Reaching beyond one’s own grief to express gratitude, love and thoughtful reflection of the person no longer there. What a gift.

And finally, I heard the beauty of music.  This mysterious thing that gently lifts our spirits, gives us space to weep, evokes countless memories and wraps us in its exquisiteness.  As always, I was struck by the power of music to care for us in these most difficult moments. To express what we cannot, and to link us as we listen and feel the grief together.

There are many hymns that are considered appropriate for funerals.  As I was thinking about this subject, this one came to mind – not so much because it is sung at funerals, but because it is hopeful at any ending.  The words were written by Jeremiah E. Rankin in 1880 and are quite lovely.  Filled with gentle care.

God be with you till we meet again;
Loving counsels guide, uphold you,
May the Shepherd’s care enfold you;
God be with you till we meet again.

God be with you till we meet again;
Unseen wings, protecting, hide you,
Daily manna still provide you;
God be with you till we meet again.

God be with you till we meet again;
When life’s perils thick confound you,
Put unfailing arms around you;
God be with you till we meet again.

God be with you till we meet again;
Keep love’s banner floating o’er you,
Smite death’s threat’ning wave before you;
God be with you till we meet again.

What I like about these words are how they offer a comfort to everyone.  They send off our loved ones in safety.  They provide the community a guide to caring for those grieving.  They give hope to those left behind.  The repetition of the phrase “God be with you till we meet again” reminds me that care is available. Whatever your understanding of the divinity is, whatever you believe, these words speak to this idea of the availability of care.  Sometimes it is found in our spiritual practices, sometimes in our community, sometimes in our memories, sometimes in music.  But it is there.  It is ours to give.  It is ours to seek.  And it is ours to receive.

So if you have been touched by this particular kind of grief recently, I wish for you to find yourself surrounded by the care you need.  I hope it can be found, I hope it is readily given.  And, may God be with you till we meet again.

I haven’t written anything for a while and usually when I select a hymn to consider, it comes from a long list that I collected back in 2014 when I started this little project.  But today I f…

Source: God Is Here Among Us

I haven’t written anything for a while and usually when I select a hymn to consider, it comes from a long list that I collected back in 2014 when I started this little project.  But today I find myself thinking about something I heard in the sermon at church this morning.  Today our minister suggested that we ask ourselves what the concept of the “Good News” means to our lives – how we face the world, make our choices, live our lives in the scope of that idea.  Obviously I was at a Christian church service and the words good news have certain connotations, but today that wasn’t exactly the focus.  We were challenged not only to consider how our beliefs guide our actions, but to answer the question as to what our beliefs actually are.  We were challenged to make decisions and choices that emerge from our own understanding of this thing called the “Good News” in a world where  to abdicate that responsibility increasingly results in a life driven by market forces.  I found that interesting.  This wasn’t the standard platitude about saving the world or spreading one’s own gospel, this was about taking responsibility for our beliefs.

Maybe I’m reading more into the sermon than was intended, but I found this refreshing.  This requirement to be active and questioning.  To look beyond what’s laid out for us by others.  I sometimes find myself searching for a way to reconcile the specifics of my Mennonite/Christian heritage with a deep belief that the Divine can be found in many ways and many places.  With many names, many expressions and many understandings.  God is simply not as small as the limits of our imagination.

This brought me to a hymn that is often used as a gathering hymn; a song intended to bring us into a state of worship.  The words were written in 1729 by Gerhard Tersteegen, a lay minister in Holland who wrote a number of hymns and was a mystic influenced by the writings of, among others, Teresa of Avila.  I was drawn to these words because they speak to the presence of the Divine; to the influence of this presence on our lives.

God is here among us; let us all adore him,
and with awe appear before him.
God is here within us; soul, in silence fear him,
humbly, fervently draw near him.
Now his own who have known God in worship lowly yield their spirits wholly.

 Gladly we surrender earth’s deceitful treasures,
pride of life, and sinful pleasures.
Gladly, Lord, we offer this to be forever,
soul and life and each endeavour.
Thou alone shalt be known Lord of all our being, life’s true way decreeing.

What I like about these words is the implication that belief and life are inseparable.  Whatever we choose to believe is completely defined by its application.  The choice made becomes so foundational, that all of life’s truths are decreed as a result.  It’s kind of awe inspiring and terrifying all at once.  That what we choose to believe and base our values on can be the strength that guides our daily lives is a beautiful comfort.  That we must make those choices wisely is daunting.  But I am left with the idea that how we live is a reflection of these choices.  Always.  And when our beliefs and actions don’t match, something outside of ourselves and our beliefs is guiding our way.  Market forces, maybe.  Other people, possibly.   So, whatever you choose to believe, live it fully, honestly and with joy.  Allow the belief to be present and active.  Because this life is a gift, and to me that is good news.

Alone thou goest forth, O Lord, in sacrifice to die; is this thy sorrow naught to us who pass unheeding by? Our sins, not thine, thou bearest, Lord; make us thy sorrow feel, till through our pity a…

Source: Alone Thou Goest Forth

Alone thou goest forth, O Lord,
in sacrifice to die;
is this thy sorrow naught to us
who pass unheeding by?

Our sins, not thine, thou bearest, Lord;
make us thy sorrow feel,
till through our pity and our shame
love answers love’s appeal.

This is earth’s darkest hour,
but thou dost light and life restore;
then let all praise be given thee
who livest evermore!

Give us compassion for thee, Lord,
that, as we share this hour,
thy cross may bring us to thy joy
and resurrection power.

This past Sunday, we sang this hymn at church. It is a beautiful and familiar tune, known as Bangor (an old Scottish tune of such popularity it was even mentioned in a Robbie Burns poem!). I was struck by the words this week.   They are clearly about the lonely path Christ walked as he approached the cross on Good Friday, and are obviously appropriate for the beginning of Holy Week.  What struck me, however, wasn’t so much that part of the story, but rather how these words could be applied to our own personal going forth journeys.

Every one of us walks a lonely path in some way, at some point in our life.   It seems to me we spend a fair amount of time talking with, thinking about and celebrating the communities that walk with us. But there are those moments that are ours alone.   That we share with no one. When we struggle to carry a heavy burden; sometimes feeling like it is an impossible task. Sometimes this weight is given to us by others.   Foisted upon us, we carry it – lovingly, with pain, with compassion, with anger, frustration and kindness.

As I sang these words, I thought especially about those that carry burdens given by others. The burdens that for many reasons cannot be shared, maybe are not even ours to share. The burdens that feel like earth’s darkest hours. The story of Christ walking this lonely path becomes a heartening example of how a lonely struggle is not abnormal.   There is comfort in this image. For when a burden cannot be expressed, sometimes knowing that others are also going through their own private struggle gives a kind of reassurance – a sense that we are not anomalies, but simply part of a silent community. And so, in this special way, we share the dark hour as we go forth alone.