We are living in a kind of night.  A time where many things are on hold, not really gone, just dormant.  We are waiting.  We are receiving mixed messages – we should be resting and enjoying this time of less; we should be developing skills and trying new things, taking advantage of our extra time.  What we do during this time differs greatly depending on our circumstances, energy, access, wealth, personality, location, age and health.  There is no right answer as to how we should be spending our time, or what, if anything, we should be accomplishing.  But I am certain, that how we behave towards others matters. Our decisions to offer kindness and understanding are crucial right now.  These choices will make a difference greater than anything we can possibly imagine. And they will light up our night sky with a brightness that reveals what is good in us, and in this world.

*

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.

I’ve been thinking about gifts lately.  Those special talents that each of us have; those things we spend our lives learning, improving and in rare cases, mastering.  Things that sometimes seem as though they are unexplainable when we observe what others are capable of, that we ourselves can’t even contemplate attempting.  But, we all have gifts.  They are different, some more obvious than others. But no matter how hard they can be to find and hone, no one is exempt.

I am particularly interested in what it means to share our gifts.  Something many are very obviously doing right now.  I had a look in my hymnal at the section about offerings and found this hymn.  The words were written by William Walsham How in 1864.  He was an Anglican minister who wrote over fifty hymns, perhaps his most famous being, For All the Saints.  The music is trickier to track, as the tune was originally attributed to Schumann and carries his name.  However, apparently after his death, his widow, Clara Wieck Schumann wrote that she could find no evidence of this in her husband’s work, so we don’t really know!

We give Thee but Thine own,
Whate’er the gift may be;
All that we have is Thine alone,
A trust, O Lord, from Thee. 

May we Thy bounties thus
As stewards true receive,
And gladly, as Thou blessest us,
To Thee our firstfruits give.

To comfort and to bless,
To find a balm for woe,
To tend the lone and fatherless
Is angels’ work below.

The captive to release,
To God the lost to bring,
To teach the way of life and peace—
That is a Christ-like thing.

And we believe Thy Word,
Though dim our faith may be;
Whate’er for Thine we do, O Lord,
We do it unto Thee.

This is a hymn about stewardship.  The practice of being responsible for what we have, for acknowledging it must be cared for, and understanding that, in this case, it comes from and belongs to God.  This is not an uncommon belief among people who practice a variety of religions and even of those for whom nature or mother earth is considered the source of all.  And, I suspect, there is something very powerful in the idea that what we have is not our own.

I don’t think this means we are not able to earn a living from our gifts, using them to do our jobs or find satisfaction in our accomplishments.  I think this means they are fertilized by their use, by being shared.  By being offered with sincerity, generosity and openness, our gifts’ benefits multiply and enhance the worlds in which we live.  We receive our gifts mysteriously, we work at them conscientiously and then, if we offer them freely, they become something more than they would be if only self-serving.  Suddenly they provide comfort and blessings, balms for woe, tend to the lone, release the captive, find the lost, teach and offer peace.

It is easy to think of these kinds of angels’ work as being limited to only certain gifts.  But they are not.  There are countless ways in which what we offer of ourselves fills these roles. I am blessed by the tireless person in my neighbourhood who picks up garbage from the sidewalks and encouraged knowing that there skilled gardeners and farmers ensuring we all have food. I learn from those who share their recipes and instructions on all kinds of things, and am comforted when I am able to have conversations with my family members and friends. It is a balm for many worries to know of people that use their minds and knowledge to solve enormous problems being faced by us all, even if we don’t understand how these processes work.  Peace can be found in the gifts of others and the knowledge that not one of us must fill every need.

I am thankful for the many gifts I see in the people I know.  Many are beyond my understanding and impress me endlessly.  Especially now, the variety and quality of our gifts, and our individual commitments to using them, is so important.  We are all stewards of whatever we have been fortunate to receive – regardless of whether it seems significant or not.  When we share all these things, we become whole.  When we recognize the wealth and value of this variety, we start to become healthy.

Know that your gifts are valuable, important and welcome.  Do not let anyone convince you otherwise.  All of our gifts are treasures of immense beauty and powerful force.  Give freely and be satisfied that you are, and have done, enough.

Some of us have a lot of extra time right now and are having trouble finding enough to do, or to be motivated to do anything.  Some of us are swamped with work that takes more time than usual, or extra work that is a result of changes in our workplaces and job requirements.  Some of us are pondering a life without the work that inspires and motivates us, because it is simply not possible at the moment. Whatever the case, we all need to take time for ourselves. Time to acknowledge whatever supports us, and reflect on that which brings us peace.  Whether putting aside extra activity or fending off lethargy, take a moment to focus on the things that offer stillness and renewal. These moments are important and will enhance our lives in ways we can’t even imagine.

*

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.

The human voice is an amazing thing.  We have many other beautiful instruments – created over time and place to express our songs, our feelings, our desires, our hopes and our dreams.  But the voice arrives with us the moment we are born.  It is a sound like no other.  It can express everything there is to express.  Everything.  And when we sing, it offers something nothing else can – a connection that emerges from deep within our physical being. It can reveal and comfort us on an incredibly intimate level, but can also be shared in the grandest of ways.  Perhaps this is why we are turning to song so much these days, listening and allowing ourselves to be enveloped by the sound of the human voice.  Join in.  Sing.  What it offers is much more than entertainment. It is a way to be emptied of our concerns and filled with joy; express our pain and welcome comfort. It is our most basic act of hopefulness.  Find your voice, and sing.

*

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.

We’ve been at this a while, and I’m feeling the need for cheerful things.  Spring flowers help.  As do memories of wonderful experiences and chats with friends; walks in the fresh spring air, watching a bit of theatre or a concert from our living rooms.  It is simply too difficult to carry the weight of our situation at all times.  It is a challenge not to take in the information we are being given every day, the grim statistics.  The good decisions, the poor decisions; the wise and the foolish.  And, while it appears we are entering a phase of cautious optimism, there is still much concern about how this will end, how we will slowly resume our lives.

As I flipped through my hymnal today, I came across this lovely tune.  It is based on a soprano aria from Bach’s Cantata No. 68, and is full of cheer.  The original words are joyful and merry.

Mein gläubiges Herze,
frohlocke, sing, scherze,
dein Jesus ist da!
Weg Jammer, weg Klagen, 
ich will euch nur sagen:
mein Jesus ist nah.

My faithful heart,
rejoice, sing, be merry,
your Jesus is here!
Away with sorrow, away with lamentation
I shall just say to you:
my Jesus is close.

The words in the modified hymn are similar with some additions.  Written in 1888 by William G. Tarrant, they incorporate some incredible imagery to encourage our merriment – our recognition of the beauty that surrounds us.  Tarrant was a Unitarian minister, but began as a silversmith and metal worker.  It seems to me that someone with those particular skills would be inclined to notice and be inspired by that which is beautiful.  To understand its value.

With happy voices singing,
Thy children, Lord, appear;
Their joyous praises bringing
In anthems full and clear;
For skies of golden splendor,
For azure rolling sea,
For blossoms sweet tender,
O Lord, we worship Thee.

Both sets of words, as I read them, have a common thread.  A sense that it is our charge to notice something.  Our faithful heart can rejoice in what it sees. Listening to voices in song can evoke the vision of the splendour of the skies, the azure of the sea, and the sweetness of the blossoms that we are currently surrounded by.  We can be filled with gratitude, and we can be joyful.  In fact, I wonder if our choice to embrace the merriment found in these simple pleasures is precisely what we need to rise above a circumstance that we can do little about.

Of course, all of this is easy to say. It is easy to read a few words and listen to a few notes and have a moment of cheer.  It is more difficult to choose to live in our darkest hours as though we are merry and celebrating.  There is much to mourn, there are many losses.  There are minutes, hours and days that feel as though they are covered by clouds heavy with potential storms, with gloomy weight.  But amid these realities, there are countless examples of slivers of sunshine  that can be found, if we choose to notice.  Perhaps they are simply things we tuck away in our memories for when we can better enjoy them and join in.  Perhaps they are simply reminders that beyond our heaviness there is joy.  Perhaps they are simply ideas that we will ponder when we are able.

Wherever we find ourselves, we are surrounded by cheer.  It is there.  When we see it and feel it, and when we do not.  When we wake in the morning and are weary and feel as though we haven’t slept, the seas are still the bluest of blues. When we tire of the monotony of our unusual routines, the sunsets still blaze with colour.  When we find ourselves alone in a silent room, the children’s voices still sing with merriment.  These things are as real as anything else.  Look for this cheer – take it in and save it for your rainy days.  This is a kind of faith that we need right now.

Remember these joys.  And then, celebrate and be merry.

A friend of mine has been sharing beautiful photos of all the spring flowers blooming in her neighbourhood.  It is exactly what is needed these days.  A little bit of colour, a little bit of beauty.  A little bit of wonder at the remarkable ability of nature, planted by us or growing wild, that continues to exhibit life in such a dramatic way.  Whether a single bloom or a garden filled with an endless rainbow, these reminders of renewal and growth are a welcome sight.  They tell us that life moves forward, that some things are constant, that beauty exists and that there is hope everywhere.  We live in a spectacular world.  It is flawed, it offers challenges, it can be difficult and unfair.  But it is beautiful and it is worth caring for and preserving, sharing and celebrating.  Sing a song of thanks today – for all the blossoms that fill our view and encourage our songs.

*

All creatures of our God and King,
lift up your voice and with us sing,
Alleluia! Alleluia!
O brother sun with golden beam,
O sister moon with silver gleam!
O sing ye! O sing ye!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

I love this hymn. It is so joyful. If you take the time to consider all seven verses, it simply exhorts the whole planet to sing. What a great idea. Sun, moon, wind, air, clouds, water, fire and light. Sorrow, pain, tender hearts and death. Lifting voices; singing together.

We can thank Francis of Assisi for these exuberant words.  He wrote them around 1225, and they are considered to be one of the oldest hymn texts still in use. Francis of Assisi was a radical in his time. He abandoned luxury at a time of extreme decadence within the church, and encouraged a life of poverty and peace. It is no surprise, reading these words, that he has also become the patron saint of ecologists. Clearly he loved and valued creation.

Dear mother earth, who day by day
unfoldest blessings on our way,
Alleluia! Alleluia!
The flowers and fruits that in thee grow,
let them God’s glory also show!
O sing ye! O sing ye!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

So sing. Look around and see the world in its beauty. Treasure it – this place where we live, breathe and die. This place we share. This place worth singing about. Sing! And let it prompt a life worthy of the song.

We are impatient.  This has become increasingly clear this week as I’ve heard so many reports of trying, wanting, to get things back to normal as soon as possible.  Well.  I’m not sure what normal is, but I am sure that if we don’t follow through with our commitment to caring for the vulnerable, they will be the ones who suffer, they will be the ones who die.  This is a hymn that my church has been singing at the end of our virtual services during this pandemic. It speaks to our care of each other and our desire to extend that care until we are able to meet in person again.  Choosing to disregard that care in favour of those things that make our lives easy and full, even things that are good and meaningful, is problematic.  It is callous and it is selfish.  Take care.  Seek patience.  We can do this until that time when it is safe for all to meet again.

*

Despite the title of this hymn, which is usually used as a benediction or blessing at the end of something, I am not quitting a mere two weeks into this little project.  For some reason, as I was thinking about what I wanted to ponder this week, this lovely Ralph Vaughan Williams tune kept popping into my mind.  I have arranged it once before, but it spoke to me in a completely different way this time, so I hope I’ll be forgiven for this repeat hymn.  Actually, it strikes me that one of the great beauties of these songs is their ability to say different things at different times to different people.  There’s some special wisdom there.

September 21 is the UN International Day of Peace.   A day where the world celebrates the ideals of peace.  Well, I’m not sure any of us actually celebrate or if most of us even know this day exists, but it does.  I think about it every year at this time.  A small reminder that we value peace but we live in a world where it doesn’t exist in many places, on many levels.  It is both big and small, and its absence impacts greatly.

It seems we are quite comfortable with wishing for peace.  World peace.  Peace of mind.  It is good and we want it.  But I look around and see so much that is working hard against this thing we want so desperately.  Consuming the news these days provides blatant examples of how far away from the ideal we have strayed.  Our inability to reconcile this general desire for peace with our self focus, greed, wastefulness, distrust and disrespect is obvious.  Peace is simply not our priority.  For those of us with great privilege, this can be fairly easy to disregard. For those without, it is not.

So, where does this hymn fit into all of this?  It struck me as I read through the words, that, once again, there are within them such clear instructions of how we take on the great responsibility of being peace makers.  Because peace is made, it doesn’t just turn up.  It requires effort and sacrifice and kindness and joy and strength.  It is a creative act in the truest sense of the word. We must be the creators of this dream.

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.

These words may seem like they are all about what will be done for us, but I kind of think they are encouraging us by showing us what is needed.  Encouraging us to be the earthly actors that can guide, uphold, care, protect, provide, love, face death and put unfailing arms around those we meet.  What a challenge.  Imagine if that was our world’s priority?  We’ve all seen or heard about examples of people who lived their lives with this perspective, the Mother Theresa and Ghandi types.  We are always impressed.  But what if it was also our own personal philosophy?  I suppose it sounds simple and a bit naïve, but I can’t help wondering if it would make a huge difference.  Maybe not to the whole world, but to ourselves.  Creating peace in our immediate spaces would be a powerful act of defiance.  We live in a culture that is currently thriving on negativity, on insults, on denigration, on comments that are often hard to read and hear.  The act of peace-making defies this trend.  It requires us to stand up to disturbingly common injustice, addictive negativity and simple rudeness with the tools of kindness, compassion and strength. Walking on this path paved with fearless love and a belief in what is good – in the face of all that we find disgraceful and painful, in the face of those who seek different rewards – takes us to where peace can be found.  It is a difficult path, but it is filled with beauty.

When I read the words “God be with you till we meet again,” I find myself unable to look upon the recipient of the words with anything other than warmth.  In amongst all the instructions for behaviour in this text, that is what sticks out for me.  If I sing that line to your face, I am wishing care upon you – be it from God or whatever other source is meaningful.  It is very difficult to wish care upon someone and remain filled with hatred or disdain.  And that really has nothing to do with whatever has been done, and everything to do with what I am willing to send out into this world; with who I choose to be.  I choose to be kind.  The recipients of my kindness may choose differently, and that may make me angry and may require action, but I still choose to be kind.  Because peace is found in living life at its most generous, and I hope the horrors of this world do not deter us from trying to plant its seeds.

God be with you till we meet again.

There are times when it becomes extremely clear what we really need to get through life.  We are in one of those times.  Today, I offer a reminder of the beautiful streams we each have flowing through our worlds – some small, some fast, some slow, some gentle, some passionate, some fierce, some strong.  Find these waters of renewal and be refreshed.

*

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.

As we near the end of yet another week in isolation, and begin a new month, I can’t help think about what this whole situation means.  How will it be remembered? Is it more than an inconvenience unlike anything we’ve ever experienced?  What does it tell us about who we are and what we value?  Time will tell, I suppose, and I hope we learn the lessons that something of this scale can offer.  But a part of me wonders.

It is no secret that there are some beautiful songs from Wales. Often called a land of song, there is a culture of choral and folk singing there that encompasses everything from church services to sporting events.  They are a people that love to sing.  This particular tune, Calon lân, is very familiar, although it doesn’t really have an English version.  It is played and sung in all sorts of places –  church services, on tv shows, in movies and, most famously, by the crowd before rugby matches!  It isn’t exactly the kind of song one would expect to get a crowd going at a sporting event, but imagine what it would be to hear thousands of voices raised in song as they supported their team.  There’s something very powerful in that act of joint encouragement.  Particularly when you consider the words.

I don’t ask for a luxurious life,
the world’s gold or its fine pearls,
I ask for a happy heart,
an honest heart, a pure heart.

A pure heart full of goodness
Is fairer than the pretty lily,
None but a pure heart can sing,
Sing in the day and sing in the night.

If I wished for worldly wealth,
It would swiftly go to seed;
The riches of a virtuous, pure heart
Will bear eternal profit.

Evening and morning, my wish
Rising to heaven on the wing of song
For God, for the sake of my Saviour,
To give me a pure heart.

I appreciate that sports fans, or anyone really, may not be entirely focused on the meaning of the words they sing.  I understand that music can mean different things to different people, at different times, for different reasons.  But these words have a great deal to offer us in our current situation.  In a way, we are cheering for our teams as we sit at home and wait.  We are encouraging our researchers, our healthcare workers, the vulnerable.  We are supporting them in hopes they will succeed and be safe.  By the very act of staying home.  Of relinquishing our day to day routines for the greater good.

We are not doing this for our own benefit. Some seem to think they are, but that’s not the case.  We are doing this for others.  We are doing this to protect our world, our neighbours, our grandparents, our children.  This is a pure pursuit.  Its results are eternal, not short term.  And this seems to be a hard lesson to learn and to comprehend.  What we’re doing is not for today, it’s for tomorrow.  It’s for the ability to live in health and safety – six, twelve, eighteen, or more, months from now.  It’s so we can return to our collective song with the full knowledge that the act of joining our voices will be filled with joy, not anxiety or fear of spreading pain and suffering.

So, for now, we sing alone.  We sing with a purity of sound that is fairer than the prettiest lily.  We sing in the day, we sing in the night.  We wait for that moment when we will sing together again, and treasure these memories of a time when our lone voices joined to carry the entire world.  There is a deep happiness to be found in our frustration, pain, anxiety and boredom. It is the sound of healing.  It is slow, but it is beautiful.  A happy heart is a complicated thing, but it is worth seeking with purity of intentions, with goodness and commitment.

Rise to the heavens with your song.  And I will with mine. Together we are beautiful.  Together we can remember.  Together we are a choir of unexpected power.

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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