When I posted this five years ago, we were able to celebrate my parents’ anniversary in person.  We gathered that summer in Manitoba and enjoyed each others’ company, had a wonderful celebratory dinner together, spent a few days taking walks and sharing meals at a small resort in Manitoba.  Today marks their fifty-fifth anniversary and we will celebrate differently.  But we still celebrate.  So many of us will mark important events during this time of isolation.  It may be hard to face these celebrations, but I suspect we need to nonetheless. Enjoy these special occasions, despite our inability to mark them in our usual ways.  The goodnesses of life is real, and we celebrate what these days mean, not merely the practices we’ve become accustomed to.  So, happy anniversary to my parents – and all others who find themselves without their normal parties, dinners and gatherings.  We are with you in spirit and in joy.

*

For a very special reason, I have chosen the hymn myself this week. Fifty years ago on Sunday, this hymn was sung at a wedding. It was the day my parents were married. Something to celebrate. As I look around my world, I notice that marriages seem as likely to fail as succeed, and I think it is worth noting the ones that stand the test of time.   I’m not sure why some succeed and some don’t. Many, many reasons I’m sure, but this hymn’s text acknowledges the challenges of this kind of relationship and this kind of commitment by offering a prayer for it; the need for something beyond our humanness to ensure endurance.

O perfect Love, all human thought transcending,
lowly we kneel in prayer before thy throne,
that theirs may be the love which knows no ending,
whom thou in sacred vow dost join in one.

O perfect Life, be thou their full assurance
of tender charity and steadfast faith,
of patient hope and quiet, brave endurance,
with childlike trust that fears no pain or death.

Grant them the joy which brightens earthly sorrow;
grant them the peace which calms all earthly strife;
grant them the vision of the glorious morrow
that will reveal eternal love and life.

These words were written by Dorothy F. Blomfield in 1883 for her sister’s wedding. I like that they reflect on the idea that this relationship – this life partnership – can help us through the sorrows and strife to be found in our lives. I like that the community gathered at the wedding participates in asking for the security of the sacred vow. This joining of individual commitment and communal support is probably a really important ingredient of a successful relationship. Perhaps we underestimate that, in our busy lives and in a time when diminished connections to any community are prevalent.

As I read these words I am very conscious of those to whom it doesn’t seem to apply. Those who are not married or, perhaps, differently married than what a hymn might imply. Those who are single, by choice or not. Those who are separated, estranged or divorced from the one they made that sacred vow with. Personally, I choose to view these words in a broader sense than just the traditional description of a marriage. I think there are many beautiful relationships to be found that can, and should be supported by our communities. Many that can rely on the sacred nature of commitment and love to carry those involved through their entire lives. I value these kinds of deep, caring relationships and friendships, and wish them for everyone.

I am thankful that my parents chose to foster something that endured the years. I hope the experience of observing a long, successful marriage reminds me of the value to be found in committing to something or someone this deeply. But I also hope that this foundation provides a space of compassion for those who have lost this thing that we celebrate. It is indeed a privilege to have a life partner. It is not always easy to find or keep one. We celebrate those who succeed – but let us also carry those who don’t.

If we are learning anything in this pandemic, it is that we are connected.  Our actions have an enormous impact on those around us, on the whole world.  It is not difficult to find statistics that bear this out.  What we do, how we treat each other, our ability and willingness to look beyond our own discomfort matters greatly.  This is a lesson we need to learn, and need to understand beyond the reach of this current virus.  It is fundamental to our survival long after this passes, for more reasons than I can count.  How we choose to respect our connections speaks to who we are, who we choose to be, who we will become. We all dwell on this earth.  Together.

*

We all dwell on the earth.  This seems important.  Not so much for the obvious reason that we don’t, currently, have any other options, but because it is something we share.  As I’ve been thinking about these hymns over the past few years, I suppose that is something that has become precious to me.  The idea that we share a great deal.

This hymn uses a tune by Louis Bourgeois from the Genevan Psalter of 1551, and it just may be one of the best known tunes in any modern hymnal.  It is sometimes sung with different words, but these are pretty close to the original, based on Psalm 100, written by William Kethe in 1561.  People have been singing this for a really long time.  It started in Geneva, moved to England and spread from there.

All people that on earth do dwell,
sing to the Lord with cheerful voice.
Serve him with joy, his praises tell,
come now before him and rejoice!

Know that the Lord is God indeed;
he formed us all without our aid.
We are the flock he surely feeds,
the sheep who by his hand were made.

O enter then his gates with joy,
within his courts his praise proclaim!
Let thankful songs your tongues employ.
O bless and magnify his name!

Because the Lord our God is good,
his mercy is forever sure.
His faithfulness at all times stood
and shall from age to age endure.

I like this tune – it is so familiar.  In my own family and church tradition, we sang it with the words of the common English doxology, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow…” before special meals as grace.  We sang it together, in four-part harmony.  All of us. We knew it, we joined our voices.

In this version, we are reminded of the need to praise with a cheerful voice.  Reminded of the source of life, mercy and faithfulness.  It is powerful to look beyond oneself to something bigger, something shared.  Certainly we all define this differently – for some it is God, as in these words, for others it is the earth itself, in all its beauty, majesty and power.  For me, I’m not convinced these kinds of differences matter very much, but I am convinced that when we join our voices to praise that which is truly good, and that which we share, we are likely to move together.

Perhaps it is this act of sharing the earth that struck me, in the wake of last week’s Earth Day.  We all look with wonder at the same stars, whether we practice the same religion or not.  We all need clean air and water.  We live our lives celebrating in good weather, worrying in bad.  We notice our neighbour’s flooding and mourn their losses – we attempt to help; we ask ourselves what more can we do?   We share the experiences of this world, for better or worse, amongst the ages and across our borders.  No matter how much we try to divide ourselves, the earth shows us over and over that we are one.  What I do here, impacts how you are able to live there.

For some reason, this hymn spoke to me about our connectedness.  The details of our praises may vary.  The importance of knowing we are small and need to look far beyond our own spaces, is clear.  When we see only our own space, we miss not only the needs of the other, but the very definition of the Divine.  And we miss the beauty and joy to be found; to be treasured; to be protected.

All people that on earth do dwell.

I was speaking with someone recently who was struggling with their own emotions during this pandemic.  Struggling with the realities and the mounting stress and anxiety.  They mentioned that it was difficult to watch friends who seemed undisturbed, strong and confident as they moved through this situation. What struck me about this was that we all cope in different ways.  And, we will all emerge with different lessons learned.  And both of these things are good. Some will become more compassionate, others will solve problems in the moment.  Some will exhibit empathy, some will offer support, some will accept kindness, others will be fountains of strength.  We all have a role, we all matter – regardless of how we face these incredible challenges.  As we look to each other, ourselves and our leaders, we must be cognizant of our differences.  We must celebrate them and be understanding.  This is a long journey with lots of stops along the way.  For those that seek to serve the greater good, there is space for all of our gifts and room to forgive all of our failings.

*

There are times when I read through these hymn texts and I find the language we use to describe God very limiting.  In fact, I sometimes wonder why we are interested in such a small God, defined as a mere reflection of only some of us, in terms that can feel one dimensional.  In this hymn, written by William H. Burleigh in 1859, God is appealed to as a father. For those of us who have enjoyed the presence of good fathers, this is relatable and positive.  For those that have not, it is problematic.  For those of us that are seeking something beyond an earthly creature, perhaps we need a little more.  For those that wish to find themselves in the face of God – but are not fathers – we crave imagery that represents who we are, inspires what we wish to become, and reveals all that we hope to reflect.

As I looked at this hymn, I noticed that, in tiny print at the bottom of the page, alternate words were included.  For me, these are welcome and helpful.  They begin to expand this Divine being into something far greater than one human role fraught with complexity, as all human roles are.  They begin to guide my vision towards the character of God.

Lead us, O Wisdom, in the paths of peace;
Without thy guiding hand we go astray,
And doubts appall, and sorrows still increase.
Lead us, through Christ, the true and living way.

Lead us, O Teacher, in the paths of truth;
Unhelped by thee, in error’s maze we grope,
While passion stains and folly dims our youth,
And age comes on, uncheered by faith and hope.

Lead us, O Guardian, in the paths of right;
Blindly we stumble when we walk alone,
Involved in shadows of a mortal night,
Only with thee we journey safely on.

Lead us, O Shepherd, to thy heav’nly rest,
However rough and steep the pathway be,
Through joy or sorrow, as thou deemest best,
Until our lives are perfected in Thee.

This prayer is full of requests to find paths that most of us are, on some level, interested in pursuing.  Peace, truth and all that is right.  I have no doubt that we vary in our definitions of what each of these pursuits mean, but maybe the idea that we are all seeking is useful.  The line that says, “blindly we stumble when we walk alone,” is particularly meaningful.  In this context, alone means without God, but walking alone – whether in our day to day lives, or in the ways we develop and process thoughts and ideas – is a path that is filled with shadows.

What I like about the expanded words in this case, is the understanding that our search for peace and truth requires the contribution of a variety of sources, be they spiritual or earthly.  There is no single definition of what we need to achieve our state of rest, or find our place of fulfilment.  We need wisdom, we need teaching and we need to be cared for, shepherded and guided through whatever our paths come across.

Leadership can be found in many places.  In faith.  In knowledge.  In those around us, near and far.  In those we know, those we don’t.  In the thinker’s ideas and the writer’s words.  In the artist’s expressions and the gardener’s labour.  Leadership can be found amongst the highest echelons of power and the lowest states of poverty.  It can be corrupt, and it can be pure.   When we pray, hope, desire and beg for peace, let us be careful of whom we ask it.  Because the characteristics of wisdom, teacher, guardian and shepherd are not always found in the obvious places, but they are always necessary to build this particular path.  These are characteristics of strength, not self.  They are characteristics that give, rather than take.

When I go back to the idea that how we speak about the concept of God, I am conscious that to expand our language means to open up space for many more of us to be included.  These things that define those that lead us through the joys and sorrows, the rough and steep pathways, are characteristics we can all exemplify.  A bigger God requires more from us.  Perhaps that is the real challenge.  Perhaps that is what we are often resistant too. Creating these paths of peace is hard. It means moving out of the way for gifted leaders to show us new ways.  It means relinquishing status that has become meaningless in its self-serving nature.  It means understanding that peace for some is superficial if it exempts others.

So, I look for leaders.  I consider my role along the path.  I seek peace and truth and hope to avoid error’s maze.  And I say: Lead us, O Father, Mother, Daughter, Son, Child, Adult, Wisdom, Teacher, Guardian and Shepherd.  For we simply do not know where we are going.

I have been asked to provide a playlist of these hymn arrangements.  There are now three options.  The original year of song (2014-2015), the in between songs the second year of song (2016-2019), and the current posts (2020) which I will update as I go.

You can find these either at the left of your computer screen or if you scroll to the bottom of a post on your tablet or phone.

Enjoy.

This isn’t easy.  Putting our lives on hold.  Staying home, being alone, missing friends, waiting.  Perhaps there are moments when it feels comfortable, but there are also moments when it feels contrary to what life should be.  There is something very uneasy about the way we are living.

But there are also things that are quite beautiful in their simplicity.  The planning of meals so we need only go grocery shopping once.  Thinking about how we eat, how we shop.  The planning of activities and days in ways that help preserve our sanity and our relationships.  The conversations in passing with those we live with that we don’t usually have – at lunch, or in the middle of the afternoon.  The walks through our neighbourhoods, taking different routes to notice all kinds of things we didn’t know were there; appreciating the smallest discovery of spring flowers or a chalk drawing on the sidewalk.

Our current focus on very basic things brought to mind this hymn.  Written by Mary A. Lathbury, a poet who helped train Sunday School teachers at a Methodist summer camp in the 1870s.  Her personal philosophy was that of training others to be a beacon of light in a dark world; of providing peace by sharing the message of one’s truth.  In her case, this was founded on her Christian faith, and the words of this hymn reflect a familiar Biblical story.

Break Thou the bread of life, dear Lord, to me,
As Thou didst break the loaves beside the sea;
Beyond the sacred page I seek Thee, Lord;
My spirit pants for Thee, O living Word!

Bless Thou the truth, dear Lord, now unto me,
As Thou didst bless the bread by Galilee;
Then shall all bondage cease, all fetters fall;
And I shall find my peace, my all in all.

What struck me most about these words, was the idea that it is off of our ‘sacred page’ that we must live.  It is more than a belief that we are to share, it is the real and concrete examples of expressing our beliefs that should be given with ease.  In this story, hunger was there and bread was provided.  A simple and easy solution.  In this act, or miracle, of provision, peace was given, felt and found.  The truth was about seeing the need and then fulfilling the requirements of that need.

It seems to me that this is where we find ourselves.  It is easy to see needs right now.  We have time to look.  Some are very visible practical needs, some are hidden and private.  Some are our own, some are our families’ or neighbours’, some are found beyond our immediate circles, near and far.  Some we can provide for.  Some we will need to accept help for, even when we are unaccustomed to being on the receiving end.  The bread we break and share need not be fancy, nor does it have to last forever.  We cannot solve this on our own.  But when we both share and accept bread from another, we open ourselves up to a kind of peace that many of us have not experienced before.  The peace of another’s truth and value.

We all come from different places and different perspectives.  We don’t agree on everything, but I think we are beginning to realize that we are stronger together than we are individually.  We have much to learn from each other – and from each other’s truths, beliefs and faiths.  I find great comfort in knowing that my neighbour’s truth can provide me peace.  I hope to offer the same in return, despite our differences. I am encouraged by this story of breaking bread together – the act of sharing, the act of providing.  The knowledge that this easy act can break down the things that bind us and also give us peace, is remarkable.  Ease is found in our generosity; our gifts and our gratitude.

There are many people who are serving our communities right now.  Some serve our small, immediate circles.  Others work for the greater community – our cities, our countries, our world. I am conscious of those dear and precious souls today. Some are obvious and some have become more visible and valued in recent weeks.  But there are also many that are behind the scenes, many we will never know and who will never be celebrated.  Those tired workers, and thinkers, and planners that are trying to move mountains so we all survive, in a whole range of ways.  Those generous spirits that offer to do more because it is the right thing to do; because they can; because they are willing.  These pillars of our communities are our strength and our wealth.  Let us unite in our support of them and carry whatever part of the burden we can, as they usher us through and attempt to return our world to safety.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heart with loving heart united.

There are days when I don’t think I have much to offer.  Days when I’m thankful that I manage to get dressed and eat more than chocolate bunny ears.  I suspect I am not alone.  It feels very challenging to accomplish anything, and everything seems to take twice as long as it usually does. There is a weight in the air that is difficult to ignore.

And yet, somehow we carry on.  We complete daily tasks, we cook and clean.  We do our jobs as well as we can, even if less or differently than normal.  We may take moments, or longer, to be angry or discouraged, but we try.  We fill our plates with whatever we have – literally and figuratively – discovering we need less than we thought.  We are becoming very aware of what we believe and how these beliefs shape our lives, our decisions, our attitudes and our outlook.

Sent forth by God’s blessing, our true faith confessing,
The people of God from this dwelling take leave.
The supper is ended.  Oh, now be extended
The fruits of this service in all who believe.
The fruit of Christ’s teaching, receptive souls reaching,
Shall blossom in action for God and for all.
His grace did invite us, his love shall unite us
To work for God’s kingdom and answer his call.

 
With praise and thanksgiving to God ever living
The tasks of our ev’ryday life we will face.
Our faith ever sharing, in love ever caring,
Embracing the children of each tribe and race.
With your feast you feed us, with your light now lead us,
Unite us as one in this life that we share.
Then may all the living with praise and thanksgiving
Give honor to Christ and his name that we bear.

This hymn is based on another traditional Welsh folk song known as The Ash Grove (Llwyn Onn).  The text I am familiar with, speaks about being sent out into the world following the Christian practice of Holy Communion.  The knowledge that this sacred feast prepares one for life outside of church, life in the greater world.  I find this interesting, especially right now.  Not so much in the religious sense, although that is certainly meaningful to many, but in the sense that our lives, our choices, our foundations – nothing less than who we have chosen to be – guides us when normalcy is gone and we walk unknown paths.

Perhaps this is about faith.  Or philosophy.  Or ideals, values, perspective.  How we were raised.  What we retained, what we discarded.  Our views on life, others, the world.  There are many ways to look at this, but it seems to me, that it is becoming clear how powerful these foundations can be.  These choices we are able to make.  Our ability to change for the better, or for the worse.

I particularly like the second verse in this hymn.  The idea that it is everyday tasks that must be faced, strengthened by standing upon our own solid foundations.  The idea that this allows us to share and care for everyone, alike or different.  United.  Being led by what supports us, being both fed and feeding those around us.   It seems like that is what we are attempting to do.   We sit in our homes and wait.  We give up our normalcy, our livelihoods, our freedom to gather and enjoy each other’s company…for the greater good.  Embracing every tribe and every race.  Ever sharing.  Ever caring.

We have been sent forth.  Perhaps this is not how we envisioned our journey, the road couldn’t possibly have been predicted.  We are not travelling far, and yet we are covering much ground.  Ground that offers a little bit of safety.  So, on the days when you have nothing else to offer, remember that this is enough.  It is great and it is honourable.  And, it is a confession of what you believe and who you are.

It has been a strange Easter weekend.  Very different from the usual celebrations of family, faith, egg hunts, chocolate and decorations.  For those celebrating Passover, it was equally unusual with traditional Seders becoming online affairs, meals shared virtually. This may be a once in lifetime weekend of almost, but not quite, gatherings and tables spread for fewer than expected. But in all of this, I feel blessed.  I shared food with friends.  I heard my community sing.  I spoke with family members. I was able to celebrate in ways that I hadn’t realized were quite so meaningful.  I was blessed by these strange interactions, despite circumstances that I wish would disappear.  I received much.  And I am thankful.

*

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.

For many, Easter is a time to celebrate with family.  To gather, to eat, to laugh, to catch up.  We may not be doing that this year, but memories abound. This Easter hymn reminds me of a favourite childhood story.  It reminds me of my family, the adventures we had, the bickering, the fun.  It reminds me of a time long gone, and of friendships that remain. Each one different, each one special. We are not together.  But we share our memories.  We have imperfect relationships, but they are yet another treasure whose worth is beyond calculation.  Celebrate your family, be it chosen or otherwise, and enjoy the memories that emerge.  Happy Easter.

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Today is Easter. I suppose it is the most significant day on the liturgical calendar, and I know many will be celebrating it in traditional ways with rousing church services and family gatherings. For those who celebrate in these ways, I wish you a Happy Easter. For those who don’t, I offer you a slightly different Easter experience! The hymn for today comes courtesy of my sister, and if you know her, it will be amusing that she has provided the Easter selection. But, as I’ve been reminded many times, these hymns carry our stories with them and this one is part of my family’s tale.

Imagine yourself on a family car trip. The long drives, the cramped quarters of the station wagon and the endless attempt at finding entertainment for the three kids in the back seat. Imagine that the passengers come from a singing tradition and the kids are just slightly odd. Bingo. You have a recipe for some spectacular singing of Low In The Grave He Rose. Loudly, boisterously and in some kind of harmony; but perhaps not always with the exact words as found in the hymnal. I suspect my sister’s recommendation comes with a similar memory. I’m guessing our parents have blocked it out.

So many of the hymns I’ve been given this year are bringing back memories. Sometimes of experiences; sometimes of people. For me, that is what makes them such treasures. The music and words take us to places we’ve been before. But they can also bring us somewhere new. I suppose Easter is about what is new – new life, rebirth – and fits neatly into our choosing to celebrate it in Spring. This hymn has always seemed a bit cheesy to me; the over the top melodramatics of starting slow and solemn and then bursting forth into a rousing chorus. But maybe that’s the point. Winter is bleak, spring brings new life. Applying this to the Christian understanding of the Easter story is pretty easy – after death comes the resurrection.

Low in the grave he lay, Jesus my Savior,
waiting the coming day, Jesus my Lord!

Up from the grave he arose;
with a mighty triumph o’er his foes;
he arose a victor from the dark domain,
and he lives forever,with his saints to reign.
He arose! He arose! Hallelujah! Christ arose!

I look back on my family car trips with fondness. We saw many new things. We argued and we had fun. We read, we played games, we ignored each other, we fought over the borders found on the car’s seats, and we sang. And we sang, and we sang. Easter reminds me of our singing. Not just in the car, but everywhere. For me, singing is refreshing. It allows my spirit to emerge – renewed. I suppose this can also be part of the Easter story. This experience of finding renewal through the voices we’ve been given. Through the sharing of our experiences. With our families – those we were born into and those we’ve chosen. Hallelujah!

It is spring.  A time of year when life bursts forth – birds return, crocuses pop out of the earth, buds appear on trees.  As I’ve gone on my daily strolls through my neighbourhood, all this is apparent.  What I’m particularly noticing, as an urban dweller, is the clarity of the birdsongs.  I suppose the absence of traffic noise has made this just a little clearer this year.  This is a good thing.

This very familiar song carries within it so many images that remind me of spring.  The joy found in its freshness, the song emerging from its light.  It was originally written by Eleanor Farjeon for a 1931 Scottish songbook, because they wanted to include a hymn to give thanks each day.  As familiar as it is, I had never considered the value of singing these words every morning.

Morning has broken like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird
Praise for the singing
Praise for the morning
Praise for them springing fresh from the world

Sweet the rain’s new fall, sunlit from heaven
Like the first dew fall on the first grass
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden
Sprung in completeness where his feet pass

Mine is the sunlight
Mine is the morning
Born of the one light Eden saw play
Praise with elation, praise every morning
God’s recreation of the new day

There is much to value in spring.  Symbolically a time of renewal, a time to start over, a time to emerge from a long winter, a time to begin again.  It doesn’t really feel like we’re in that place right now.  Most of us are just trying to come up with ways to cope until this pandemic state ends. Ways to pick up the pieces when it’s over.  Ways to manage our stress and shortages in the meantime. It is hard to consider renewal when one is simply trying to survive.

And yet, spring comes anyway.  All these tiny bits of new life will fill our days with increasing frequency over the next few weeks.  We will wake each morning to more birds, more flowers, more green leaves.  We will shed our coats and open our windows.  We will breathe in fresh air and listen to the birds singing.  We may plant seeds or dig up weeds, or just enjoy watching the green increase from our windows – whether nearby or in the distance.  Spring shines her beauty on us, through the tiniest dandelion poking through a crack in the concrete, or the magnificence of a blossoming tree

Look for spring.  It is ours to enjoy; ours to accept as a balm for what troubles us.  The sunlight, the morning, the birdsongs, the rain and the grass.  Praise for the singing.  Praise for the morning. Praise for them springing fresh from the world.