As we observe Good Friday today, I am very aware that some of us are very alone this year.  Alone for a long weekend that often involves family gatherings and special dinners.  Wondering how to gather, when we really cannot.  Some are literally alone, in their homes with no one else.  Some are alone emotionally, finding themselves in situations that do not offer comfort, support or safety. It is so hard to be alone.  This post reminded me that while we walk alone in many ways, there is comfort in knowing others do too.  Comfort in this strange thing we are sharing.  We are together in this experience.  We carry each other from afar.  We walk together, whether we can express it or not.  We are alone. And we are not.

*

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.

There are some that practice the act of grace before every meal.  I will admit, that I am not totally committed to this practice, although my parents raised me with it, and I am thankful.  As the days and weeks start to meld in this time of uncertainty, I wonder if maybe I should be more committed.  Spending a moment in meditative gratitude for what I have.  For the food before me, for the roof over my head, for the relative safety of my home.

For some of us, this is our first experience of hardship in any real sense.  Of course we’ve had struggles, we’ve had times where we were poorer, times bills were hard to pay, times when groceries were bought on a budget.  Many live their lives like that always, working hard to make ends meet, wondering where the money for the next meal will come from.  But the monumental nature of this is different.  Most of us have never had to patiently wait in line for groceries.  Most of us have never seen empty shelves in a grocery store.  Most of us have not been filled with glee simply because  they had some basic item, like flour, available for purchase.

It feels like we’re living in a movie.  It feels like we’re learning about things that many on this planet face every day.  It feels like things will never be normal again.  It feels like we are being asked to learn lessons about generosity, gratitude and compassion.  For our neighbours.  For those that live like this every day, sometimes with much less, for their whole lives.  Lessons about how much we usually have, and how little we actually need.

This time is stressful.  There is no question about that.  But I can’t help thinking it is also a moment to embrace beautiful awareness.  To be thankful for our usual state of being.  To be generous, when we are able, to those who don’t share our material abundance, our peaceful existence, our safety.

I am filled with gratitude for everything I have.  I am uncertain and nervous about what the future holds.  But I am seeing the food on my plate with different eyes.  It nourishes.  It comforts.  It is shared.  It is simple.  It is providing health and strength.  Take a moment for grace.  A moment for thanksgiving – to God or nature or farmers or grocery store clerks or truck drivers.  Whomever you look to with gratitude will become part of our newfound beautiful awareness.  If we do this at every meal, it will be difficult to forget when this is over.  And we will remain changed.  And the world will notice.

For health and strength,
And daily food,
We give you thanks,
Oh Lord.

It is gloomy here this morning.  I am tired.  There are things on my mind, things I’m unsure of, things I’m hoping will get worked out.  I am certain I am not the only one feeling this way.  But, despite this, I know that there is much that gilds my life with radiant beauty.  The friends with whom I chat about everything and nothing.  My family members that say good morning, or ask me how I’m doing.  The baking that fills our home with sweet smells far more frequently than ever before. Music that reminds me of the depth of our shared experience.  Fresh air on an evening stroll.  Laughter.

There is space for praise on this gloomy morning.  Praise for all that is good, all that is rejuvenating, all that is beautiful.  These things remain.  Beneath the clouds, and under the sun.  These things remain.

*

The hymn for this week definitely gets the prize for the best title. What a beautiful image – I’m sure we can all visualize a spectacular sunrise filling the sky with golden beauty. It is my great fortune to be sitting in a sun-filled room as I write this, with the fresh spring air coming through windows that have finally been opened after a long winter.

The words for the hymn originate in a German text from the mid 1700s, and were translated into English in 1854. It was set to this tune in 1868 by Joseph Barnby, and was sung for the first time it St. Paul’s Cathedral in London that year. If you’ve been in that space, one can easily imagine the combined beauty of the song with the architecture – it must have been a lovely experience!

This is quite simply a song of praise and gratitude. An exquisite collection of statements expressing that in beauty, in pain, in sadness, in darkness and in light, praise is given. There were, reportedly, 28 verses in the original hymn. I suppose that kind of length makes sense if we’re trying to imagine every scenario life offers; every state of being that we can rise up from and fill our minds and hearts with praise.

When morning gilds the skies,
My heart awaking cries:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Alike at work and prayer,
On him I cast my care.
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Does sadness fill my mind?
A solace here I find,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Or fades my earthly bliss?
My comfort still is this,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

The night becomes as day
When from the heart we say:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
In heaven’s eternal bliss
The loveliest strain is this:
May Jesus Christ be praised!

I hadn’t heard this one in a while, but am so glad it was suggested to me. I can understand how it could be a favourite. It has beautiful words and a beautiful tune. It has a beautiful message. Life has much in it, good and bad, but beauty prevails. It might be the beauty of the Divine or the beauty of faith. Maybe for you it’s the beauty found in nature, or poetry, art, literature, or music. We all have the opportunity to find something that anchors us. Something we can return to despite our earthly circumstances. Something that becomes our eternal song, our song of praise. Something that allows us to see the possibility of gilded skies.

Be this, while life is mine,
My canticle divine:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Be this the eternal song,
Through all the ages long:
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Most of us have been thinking a lot about what has been lost.  Worrying about cancelled plans, nonexistent jobs, lack of activities, an end to education, shortages of supplies and financial security.  And the big one, concerns over health and the health of those we know, those we don’t.  It is difficult to avoid these worries – they are all around us.  They are being reported in the news and on social media in an overwhelmingly constant manner.  Today I am choosing to think about what remains.  Those things that sustain in both superficial and deep ways.  Those things that are treasures.

It took me a while to find a song that inspired this thought process.  I will admit, I was up very late into the night wondering if there were any more songs out there that meant anything to me.  Nonsense, of course.  The potential list of songs to ponder is endless.  Our world, our history, our species has been writing music without cease…forever.  There is no shortage, no possibility of running out of others’ words and notes to comfort and inspire.  Treasure number one.

And then this one popped into my head.  Another very simple camp or Sunday school song.  One I hadn’t thought of for many, many years.  But what a message it holds.

I’ve got peace like a river
I’ve got peace like a river
I’ve got peace like a river in my soul

I’ve got love like an ocean
I’ve got love like an ocean
I’ve got love like an ocean in my soul

I’ve got joy like a fountain
I’ve got joy like a fountain
I’ve got joy like a fountain in my soul

A lot of us have many things to be thankful for right now.  Despite the circumstances, the worries, the panic and the fear, as one friend told me, as long as they had a roof, food and the love of their family, they were doing okay. When we whittle things down to the basics, it is possible to hang on.  These kinds of treasures are not so difficult to find, if we are willing to look.

What I particularly like about these words, though, is the deep truth that much of what we treasure, especially when all else seems to have failed, is what we can find within.  The peace, the love and the joy are in our souls.  Think about that.  They reside within us.  As I sat up in the night, unable to sleep, I was overwhelmed by this.  It is a huge personal responsibility to dig deep enough to find these things when all around seems quite bleak, and a little bit impossible.  But, I am almost certain, there is a truth here that is a treasure beyond measure.

I don’t think this is about pulling up our bootstraps and having a stiff upper lip.  The peace of a river can wash over dangerous rapids and glassy calmness.  Flowing with strength and direction, in spite of obstacles.  Sometimes the water runs low, almost drying up. The love of an ocean can batter a shoreline or cause a shipwreck. It can be polluted and cannot be drunk. But it can also reflect the moon’s lovely glow and hypnotize us with it’s enduring tide.  It can be enormous in size and sound and in its ability to sustain life.  A fountain can decay over time if it is not maintained, and yet can create such serene beauty with its design and sparkling sounds.  Fountains all over the world have served to bring us fresh water to drink, and become meaningful meeting places where we gather and share experiences.  These images are complex and varied.  But they contain hope.  They contain beauty.

These things that are available to us from deep within our souls, are our greatest treasures.  They sustain us through the most difficult of circumstances.  We draw upon them when we can’t even see that they remain.  I suspect that we need to take a moment every day to maintain these reserves.  Moments that allow us to put aside all that is lost and reflect on these treasures that we own.  Own deeply and freely.  To cultivate our souls’ deepest peace, love and joy is a worthy task.  Especially now.  These are not treasures of perfection.  They are simply our gifts to ourselves.  They will look different for each of us.  Some will be hard to find, others easy.  Some will require enormous effort, others will bubble forth unable to be contained.

Look after yourself. Find your treasures and hang on. It is enough.

I have a sense that many of us are unsure of our value right now.  We feel enormous pressure to be productive, to accomplish our usual tasks, to be loyal to our employers and reassuring to our employees.  We want to be of service, of use, of worth.  We really want to keep our world afloat.  It is both honourable and very challenging – especially in those moments when concentration is difficult to find and worry threatens to overcome.  This hymn offers a moment of respite.  There are a multitude of tiny things in our world that can encourage us. These add up to something great.  There are times when we ourselves are one of these tiny little joys, and others when we must seek them out in the sky, the breeze and the bird’s song.  In moments when you feel like you are simply not achieving all that you should, allow yourself to be part of the whole, rather than its entirety.  Our greatness comes from us all and its strength lies in our ability to share both the highs and the lows.

And then, let your soul sing.  All songs are welcome. We hear.  We value.  We join in with whatever voices we have.

*

O Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder,
Consider all the worlds Thy Hands have made;
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed.

When through the woods, and forest glades I wander,
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees.
When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur
And see the brook, and feel the gentle breeze.

Powerful imagery. The singing of this hymn always brings to mind a vision of the natural world in all its majesty; all its beauty; all its peacefulness. Such diversity. I love that. Partly because I am a believer in the value of beauty and savouring our experiences of it. Taking things in and allowing them to inspire. Easy to do when we’re in a spectacular natural environment – or a grand cathedral, at a concert or in an art gallery. Not always so easy as we carry out the day to day requirements of our lives.

There are two stories about the words to this hymn. One about the original Swedish version, written by Carl G. Boberg in 1885. The other about the English translator, Stuart K. Hine in the early 1920s. They have more than a few similarities in that they both tell of experiences involving storms and the calm following that inspired the authors to write their texts. It is unclear whether either version is true. Did the same things happen to both?   Or maybe it’s just a common story to find the Divine in the beauty of nature as it is experienced in a variety of ways. Choosing to be awed by the power and magnitude of the earth, of creation and its greatness as we walk through it. Recognizing how small we and our daily tasks are in comparison to the universe and all contained therein.

I don’t think this means what we do each day is unimportant. Quite the opposite. The birds singing sweetly in the trees are small and yet bring so much to the whole picture. As does the gentle breeze and the rolling thunder. The whole is made up of so many parts. So much that is beautiful is like this. It contains what we fear, what we value, what we contribute, our mistakes and what we create.   I find that reassuring. It makes everything I see and experience so much more valuable.   It makes looking at the world through my single lens alone kind of empty, and trying to see it with broader eyes so rewarding. It ensures that I look for the real beauty in our world and it makes my soul want to sing.

Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art, How great Thou art!

Amidst our uncertainty are countless souls offering kindness.  People who are willing to share what they have, take risks on our behalf, provide a bit of entertainment.  The value of these gifts lies in their creation of a giant home in which we can find some comfort in this current storm.  All the things that characterize a good and loving home are being offered.  The sharing, the caring, the fun, the patience, the forgiveness, the ability to renew and regroup when we fail, the listening ears and the seeing eyes.  We may not be together in the usual sense, but we are together nonetheless.  For however long this lasts, we are not alone.

*

As Lent is drawing to an end and we approach Easter, I had thought about looking at one of the joyous Palm Sunday hymns for this week, but my attention seems to be drawn elsewhere.  For a few reasons – all of them relating to conversations I’ve had with four or five people over the past two weeks.  And, in my ongoing rehearsing of a group of Spirituals arranged for choir, I must say that this one seemed very relevant.  As I think about Palm Sunday, I am aware that the triumphal nature of the welcome given is quite tainted by the events to come. So, perhaps this is also fitting for the season, if not quite what I had originally considered.

Once again, these words originate with the African American slaves’ experience of being separated from their home – literally torn from their African origins, children forcibly taken from their parents and families, lives lived as captives separated from freedom.  The words are deeply mournful, the tune evokes profound sadness.

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
A long way from home.
A long way from home.

Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone,
Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone,
Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone,
Way up in the heavenly land.
Way up in the heavenly land.

True believers, true believers,
A long way from home.
A long way from home.

There are times when we all feel abandoned and alone. When we feel that we have been betrayed, and when what should have been, simply is not.  We experience the shock of being hurt by someone or something that should have been a source of goodness or kindness or loyalty or support. When this happens, it can feel as though we are very far from a place of safety; far from our true home.  It is impossible to imagine what these slaves felt in their situation, but there is something about this profound sense of being lost and alone that resonates when we go through experiences that are filled with the pain of being rejected, betrayed and injured.

The words of this song plainly and simply express these feelings.  When we feel lost and alone, we are a long way from home.  The image of a motherless child is heartbreaking.  The idea of feeling as though we are almost gone is devastating.  I can’t imagine a state of being that takes us to a lower place.  It is not where anyone wants to reside. It is not how I wish to make anyone feel.

As I was looking into the history of this song, I found that some have observed that there is also a powerful hope within these words.  The repetition of the word “sometimes” implies that there is more to this story. A tiny shred of light infiltrating the despair.  It is not, “I am a motherless child.” It is not, “I am gone.”  We remind ourselves, and those who hear our voices, over and over that it is only sometimes that we feel this way.  And that the places of pain are not our home – they are, in fact, far from its safety.

It can be difficult to hear people’s stories of pain. It can be difficult to know what to say or how to respond; how to offer support or guidance.  I rarely know.  But I am conscious that often when people share their deepest hurts, they are hoping to find that little shred of hope that their pain is only a sometimes thing. That it doesn’t define their home, but is a place that can be left behind and healing sought.  That there is something better, no matter how far away it may be.  We cannot always provide the solutions, but often our listening ear is enough to provide the hope and care needed when a person has been cut by the sharpness of life.

So in those moments where we are motherless and almost gone, look for the souls that are willing to hear your pain.  We are here.  And in those moments where you see a motherless soul, pick them up in whatever way you can – not to provide all the answers or meet every need, but to shine a little light on the path towards home.  It may be a long way, but in the company of kindness, we start to see its safety, its beauty and its existence.

I can’t say I’m feeling a great deal of gladness these days.  But I think it is a worthwhile pursuit.  Not the kind of gladness that is frivolous or willfully ignorant, but the kind that arises from the knowledge that beauty is that much more vivid when held against the dimness of all that brings us sadness and fear. As I returned to this post from 2016, I was reminded of that uneasy combination of the good and bad in our lives.  The way our trials can sometimes encourage us to seek and find true joy, true friendship, true kindness and generosity.  And maybe, just maybe, we are able to triumph and shout with louder voices than whatever clouds the view.

*

In thee is gladness, amid all sadness, Jesus, sunshine of my heart.
By thee are given the gifts of heaven,
thou the true Redeemer art.
Our souls thou makest, our bonds thou breakest;
who trusts thee surely hath built securely,
and stands forever. Hallelujah!
Our hearts are pining to see thy shining;
dying or living, to thee are cleaving;
naught can us sever. Hallelujah!

If God be ours, we fear no powers, nor of earth nor sin nor death.
God sees and blesses in worst distresses,
and can change them with a breath.
Wherefore the story tell of God’s glory
with heart and voices; all heaven rejoices,
singing forever; Hallelujah!
We shout for gladness, triumph o’er sadness,
love thee and praise thee,and still shall raise thee
glad hymns forever: Hallelujah!

I’ve always liked this hymn – it seems like a happy thing. A tune that dances along; a title that implies something good. It’s fun to sing. It’s fun to play. The words, written in 1594 by Johann Lindemann and translated by Catherine Winkworth in 1858, were set to one of Giovanni Gastoldi’s 1591 madrigals. One of the characteristics of late 16th century madrigals was to let the music express the words. This tune certainly does express the gladness, praise, singing and hallelujahs found in these words.

And yet, these words do not reflect gladness in isolation. It exists amid sadness, broken bonds, death, distresses and pining hearts. I think this is important. I often wonder at our tendency to assume there are easy solutions to emotional and mental challenges. Believe this and all will be well. Look on the bright side. Count your blessings. Nothing will be a greater burden than you can bear.   Maybe on some level these platitudes are true, but often they fill me with a sense of unease. They imply that there is no place for sadness; no place for looking at the darkness that exists in all of our lives. And for those that regularly live in this darkness, platitudes are a heavy burden.

I am learning to treasure the coexistence of both sadness and gladness as described in the words of this hymn. There is balance in accepting both. We share this experience – the good and the bad. We need to understand that our culture’s pursuit of happiness is a flawed endeavour.

These particular words refer to God as a source of gladness that carries us through all the darkness, and for many that is the case. But there are other sources as well. Perhaps it is family and friends, or nature, or art or music. Something that reminds us that while life is complicated, there is gladness to be found. For those that find themselves deep in the depths of sadness, I hope we can exhibit gladness as we help carry, counsel, treat and encourage. Gladness that doesn’t judge, but that simply provides a picture of the wholeness available to us; of the possibility of balance. Gladness that allows us to sing Hallelujah! despite the spaces where we live. Gladness amid all the sadness. Hallelujah.

There are moments in all of our lives when we feel very unsafe.  Right now, these moments seem to be coming frequently.  There is a sense that we may not survive this – in multiple ways. Health, financial security, relationships, jobs or even sanity.  The stresses are enormous.  The isolation and loneliness don’t help.  I have no doubt that I am not the only one having days where hope is hard to recognize; days that I just feel down.  We are all floundering just a little bit.

And yet, we really are not alone.  I don’t recall anything else in my lifetime that so clearly defined us as a singular human species.  The challenges vary, some have been, and will be, hit much harder by this than others.  But, it is becoming increasingly difficult to find those on this planet that are not, or will not be, in some way negatively affected by this pandemic.  Clearly we have different access to solutions and resources, I acknowledge that, but this is really about all of us. I find some strange comfort in that.  Some idealistic notion that we might finally understand that the safety of all is far more valuable and strong than the safety of only a privileged few.  It is a lesson we’ve long needed to learn.

This made me think of a song that I’m sure many of us sang as kids, maybe at summer camp or in Sunday school, or wherever.  Complete with actions to remember the words, a simple message for the youngest to the oldest.  I suppose it was originally intended to explain, in an easy way, the greatness of God.  And, if that aligns with your beliefs, it does.  But in our current circumstance, I also think there is something to be said for understanding that we are literally holding each other’s safety in our hands.  The whole world’s.  And maybe this is why most of us are trying our best to follow the rules, to stem the spread of this thing that is blind to our usual distinctions.

He’s got the whole world in his hands,
She’s got the whole world in her hands,
He’s got the whole world in his hands,
She’s got the whole world in her hands.

She’s got you and me brother,
He’s got you and me, sister,
She’s got you and me brother,
He’s got the whole world in his hands.

He’s got the wind and rain,
She’s got the wind and rain,
He’s got the wind and rain,
She’s got the whole world in her hands.

She’s got the whole world in her hands,
He’s got the whole world in his hands,
She’s got the whole world in her hands,
He’s got the whole world in his hands.

I don’t know if we are safe.  I don’t know when we will be safe.  All I know is that we carry something of immeasurable value in our hands.  Through our careful action, our generosity, our knowledge, our support of those seeking and providing real solutions, our ability to put our excesses and staunch opinions aside, our choice to both share more and live with less, our willingness to offer kindness and beauty to those around … we will together carry the world.  The whole world.  Many, many hands are needed.  It is a daunting task.  We have countless opportunities and a vast range of gifts to offer.  We are all different, we are all of use.  From the very tiny to the grandest of gestures and effort.  I suspect a kind of safety will emerge from this wealth of humanity, or be lost in its absence.  I suspect much of this is our choice, and I hope our choices will reflect the very best of us.

We’ve got the whole world in our hands.

Today is a bright, sunny day.  Today is a day for joy.  Not always easy to find when faced with stressful situations and unusual challenges, but necessary nonetheless.  Looking back five years, I found this reflection on joy originally posted for Mother’s’ Day, but I think it is also appropriate now. Many, many people are demonstrating their ability to spread a bit of joy in a bleak time. Many, many people are exhibiting the qualities of mothering – providing for, teaching, comforting, encouraging, caring for and reassuring us all that life is good and that we can be joyful as we walk through it together.  Take a moment to be filled with joy.  Seek it out, for it is most definitely accompanying us on this unfamiliar journey!

*

Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee, God of glory, Lord of love;
Hearts unfold like flowers before thee, praising thee their sun above.
Melt the clouds of sin and sadness; drive the dark of doubt away.
Giver of immortal gladness, fill us with the light of day!

This is widely known as the Hymn to Joy. Probably the most popular hymn tune I’ve tackled this year. A tune that even my youngest piano students are familiar with and are happy to learn how to play. A tune that routinely shows up in movies and commercials. A hymn often sung, and part of a symphony regularly performed. We have Beethoven to thank for his exuberant Ode to Joy (1823) and Henry van Dyke for the poetry (1907) that together express this joy and allow us to participate in its singing.

This hymn celebrates sheer joy. It celebrates nature, love, friendship and the ability of music to lift us above all we encounter. It is a song of life – a song for living the lives we are given. So I chose to place it on Mother’s Day. What better way to celebrate our mothers than to live our lives fully. For the women that birthed us, for those that chose us, for those that raised us, for those that cared for us from afar, for those that took on the role of mentor and loved us. Their work, their tears, their struggles, their determination, their failings, their successes have all prepared us for our lives. They are a reflection of the creative power that fills our world.

All Thy works with joy surround thee, earth and heaven reflect Thy rays,
Stars and angels sing around thee, center of unbroken praise.
Field and forest, vale and mountain, blooming meadow, flashing sea,
Chanting bird and flowing fountain call us to rejoice in Thee.

Mother’s do not always succeed. But choosing to live joyfully, allows us the space to forgive. Joy provides a window into a kind of love that sees beyond our failings and our mistakes.

Thou art giving and forgiving, ever blessing, ever blessed,
Wellspring of the joy of living, ocean depth of happy rest!
Thou our Father, Christ our Brother, all who live in love are thine.
Teach us how to love each other, lift us to the joy divine.

This is a hymn we sing together – as children and as mothers.   I suppose we are all capable of participating in the act of mothering at some point in our lives. Of providing what is needed for growth.  I am once again thankful that music can remind me of this. I am hopeful that I will always choose to sing joyfully.  But if I cannot, I hope I will still hear the happy chorus that does, filled with mothers, sons and daughters, and be reassured that joy exists.

Mortals, join the happy chorus, which the morning stars began;
Love divine is reigning o’er us, leading us with mercy’s hand.
Ever singing, march we onward, victors in the midst of strife,
Joyful music lifts us sunward in the triumph song of life.

Happy Mother’s Day!

It is difficult to think of our current situation as simple.  People are unexpectedly sick, some have died.  Our various health care systems are overloaded or scrambling to be prepared.  Jobs have been lost, businesses don’t know what to do.  People have jumped through all sorts of hoops to figure out how to work in different ways.  Schools are closed, families are trying to cope with working, playing, eating, learning and just being in the same space all day, all night.  Plans have been or need to be cancelled, sometimes taking a great deal of effort.  Some people are alone.  Completely.  It is all very complicated.

And yet, I have noticed we are embracing simple things.  Conversations with friends and family at all times of the day, every day.  Walks with our families and housemates.  Children riding their bikes through the neighbourhood.  Baking our childhood favourite recipes.  Cooking meals with ingredients we no longer wish to waste.  Reading books that have sat for too long on our shelves.  Trying out new hobbies like embroidery and painting.  Sitting in the sunshine streaming through a window and drinking tea.  Simple things that offer simple pleasures.

It reminded me of this Shaker tune, written by Joseph Brackett in 1848.  It is, apparently, an instructive song.  The words guiding worshippers to dance.  Dance in their freedom, dance as a gift.  And when they understand which ways to turn, it all works out and they find themselves in the valley of love and delight.

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,
Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and
Delight. When true simplicity is gain’d,
To bow and to bend we will not be asham’d,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come round right.

There are many ways to seek simplicity in these complicated days.  I love that we are doing so.  There are many ways to dance.  Allowing ourselves the freedom to move literally, figuratively, spiritually and relationally in ways that coordinate with those in our lives to create joy and delight.  The simplest of gifts provide the music for this dance.  The simplest of gifts provide the instruction for how to dance.  As we share these gifts, we expand the dance floor.

Last night, on our evening stroll, we came across an orchestra of pots and pans.  Apparently, people are going outside all over the world every evening to cheer on health care workers as they arrive home from their shifts.  To me, this is an astounding type of dance.  Offering an incredibly simple gift to thank those on the front lines.  It speaks to our ability to create something out of nothing, and then offer it as a tool of rejuvenation, as a glimmer of hope for those that are weary. It is simple and it is strong.

So, look for your simple gifts in this great big complicated mess.  Those that you are able to give;  those that you have undoubtedly received.  More than ever before, we are dancing through something together.  When we turn towards each other, we create the valley of love and delight.  And we will find ourselves in the place just right.