If someone else is suffering enough to write it down
When every single word makes sense
Then it’s easier to have those songs around
The kick inside is in the line that finally gets to you
and it feels so good to hurt so bad
And suffer just enough to sing the blues
~Sir Elton John, Sad Songs
Lent is a season of minor chords, sad songs, and breaking hearts. I know of a lot of broken hearts, lately. Some of them have to do with relationships in ruin. Some of them have to do with wrecked senses of self-esteem. Some have to do with crises of identity. Maybe it’s the full moon of the equinox pulling at these wounded places, tearing open the places only recently being knitted back together. Maybe it’s just that deep awareness of new birth coming into and out of old selves. When I open up my vocal chords and allow “There Is a Balm” to come flowing out, I know I’m finding my way home.
There is a balm in Gilead, to make the wounded whole,
there is a balm in Gilead,to heal the sinsick soul.
There is a balm in Gilead,to make the wounded whole,
there is a balm in Gilead,to heal the sinsick soul.
Sometimes I feel discouraged,and think my work’s in vain,
but then the Holy Spirit revives my soul again.
Weariness in the Christian journey. Weariness in the search for love. Weariness. The Book of Lamentations gives voice to great woe. Jeremiah is the Prophet of Tears. Each of these and so many other storytellers and sages accompany us through the trials and travail of tears.
Recently, a friend of mine shared a song by Christina Perri, called “Tragedy.” I can’t help but think of “Moulin Rouge’s” penniless poet and Third Day’s “Cry Out to Jesus.”
I wonder… what are your sad songs? What helps you to release your tears?
A dear friend of mine has just learned that she will defend her dissertation this Spring. It’s been a long journey, but the benefits have been profound. Part of her study involved literacy memories. Her questions provoked my thought processes on earliest memories of reading and storytelling.
Honestly, I don’t ever remember a time when I didn’t read or tell stories. Granted memory from those youngest days are hazy, but I created memories of telling stories of moments I remembered as a wee one. I always remember my father saying that he was going to “read [him]self into a stupor” as he put it. Every night he and mom had books in hand. Every night, they read to us as part of the bedtime ritual. Every day, we read books, magazines, newspapers, bumper stickers, license plates, and signs on the byways. Reading was woven into the fabric of whom I am still becoming even now. Storytelling — we would beg to hear Noah’s ark and about the birth of the little baby Jesus — crisscrossed reading threads and the tapestry became stronger. Singing became the next layer in the weaving.
As with reading and storytelling, I dont’ remember a time without song. My mother was always singing. Some of the songs I’ve already written about here. Some were lullabies. Some are songs I can only remember when she starts to chant through the lyrics and melody. We were blessed with her sweet alto voice. Particularly, I remember he singing “Lavendar’s Blue” an old English folk song. When I found this clip of “Dilly, Dilly,” I then remembered “Billy Boy.” I think mother must have watched this Disney special.
Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly, Lavender’s green
When you are king, dilly dilly, I shall be queen
Who told you so, dilly dilly, Who told you so?
‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, That told me so
Call up your friends, dilly, dilly Set them to work
Some to the plough, dilly dilly, Some to the fork
Some to the hay, dilly dilly, Some to thresh corn
Whilst you and I, dilly dilly, Keep ourselves warm
Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly, Lavender’s green
When you are king, dilly dilly, I shall be queen
Who told you so, dilly dilly, Who told you so?
‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, That told me so.
Whether I’m reading a book or watching a television program, I do it. I can’t help myself when taking in a movie. From time to time, while reading an article in a newspaper or magazine, it’s almost a compulsive response. These days, it’s gotten so bad, that I even do it while reading a tweet. It even just happened when a friend posted a clip of Tracy Chapman singing “Talkin’ about a Revolution” back in 1988.
Mrs. Reed got me hooked when I was in the twelfth grade. I was only 16 years old when she had us read Herman Melville’s Billy Budd. Our Advanced Placement class took on a variety of assignments. Mine was to interpret the Christ-like qualities of the title character. I’ve never been the same since.
Not long after Billy Budd came T.S. Elliot’s “Journey of the Magi.” My obsession was building. Two years later, I was on a short-list of classmates who enjoyed our college-required “Great Books” class (all except for The Princes of Cleves, that is). Whatever the story, layered symbolism drew me. Stepping through the successive chambers of the nautilus, I discover something being said (or not said) about God.
So there it is. The truth is out. I confess: Imagery, theological and Christological, fascinates me. I find myself enthralled at God-images present in daily life, experienced in art and music, visible on the written page and the big screen.
As with so many dualities in our world, I find there are strict and loose interpreters when it comes to spirituality in the public sphere. Some people are deeply disturbed by movies like “Bruce Almighty” and its spin-off “Evan Almighty.” Fine folks fear disrespect of the faith. Equally excellent people think: “No big deal.” Films such as these playfully and provocatively address questions about God, faith and doubt. But are they bad? Blasphemy, it seems, is in the eye of the beholder.
Personally and vocationally, when spirituality enters the secular sphere I’m thrilled. I love it when people ask God-questions, whether they know it or not. For the record, how often do regular, non-religious Joe’s and Jane’s consider God’s ominpotence, omniscience, and response to prayer? With humor or without? Sitting in the comfort of their own couches, those who consider themselves “spiritual-but-not-religious” (the fastest growing faith-group in America, by the way) can consider a miracle and personal responsibility of being a faithful servant of God.
Way back in 1997, I began to hear quiet whispers about a rejected boy chosen for a curious path into an unknown world. His name was Harry. Children loved the books about him. But soon, I began to hear the strict interpreters complaining. It took me a few years to catch up because I was in the heights and depths of a seminary education and there were authors like Athanasius and Karl Rahner and Elisabeth Schussler-Fiorenza to read. By the 2001 debut of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, I had discovered a story that was the stuff of many a teaching-moment. For there within the first few chapters of Book 1 was a tremendous illustration of Prevenient Grace.
During the same span of time, Spirituality & Health magazine linked with Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat to show how pop culture reveals spiritual themes. A few years later, the Brussats spun-off to form “Spirituality & Practice”, naming annually the most spiritually literate movies. They have successfully led me to many a wonderful film.
I suppose it all harkens back to my God-given ability to see something beautiful and life-giving, no matter the circumstance. How is God present in the most stark and desperate moments? Even, as I type, glimpses of the girl in the red coat come swirling into my mind. If I’m not careful, here comes a rush of many more.
teach me wisdom in my secret heart 