readings for the end of a life

 It’s my experience that contemplative folk gather papers and objects to help them reflect.  Some use holy texts.  Others seek creation as the first testament to God’s grace, much as the Hebrews did before ever a text was penned.  Still others gather scraps of things they find over a lifetime.

 

My loved one has done this.  At the desk by the laptop, there lay a file.  Within it’s creamy folds were newspaper clippings, printed emails, and hand-scrawled notes.  Here my loved one shared readings most important to her.  It’s clear to me that she left a message of the core thoughts that helped her make passage from this life to the next.

 

When we gathered with her dear friends three months ago, we celebrated Holy Communion.  It was her last time of taking the Body and Blood.  We shared the message of James’ Letter, wherein we call the elders, lay on hands, and pray for the Spirit’s anointing and healing.  I’ve often told parishioners that healing might come in the next life.  That is true for her.So, in addition to James, here are her readings that prepared her for eternal peace.

 

The Choice by Max Lucado

IT’S QUIET. It’s early. My coffee is hot. The sky is still black. The world is still asleep. The day is coming.

In a few moments the day will arrive. It will roar down the track with the rising of the sun. The stillness of the dawn will be exchanged for the noise of  the day. The calm of solitude will be replaced by the pounding pace of the human race. The refuge of the early morning will be invaded by decisions to be made and deadlines to be met.

For the next twelve hours I will be exposed to the day’s demands. It is now that I must make a choice. Because of Calvary, I’m free to choose. And so I choose.

I choose love . . . No occasion justifies hatred; no injustice warrants bitterness. I choose love. Today I will love God and what God loves.I choose joy . . . I will invite my God to be the God of circumstance. I will refuse the temptation to be cynical . . . the tool of the lazy thinker. I will refuse to see people as anything less than human beings, created by God. I will refuse to see any problem as anything less than an opportunity to see God.

I choose peace . . . I will live forgiven. I will forgive so that I may live.

I choose patience . . . I will overlook the inconveniences of the world. Instead of cursing the one who takes my place, I’ll invite him to do so. Rather than complain that the wait is too long, I will thank God for a moment to pray. Instead of clinching my fist at new assignments, I will face them with joy and courage.

I choose kindness . . . I will be kind to the poor, for they are alone. Kind to the rich, for they are afraid. And kind to the unkind, for such is how God has treated me.

I choose goodness . . . I will go without a dollar before I take a dishonest one. I will be overlooked before I will boast. I will confess before I will accuse. I choose goodness.

I choose faithfulness . . . Today I will keep my promises. My debtors will not regret their trust. My associates will not question my word. My wife will not question my love. And my children will never fear that their father will not come home.I choose gentleness . . . Nothing is won by force.

I choose to be gentle. If I raise my voice may it be only in praise. If I clench my fist, may it be only in prayer. If I make a demand, may it be only of myself.I choose self-control . . . I am a spiritual being. After this body is dead, my spirit will soar. I refuse to let what will rot, rule the eternal.

I choose self-control. I will be drunk only by joy. I will be impassioned only by my faith. I will be influenced only by God. I will be taught only by Christ. I choose self-control.

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. To these I commit my day. If I succeed, I will give thanks. If I fail, I will seek his grace. And then, when this day is done, I will place my head on my pillow and rest.

From When God Whispers Your Name, Copyright (Thomas Nelson, 1999) Max Lucado

 May I Go? – By Susan Jackson

May I Go? Do you think the time is right? May I say goodbye to pain filled days and endless lonely nights?I’ve lived my life and done my best, an example tried to be. So can I take that step beyond, and set my spirit free?I didn’t want to go at first, I fought with all my might. But something seems to draw me now to a warm and living light.I want to go, I really do; it’s difficult to stay. But I will try as best I can to live just one more day. To give you time to care for me and share your love and fears. I know you’re sad and afraid, because I see your tears. I’ll not be far, I promise that, and hope you’ll always know, That my spirit will be close to you wherever you may go. Thank you so for loving me. You know I love you too, And that’s why it’s hard to say goodbye and end this life with you.So hold me now just one more time and let me hear you say, Because you care so much for me, you’ll let me go today.

 Elizabeth Kubler-Ross:  

 “Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself, and know that everything in life has purpose. There are no mistakes, no coincidences, all events are blessings given to us to learn from.”

 Prayer for the World – Rabbi Harold Kushner  (2003)

Let the rain come and wash away the ancient grudges, the bitter hatreds held and nurtured over generations. Let the rain wash away the memory of the hurt, the neglect.Then let the sun come out and fill the sky with rainbows. Let the warmth of the sun heal us wherever we are broken.Let it burn away the fog so that we can see each other clearly.So that we can see beyond labels,beyond accents, gender or skin color.Let the warmth and brightness of the sun melt our selfishness.So that we can share the joys and feel the sorrows of our neighbors.And let the light of the sun be so strong that we will see all people as our neighbors. Let the earth, nourished by rain, bring forth flowers to surround us with beauty.  And let the mountains teach our hearts to reach upward to heaven.Amen.

  Prayer for Balance — Lynn Andrews  

Oh, Great Mother, As I look our across the desert,Green from rain,And the mountains in the distance,I ask that you give me guidance along my path of heart,I ask that you help me to understand my powers of creativity.As the clouds above me cast shadows on the desert floor,I know that I have often lost my way,And when the shadow aspects of myself diminish my life,I become afraid.Oh, Great Mother, Take my hand,Help me to see the trail So that I may find my way home.I am often tired these days,I think sometimes that I will be bereft of Balance forever,That there is no one to help me.But as I look at the great mountains in the distance,As their silhouette is etched against the sky With such clarity,I know that somewhere in my heart I have known such clarity before, And that you are there for me.It is only me that sometimes refuses to see you.And I will open my eyes now, And I will see your face,Just as the sunlight bursting through the clouds Illuminates the flowers all around me.I will begin to shine as they do.I am flowering for you, Great Mother,I am lending my beauty to the universe for a short time.And I realize that this life is a process Of seed and stalk and growth and flowering,And then death.But death is only a rebirth back into spirit, a rebirth back into life. And you may call me anytime, Great Spirit,Back into your arms. So I am here for you, Great Mother,I am here for you, Great Spirit, I am like a hollow log With your love and your energy flowing through me Forever.Help me to walk in beauty and power All the days of my life.Ho.

© Lynn V. Andrews, Woman at the Edge of Two Worlds 

Get ready

Morning on the River by blueridgeblog

My grandmother died when I was eight.    A beloved first grade teacher gave me and my sister a book about the death of a pet canary to help us deal with our grief.  All I really remember was being freaked out by the strictness of the nurses when we were urged to go quiet as bedmice to her bedside.   We were not to squeak.  The whirring and buzzing terrified me.  She was in a — COMA — and I knew nothing more than that a — COMA — was a terrible thing.

Years later, training for ministry as student teachers prepare for their own classrooms, I had to face those fears of antiseptic green tile walls and strange machinery, intimidating physicians and nurses who seemed to growl from their eye sockets.  In the process, I got ready to help others deal with the overwhelming assault of the dying process.  But, it doesn’t have to be so overwhelming. 

Death can be beautiful, gentle, liberating.  It can be healing, cleansing, renewing.  Yes, surely tears flow and hearts are run-over.  But death can be much more than loss.

My family has experienced a death.  We have before, many times.  We will again, many times.  This was a death we anticipated, but somehow it has overwhelmed us.  Maybe we expected more time.  Maybe we expected promises to come true, instead of ringing hollow.  Maybe.  But what we didn’t do was facilitate the process for getting ready.

By the deathbed, we said goodbye.  This time around, I kept vigil overnight while the whirring and alarms and challenged breathing kept me company through the hours.  Our loved one didn’t sense my presence, thankfully dulled out by the relief of pain medication.  We said, “It’s okay to let go.”  The little ones whom the patient hoped to see came and giggled and cried in the space.  The sounds of life-full-circle graced us … and this beloved one so near the next phase of life.

Nurses, chaplains, patient advocates were agents of grace and healing.  Friends surrounded this one:  expressing gratitude, laughing, praying, supporting one another even to the last breaths.

But we still are overwhelmed.  In the hours and days after this loss, we have not yet begun to grieve.  Why?  None of us were ready.  You’ve heard a phrase about getting one’s “affairs in order.”    Nothing is in order.  This is chaos and chaos is painful.  Chaos is a place no one wishes to be.  But chaos is a birthing place.  What’s true here is that as this beloved one hastens to the next phase of life, we are being birthed into new creatures.

Artful metaphors cannot describe the urgency with which I write when I say, organize your end.  It is the greatest gift you can give to those whom you will leave broken-hearted.  Line out not only to whom and to what the particularities of this mortal existence will go, but declare for all the world who represents you and how.  Consider the little details.  Make it official.  Equip and inform those closest to you.  Breathe peace upon them for a time when they will not remember what  peace means.  Pave the way so that they will know well how to make this journey and join you when the time comes. 

Get ready.

laugh at the devil in the pale moonlight

I’ll be the first to own that I’m not always so good at delivering punch lines.  But, I can see humor and draw attention to it.  I’ve written about it previously  here and have studied for a few years ago since a colleague and former Dean lead me to Holy Humor Sunday.

Since my first writing, I’ve proposed the idea for 2012 to the Worship Committee.  ‘Twill be interesting to see if they latch hold of the idea as humor in response to the defeat of the devil by the victory of Jesus over death.  I’ve even got a sermon idea cooking and notes for such. It involves the devil and a game of chess…

As I’m compiling the file, I’m stumbling across things I hope to use, like this video of Beaker and the Ode to Joy.

Laugh on and praise God!

***Okay, so I can’t get the link to embed as a video clip.  Will attempt again later.  For now, here it is.

You go, Girl! Tell it. Tell it like it is!

Mary Magdalene Copyright Sally K. Green

Not too long ago, a friend and colleague of mine wrote to share a challenging article.  It’s interesting to me that I saw all sorts of reflections on Rob Bell’s Love Wins, particularly on the part of the conservative theological blogosphere and tweeting public.  But I saw very little responding to this critique.

In his lines, the author shares these observations, perhaps meant to convict the heart but also to provoke the spirit, and maybe some anger:

The results from a recent poll published by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life  reveal what social scientists have known for a long time: White Evangelical Christians are the group least likely to support politicians or policies that reflect the actual teachings of Jesus. It is perhaps one of the strangest, most dumb-founding ironies in contemporary American culture. Evangelical Christians, who most fiercely proclaim to have a personal relationship with Christ, who most confidently declare their belief that the Bible is the inerrant word of God, who go to church on a regular basis, pray daily, listen to Christian music, and place God and His Only Begotten Son at the center of their lives, are simultaneously the very people most likely to reject his teachings and despise his radical message.

One of the ironies I face on a daily basis relates to my gender and the response I make to the very personal call that Christ issues me.  If I had a dollar for every time I’ve had to answer questions about being a woman in full-time Christian ministry, particularly parish ministry as a lead pastor, I’d be an independently wealthy woman.

So the irony.  Why is it that many who profess to love and serve Jesus seem not to pay attention to what he said and did in relation to women?   Despite the predominant historical perspective, Jesus said and did quite a lot in relation to women.   And it was quite progressive.   Both in his earthly ministry and in his Resurrection revelations.

My thoughts on these matters are stirred by two recent happenings.  First, a blog article posted by the Rev. Dave Buerstetta called “He Said These Things to Her.”  Second, a 6th grader in my congregation shared his personal experience of women in ministry.

I’ve long relied upon the very arguments Rev. Buerstetta uses in his blog.  Mary was the first one charged with sharing the gospel message in John 20: 1-18.  At the bare minimum, she preached the gospel.  If we’re the slightest bit generous, we can think of her as an evangelist.  But then, I think many closed-minded folk would prefer to relegate the Magdalene’s spiritual gifts to that of compassion (Romans 12: 6-8) and hospitality, which, of course, was expected of everyone (Romans 12:13).   Tradition has tried to relegate her to the role of demon-possessed prostitute in order to keep her quiet.

But, let’s not stop with the Gospel of John.  Shall we also look to Matthew 28.

⁵ The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. ⁶ He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. ⁷ Then go quickly and tell his disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.” (CEV)

First Jesus in John’s gospel and an angel in Matthew’s gospel.  Both urge Mary Magdalene to go and quickly tell.  Matthew’s telling makes it clear:  not only the Magdalene, but the other Mary, as well.  What of Luke’s account?  In this case, the women are not urged to tell, but they share nonetheless.

^9-10Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and some other women were the ones who had gone to the tomb. When they returned, they told the eleven apostles and the others what had happened. ¹¹The apostles thought it was all nonsense, and they would not believe.  (CEV)

See how even the gospel with the most supportive accounts of Jesus’ ministry with women silences them?  That’s because Luke is all to aware how men in those days considered a woman’s viewpoint.  It was nonsense.  They refused to believe.  But the worst picture of women’s role in the Resurrection revelation comes in Mark’s gospel.  With the original ending at verse 8, the women are struck with fear.

 ⁸ Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid. (CEV)

How often we women allow ourselves to be silenced by fear!  So it is that even today, men and women who intend to be “good” continue their attempts to silence others who strive to answer God’s call on their lives.  I’ll share that I’ve yet to face an argument wherein my critic uses Jesus’ words and deeds to stymie me.

There is, of course, much more in the biblical record to address the matter of women’s work for the sake of God’s kingdom.  Perhaps the best biblical study addressing women in ministry was written a few years ago by William Carter.  If you’re asking questions about women in ministry, go read “How Far Does Grace Go?”  It is well thought out and fairly handled.

Let’s return to the young man in my congregation.  His story brings me both joy and sorrow.  For it is one thing for me to face attacks of those who position themselves as my enemy.  It is quite another for an 11 year old, or a man laboring in a factory ridiculed by his co-workers, or an 80 year-old woman picked at by a fussy niece.  I’ve been schooled in my answers.  No one schooled them.

He Qi, Mary Magdalene

Last Sunday, as we sat down to lunch, he proudly told me that he told someone about his Pastor, calling my name.  The man scowled and began, as the boy put it, “fussing and telling me I was wrong to listen to you.”  He continued, “But I told him, ‘She loves Jesus and she loves me.  If women have the right to vote, and to work, and to do all the things they can do now, I don’t know why she can’t serve the Lord.”  Well, how do you like that?  I told him that some people will not agree with women in ministry, but that Mary Magdalene was the first person to proclaim Jesus was alive.

That led to conversations with men sitting at the same table.  I was surprised to hear them relate their dismay that they ” don’t know why there are still people out there who think that women shouldn’t be pastors.”    I shared that when I’m out in public, I’m careful in how much I share about my professional life.  I have to ask myself how willing I am to get into a big debate with a stranger.  Such is the hazard of the job while living in the buckle of the Bible Belt.    The fine gentlemen with whom I dined were shocked that I even had to consider such a thing.

I’m joyful to serve among a people who are so supportive.  Perhaps they’ve seen the fruits of my ministry and that of my predecessor.  But, oddly enough, while there are very strong women here, there is an even larger contingent of strong, faithful men.  That’s different from previous communities where the lay leadership predominantly consisted of women.  Many a researcher has noted that without the women, the church would have crumbled long ago.

Seasons of silence

image by Wicked Nox

Yes, it’s true.  I am  a tweeter.  And while I gave up Facebook for Lent (for many reasons which I will enumerate after Easter), I didn’t quit tweeting.  This morning, the Unvirtuous Abbey — one of those whom I “follow” on Twitter and “Like” on Facebook — has taken a vow of silence for this holy week.  It’s a good thought, and I suppose maybe be connected to some of my practical and spiritual reasons for withdrawing.

Silence can purify.  Sloughing off dead skin like a molting snake, silence shirks off the excess.  Maybe it’s silence in what we put out into the world.  For me, it’s been about what I take in.  With thousands of images and ideas, articles and attitudes infiltrating my mental and emotional space, I must step back.  I am now one of those weirdos who doesn’t watch TV.  I still have one on which I watch my happy, little Netflix DVDs, but I’m the chooser of what flows through rather than some media mogul who opts for some trashy reality series rather than a good mystery.

Silence.  I used to fill up every moment with sound.  In college, we blared our boom-boxes.  Sometimes, we aimed to drown out noisy neighbors upstairs or down the hall.  Other times, the goal was to modify the frequencies of the train roaring by.  When the years of forced loudness went away, I found myself hungering for the sounds of others.  Some sort of media always kept me company.  But over the past few years, I’ve preferred the echoes of my dog’s feet padding down the hall.  Birdsong.  Mowers of people down the street.  Yes, even the cattle lowing under my bedroom window.

I have regretted the lack of interplay with other notions and experiences happening during my quiet times.  I feel I’ve missed the magnitude of the earthquake, tsunami, and reactor’s vulnerability in Japan.  I’m a bit numbed out to the ongoing economic crisis.  For better or worse, I nearly skipped over the national budget crisis.

At some points, I think Francis Asbury was better off on horseback in the wilderness.  But then, he would have lost wonderful conversation with Madame Russell, and many others.  During this long Lent of silence, I’ve missed the easy, brief conversations with loved ones.  So it is that I subscribe with gratitude to my friend J’s blog and ponder over her words and liturgies.  Here she shares some thoughts on Holy Week with which I resonate.  I commend them to you.

As for me, the silence will end, soon.  Will it be too soon?  Time will tell.

True Companion

Springtime Companions by Mary Elise (passiflora photography)

The memory grows short as the days go by.  I find myself in places that apparently cater to people who came of age in the late 80s and early 90s.  The music churns through the space and I find myself rocked as if a time warp has carried me back into those moments so long ago.

Last weekend it was 99 Red Balloons.  Today, it is Marc Cohn’s “True Companion.”  I remember his “Walking in Memphis” rocketed him into popularity.  I owned the cassette tape.  Long before I knew anything about his lines, the music called out to me.

Baby I’ve been searching like everybody else
Can’t say nothing different about myself
Sometimes I’m an angel
And sometimes I’m cruel
And when it comes to love
I’m just another fool
Yes, I’ll climb a mountain
I’m gonna swim the sea
There ain’t no act of God girl
Could keep you safe from me
My arms are reaching out
Out across this canyon
I’m asking you to be my true companion
True companion
True companion

Cohn’s lyrics stir beautiful images of what it means for a man to have gained a woman’s heart and trust, the greatest achievement he’ll ever gain  Still, I’ve learned even more of what it means to be “companion.” 

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the notion of a companion for a while.  I’ve spoken with people over the past weeks who’ve had their trust betrayed when their partner broke bread with others.  Others tell me about rejection they’ve experienced by someone whom they thought was their true companion.  Another tells me that one has no worth without a true companion.  Of course, we hear the heart-angst in each of these.

Literally, a companion is “someone with whom you break bread.”  So our companions are those with whom we share table fellowship.  That might mean eucharist (communion).  Or it might mean a dinner date.  It could even be Manwich and Preacher Cookies after a daylong, 350 mile trip to a health specialist. 

Years ago I decided that I never wanted to be married to someone with whom I sat in silence when we went out to dinner.  Why would two people who have nothing to say to one another break bread together?  Since then, I’ve decided that  maybe sometimes, the silence is necessary.

What makes a true companion?  Who is yours?  What is that person like?

*Note:  I came upon Mary Elise (passiflora photography) who created the image above.  I think her work is wonderful.  If you click on “Springtime Companions,” it will take you to her website.

The Ants & the Grasshopper

Since Ash Wednesday, we’ve focused on the Seven Deadly Sins in worship.  This week’s sin is “Sloth” which is really a word that’s been lost to our vernacular.  Basically, sloth is the Sin of Not Caring.  Scripture addresses Sloth several times, but modern translations call it Laziness.  Again and again, the holy texts illustrate the matter by contrasting the ants and the grasshopper (Proverbs 6: 6-11).  In this light, Sloth begins to take on a twinge of self-importance and pride, too.  It maybe even highlights the expectation our culture has that all deserve Social Security after a certain age, whether or not we’ve worked to support others by funding it.

When I think on these things, I remember my childhood love for Walt Disney’s Silly Symphony.  Funny thing is, I kept thinking I’d forgotten the remaining lines in the song the Grasshopper sings.  Fact of the matter:  the grasshopper only bothers to sing one line.

O the wormwood and the gall

Wormwood

Certain seasons seem to require certain songs.  Followers of Jesus tend to be cyclical people.  Living through the cycles of preparation for and celebration of Christmas and Easter are common to almost all of us, whether we are a part of low or high liturgical styles in our worship, or even if we don’t worship.  As we approach the days leading up to Easter, those cycles of songs and texts flow through me.

I often wonder what songs and stories go with people who don’t have a particular belief system.  It seems that our culture creates its own cadence.  New Year’s Eve/Day flow into Presidents’ Day.  St. Valentine’s turns into St. Patrick’s but these are seldom observed as people whose lives witnessed to the power of Christ, but rather as opportunities for indulgence in red and green, chocolate and beer.  The first Day of Spring, Easter, Earth Day, and May Day move us through the renewal remembrances.  Mother’s Day and Father’s Day.  Memorial, Independence, and Labor Day mark the high moments of Summer’s beginning, peak, and ending.  Times of remembrance stir with the anniversaries of September 11, Veteran’s Day, and Pearl Harbor.  We delight in the fun and frivolity of Halloween.  The year’s end cycles closed with times for family and friends — Thanksgiving and Christmas.  But is there a common story?  Is there a common anthem for these patterned times?

Not too long ago, a dear friend of mine who has long been intrigued by the new movements of Christian music shared her thoughts on the matter.  One day soon, all of the old hymns will be made new.  Think of Chris Tomlin’s interpretation of “Amazing Grace.”  When a movie by the same title was being developed, he was asked to tweak the beloved hymn.  At a concert I attended back in October, he shared that he immediately said, “No way.”  Can you imagine?  Cries of sacrilege would raise up from the depths of Christendom that thinks all must stay the same.  But then he started doing some research.  He found out that even “Amazing Grace” as we had it up until 2006 had been edited.  A new verse was added and the world didn’t implode.  So, after much prayer and consideration, he added one transition:  “My chains are gone, I’ve been set free.  My God, my Savior has ransomed me.  And like a flood His mercy reigns.  Unending love, Amazing grace.”   It’s in keeping with the character of the song and has served to convict many a heart. 

The concept of Ancient-Modern worship is an intriguing one.  All things are made new.  Revelation 21:5 says: “Behold, I am making all things new.”  Isaiah 43:19 says:  “See I am doing a new thing.  Now it springs forth; can you not perceive it?”  I love adaptations and reclamations of the old.  It pains me to watch people in worship bored to tears by the solemn sounds of old hymns, all the while missing great teachings on theology and practice of the faith.

So I’m hoping that one day before too long, someone will adapt “Go to Dark Gethsemane.”  It needs to maintain the minor key and somber character, but it needs new energy so that people can connect with the power of the song.  James Montgomery (1771-1854) penned the lyrics while good Richard Redhead (1820-1901) wrote the music.  The song tells the story of those last moments of Jesus’s life.

Go to dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the tempter’s power;
Your Redeemer’s conflict see, watch with Him one bitter hour,
Turn not from His griefs away; learn of Jesus Christ to pray.

See Him at the judgment hall, beaten, bound, reviled, arraigned;
O the wormwood and the gall! O the pangs His soul sustained!
Shun not suffering, shame, or loss; learn of Christ to bear the cross.

Calvary’s mournful mountain climb; there, adoring at His feet,
Mark that miracle of time, God’s own sacrifice complete.
“It is finished!” hear Him cry; learn of Jesus Christ to die.

Early hasten to the tomb where they laid His breathless clay;
All is solitude and gloom. Who has taken Him away?
Christ is risen! He meets our eyes; Savior, teach us so to rise.

O the wormwood and the gall.  It’s one of those lines that you can’t comprehend if you haven’t a) been around the church very long, b) don’t know context clues, or c) haven’t done a bit of bible study.  Lamentations 3:12-19 does pretty well with setting the stage for what wormwood and gall convey:

12 he bent his bow and set me as a target for his arrow. 13 He drove into my kidneys the arrows of his quiver; 14 I have become the laughingstock of all peoples, the object of their taunts all day long. 15 He has filled me with bitterness; he has sated me with wormwood. 16 He has made my teeth grind on gravel, and made me cower in ashes; 17 my soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is; 18 so I say, “My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the LORD.” 19 Remember my affliction and my wanderings, the wormwood and the gall! (ESV)

Afflictions.  Sufferings.  Bereft.  Hopeless.  Bitterness.  Poison.  Laughingstock.  Taunted.  A target.  All of these get at what Jesus became as he took that cross upon his shoulder and then took his place upon it.  Maybe that’s why current musicians haven’t touched it.  It’s too dark and most praise and worship music wants upbeat hopeful stuff.  I have found though, that Casting Crowns is quite comfortable confronting our brokenness and pain.  All you need do is watch their video interpretations of their songs “American Dream” and “Slow Fade.”  Talk about bitterness.

What songs and texts help you journey through the cycles you keep?

Lyrical autobiography

Have you noticed how some songs will come around and around again?  Maybe not in terms of popularity, but in the way they speak to you?  It can be the same with the holy texts.  Somehow, a interpretation you had at 14 is still part of you when you’re 23.  Yet that early-twenties experience is new and fresh.  The layers build with successive readings to deepen the encounter with the text and the God to whom it points.  As with scripture, so songs speak to me.

Before I enrolled in an upper level preaching class (Preaching the Parables), I’d already been fascinated with the story of the Persistent Widow and the Unjust Judge.  But working through that text in preparation for a sermon, paper, and defense steeped me in a greater appreciation of what God was saying through Jesus’ parabolic teaching.  Then, into the parish I went and the text became part of my survival, thriving, and ministry to those who also were trying to resurface from challenges at hand.  Just as my Creator has charged me never to give up, so I urge others. 

 

2 He said, “There was once a judge in some city who never gave God a thought and cared nothing for people. 3 A widow in that city kept after him: ‘My rights are being violated. Protect me!’ 4 “He never gave her the time of day. But after this went on and on he said to himself, ‘I care nothing what God thinks, even less what people think. 5 But because this widow won’t quit badgering me, I’d better do something and see that she gets justice – otherwise I’m going to end up beaten black and blue by her pounding.'” (Luke 18: 2-5, The Message)

It’s safe to say that I’ve had more than one person’s share of struggles.  I won’t belabor the details here.  They could very well be too personal for such a venue.  But the Widow’s persistence, for me, became representative of God’s persistence with us.  Our Creator who made us in God’s own image and endowed us with life, choice, and great love will never give up on us.  Ever.  Even to the very end.  Why?  Because God’s nature is love.  So, why should I give up on myself or others?

Yes, sometimes one must walk away from a fight, but the fighter still remains.  So, as I consider a song that describes me, I come to Simon & Garfunkel’s “The Boxer.”   Although the metaphor breaks plainly down when he arrives at the ladies on 7th Avenue.  “The Boxer” was a song that stirred me as a youth and moves me more today.  That, my friends, is good music.

Sad Songs

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?