I am here to modestly report seeing in an orchard in my town a goldfinch kissing a sunflower again and again dangling upside down by its tiny claws steadying itself by snapping open like an old-timey fan its wings again and again, until, swooning, it tumbled off and swooped back to the very same perch, where the sunflower curled its giant swirling of seeds around the bird and leaned back to admire the soft wind nudging the bird’s plumage, and friends I could see the points on the flower’s stately crown soften and curl inward as it almost indiscernibly lifted the food of its body to the bird’s nuzzling mouth whose fervor I could hear from oh 20 or 30 feet away and see from the tiny hulls that sailed from their good racket, which good racket, I have to say was making me blush, and rock up on my tippy-toes, and just barely purse my lips with what I realize now was being, simply, glad, which such love, if we let it, makes us feel. ~Ross Gay “Wedding Poem” from Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude
For the last several days I’ve heard an insistent tapping at my kitchen window bird feeder.
A flash of yellow feathers makes the racket drawing my attention; I figure he wants the feeder refilled.
Yet it is full.
This goldfinch is wanting my attention, not more sunflower seeds.
When I approach the window, he wings off, returning only if I retreat to the shadows.
Then his tapping resumes.
He can see me in the shadows, watching him watching me.
I think he is simply enjoying making noise, as his thanks for the feast of seeds in a world of desperate hunger and despair.
So much like the good racket we make when we sing in church, thanking God when His swirling seeds of love and care are bestowed upon us.
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My life flows on in endless song Above earth’s lamentation I hear the sweet, though far-off hymn That hails a new creation Through all the tumult and the strife I hear that music ringing It finds an echo in my soul How can I keep from singing? ~Robert Lowry
We recently returned from an out of state visit with two grandsons, ages two and six months. They love being sung to – they rock and bop to melodies and rhythms and then relax to sleep listening to us sing the quiet evening hymns we sang to his father at night.
They will see so much in their lifetimes that we can’t even imagine. Already in their short time on earth there have been plenty of cataclysmic events, and without a doubt, more are in store.
No matter what comes, we pray they will always hear their parents’ and four grandparents’ voices resounding inside their heads when things get rough. The hymns and the prayers said over them will give them calm and confidence in the face of troubles, tumult and strife.
God’s reality and truth are shared with them in songs and words every day, and as they someday raise children of their own, how can they keep from singing that out whenever it is most needed?
This year’s Lenten theme for Barnstorming is a daily selection from songs and hymns about Christ’s profound sacrifice on our behalf.
If we remain silent about Him, the stones themselves will shout out and start to sing (Luke 19:40).
In His name, may we sing…
My life flows on in endless song, above earth’s lamentation. I catch the sweet, though far-off hymn that hails a new creation.
Refrain: No storm can shake my inmost calm while to that Rock I’m clinging. Since Love is lord of heav’n and earth, how can I keep from singing?
Through all the tumult and the strife, I hear that music ringing. It finds an echo in my soul. How can I keep from singing?
What though my joys and comforts die, I know my Savior liveth. What though the darkness gather round? Songs in the night he giveth.
I lift mine eyes the cloud grows thin I see the blue above it And day by day this pathway smooths Since first I learned to love it
The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart, a fountain ever springing! All things are mine since I am his! How can I keep from singing?
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You came from dust and dust would be Without the Great Son’s victory. The gift is free yet must be claimed By goodness lived and evil tamed.
Prepared to walk this Lenten trail They face death’s dark and shadowed vale. Rememb’ring Christ who led the way They bravely march beneath his sway. ~Ash Wednesday’s Early Morn
And so the light runs laughing from the town, Pulling the sun with him along the roads That shed their muddy rivers as he goads Each blade of grass the ice had flattened down. At every empty bush he stops to fling Handfuls of birds with green and yellow throats; While even the hens, uncertain of their notes, Stir rusty vowels in attempts to sing.
He daubs the chestnut-tips with sudden reds And throws an olive blush on naked hills That hoped, somehow, to keep themselves in white. Who calls for sackcloth now? He leaps and spreads A carnival of color, gladly spills His blood: the resurrection—and the light. ~Louis Untermeyer from “Ash Wednesday”
May the light shine on our dusty darkness. May we be stilled, stunned to silence by the knowledge of the Lord, who sees us as we are, knows us as we are, and loves us anyway.
O people, we who are His loved children, who too often turn away from Him so only our ashes remain. His touch ignites us to light again, His blood has been spilled across the sky.
This year’s Lenten theme for Barnstorming is a daily selection from songs and hymns about Christ’s profound sacrifice on our behalf.
If we remain silent about Him, the stones themselves will shout out and start to sing (Luke 19:40).
In His name, may we sing…
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My life flows on in endless song above earth’s lamentation. I hear the real, though far-off hymn that hails a new creation. No storm can shake my inmost calm, while to that rock, I’m clinging Since love prevails in heaven and earth, How can I keep from singing?
Through all the tumult and the strife I hear its music ringing It sounds an echo in my soul How can I keep from singing?
While though the tempest round me roars, I know the truth, it liveth. And though the darkness round me close, songs in the night it giveth. No storm can shake my inmost calm, while to that rock, I’m clinging Since love prevails in heaven and earth, How can I keep from singing?
I Lift my eyes. The cloud grows thin; I see the blue above it. And day by day, this pathway smooths, since first I learned to love it. No storm can shake my inmost calm, I hear the music ringing. It sounds an echo in my soul. How can I keep from singing? ~Robert Lowry
We are spending a few precious days with our grandson in Colorado before his first birthday. He loves being sung to – he rocks and bops to the melodies and rhythms and then relaxes to sleep listening to us sing the quiet evening hymns we sang to his father at night.
He will see so much in his lifetime that we can’t even imagine. Already in his short time on earth there have been plenty of cataclysmic events, and without a doubt, more are in store.
No matter what comes, we pray he will always hear his parents’ and four grandparents’ voices resounding inside his head when things get rough. The hymns and the prayers said over him will give him calm and confidence in the face of trouble.
God’s reality and truth are shared with him in songs and words every day, and as he someday raises children of his own, how can he keep from singing that out when it is most needed?
1. In Christ there is no east or west, in him no south or north, but one great fellowship of love throughout the whole wide earth.
2. In Christ shall true hearts everywhere their high communion find; his service is the golden cord close binding humankind.
3. Join hands, companions in the faith, whate’er your race may be! Who loves and serves the one in him, throughout the whole wide earth.
4. In Christ now meet both east and west; in him meet south and north, all Christly souls are one in him throughout the whole wide earth. ~William Dunkerley
We Christians are often rightfully accused of being judgmental and unwilling to consider other points of view. We can be the first to criticize another Christian of being unfaithful or heretical, not following doctrine and creeds, or being too liberal or too conservative or just too plain stubborn.
I’ve done it myself (doing it now in this post!) and have received more than my share of mean-spirited, even hateful, messages from Christian brothers and sisters who disagree with my point of view on some issue. Christians can tend to revel in eating their own.
When I’m tempted to judge lest I be judged, I remember who Christ hung out with: the cast offs and most undesirable people in society. They were surely more receptive to His message than those who believed they knew better than Him, who questioned His actions and motives, and who plotted against Him behind His back.
We need reminding that Christ isn’t more present in one political party over another, one denomination or faith community over another, one zip code over another, or in one racial or ethnic group over another.
We, east and west, north and south, constitute His body on earth, we dwell fully in His image just as we were created to be. It is only through His loving Spirit we are brought home where we belong, back to the center from the fraying edges of our faith.
(Ten years ago this week, this healthy young college student came to our clinic stricken with seasonal influenza complicated by pneumonia. His family gave permission for his story to be told.)
Nothing was helping. Everything had been tried for a week of the most intensive critical care possible. A twenty year old man, completely healthy only two weeks previously, was dying and nothing could stop it.
The battle against a sudden MRSA pneumonia precipitated by a routine seasonal influenza had been lost. Despite aggressive hemodynamic, antibiotic, antiviral and ventilator management, he was becoming more hypoxic and his renal function was deteriorating. He had been unresponsive for most of the week.
The intensivist looked weary and defeated. The nurses were staring at their laps, unable to look up, their eyes tearing. The hospital chaplain reached out to hold this young man’s mother’s shaking hands.
After a week of heroic effort and treatment, there was now clarity about the next step.
Two hours later, a group gathered in the waiting room outside the ICU doors. The average age was about 21; they assisted each other in tying on the gowns over their clothing, distributed gloves and masks. Together, holding each other up, they waited for the signal to gather in his room after the ventilator had been removed and he was breathing without assistance. They entered and gathered around his bed.
He was ravaged by this sudden illness, his strong body beaten and giving up. His breathing was now ragged and irregular, sedation preventing response but not necessarily preventing awareness. He was surrounded by silence as each individual who had known and loved him struggled with the knowledge that this was the final goodbye.
His father approached the head of the bed and put his hands on his boy’s forehead and cheek. He held this young man’s face tenderly, bowing in silent prayer and then murmuring words of comfort:
It is okay to let go. It is okay to leave us now.
We will see you again. We’ll meet again.
We’ll know where you will be.
His mother stood alongside, rubbing her son’s arms, gazing into his face as he slowly slowly slipped away. His father began humming, indistinguishable notes initially, just low sounds coming from a deep well of anguish and loss.
As the son’s breaths spaced farther apart, his dad’s hummed song became recognizable as the hymn of praise by John Newton, Amazing Grace. The words started to form around the notes. At first his dad was singing alone, giving this gift to his son as he passed, and then his mom joined in as well. His sisters wept. His friends didn’t know all the words but tried to sing through their tears. The chaplain helped when we stumbled, not knowing if we were getting it right, not ever having done anything like this before.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, Was blind, but now I see.
Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come; ‘Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far and Grace will lead me home.
Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail, And mortal life shall cease, I shall possess within the veil, A life of joy and peace.
When we’ve been here ten thousand years Bright shining as the sun. We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise Than when we’ve first begun.
And he left us.
His mom hugged each sobbing person there–the young friends, the nurses, the doctors humbled by powerful pathogens. She thanked each one for being present for his death, for their vigil kept through the week in the hospital.
This young man, now lost to this life, had profoundly touched people in a way he could not have ever predicted or expected. His parents’ grief, so gracious and giving to the young people who had never confronted death before, remains unforgettable.
This was their sacred gift to their son so Grace will lead us home.
Could we with ink the ocean fill, And were the skies of parchment made, Were every stalk on earth a quill, And every man a scribe by trade, To write the love of God above, Would drain the ocean dry. Nor could the scroll contain the whole, Though stretched from sky to sky. ~from the hymn “The Love of God”
by Frederick Lehman, derived from Jewish poem Haddamut,
written in Aramaic in 1050 by Meir Ben Isaac Nehorai
We try to wrap our arms and minds around that which is so immense, so infinite, so eternal, so mysterious, so unimaginable — in the hope we can hold it in our consciousness, even if momentarily.
We can try with metaphor and parable and poetry and our finite imagination.
Yet God’s love permeates everything from the empty space between tiny atomic particles to the clinging/flinging forces of the galaxies in the vast universe. It is impossible to fathom or describe.
We may try but we can’t — and simply be the image bearers we were created to be.
“I tell you,” he replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.” ~Luke 19:40
1. A stable lamp is lighted whose glow shall wake the sky; the stars shall bend their voices, and every stone shall cry. And every stone shall cry, and straw like gold shall shine; a barn shall harbour heaven, a stall become a shrine.
2. This child through David’s city shall ride in triumph by; the palm shall strew its branches, and every stone shall cry. And every stone shall cry, though heavy, dull and dumb, and lie within the roadway to pave his kingdom come.
3. Yet he shall be forsaken, and yielded up to die; the sky shall groan and darken, and every stone shall cry. And every stone shall cry for gifts of love abused; God’s blood upon the spearhead, God’s blood again refused.
4. But now, as at the ending, the low is lifted high; the stars shall bend their voices, and every stone shall cry. And every stone shall cry in praises of the child by whose descent among us the worlds are reconciled. ~Richard Wilbur
Feeling heavy, dull and dumb,
I could be convinced
I’m no more than a simple rock
among a multitude of rocks~
inconsequential and immobile,
trod upon and paved over,
forgettable and forgotten.
I could believe
there exists no pulse
in my stony heart.
I could believe
I am incapable of love
if I turn away
from a God descending to walk
on the same humble ground where I lie.
Yet even the low are lifted high by His descent–
every stone,
even the dumb and lifeless,
shall cry out in community with Him,
even the silent will find a voice to praise.
Even my own voice,
meager and anemic,
shall be heard.
Even a barn can harbor heaven,
straw a bed of spun gold,
a stall becomes a shrine.
I am no longer forgotten.
In fact, never forgotten.
So hard to reconcile,
if the stones and barn and stalls
have known all along,
so should I.
Then we shall be where we would be, Then we shall be what we should be, Things that are not now, nor could be, Soon shall be our own. ~Thomas Kelly from his hymn “Praise the Savior, Ye Who Know Him”
____________
Because I finished my term on earth and had no knowledge of either fear nor care, no morning knowledge, no knowledge of evening, and those who came before and those following after had no more knowledge of me than I had of them. ~Mary Ruefle from “Marked”
_____________
Whether we are coming or going,
beginning or ending,
leading or following,
rising or setting,
north or south,
east or west,
one day we shall be
where or what we should be,
even if not now
even if not now
even if not now~
we soon shall be.
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee one by one
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee two by two
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee three by three
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee four by four
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee five by five
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee six by six
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee seven by seven
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee eight by eight
Eight for the eight that stood at the gate
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
And one for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee nine by nine
Nine for the nine all dressed so fine
Eight for the eight that stood at the gate
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee ten by ten
Ten for the ten commandments
Nine for the nine all dressed so fine
Eight for the eight that stood at the gate
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee eleven by eleven
Eleven for the eleven deriders
Ten for the ten commandments
Nine for the nine all dressed so fine
Eight for the eight that stood at the gate
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
One for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
I’m gonna send thee twelve by twelve
Twelve for the twelve Apostles
Eleven for the eleven deriders
Ten for the ten commandments
Nine for the nine all dressed so fine
Eight for the eight that stood at the gate
Seven for the seven that never got to heaven
Six for the six that never got fixed
Five for the gospel preachers
Four for the four that stood at the door
Three for the Hebrew children
Two for Paul and Silas
And one for the little bitty, baby
Who’s born, born, born in Bethlehem
He was born, born, born in Bethlehem
Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?
~Traditional Gospel
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