The Melody of Lent

 

 

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness
Where is death's sting?
Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

 

There is a shift from yesterday to today.  Yesterday, we heard the pain from Henry Francis Lyte’s life, but we also heard his faithfulness.  Yesterday, we spent time dwelling in the wounds and wants of life, but perhaps in hearing Lyte’s story you sensed strength and the sacred stirring.  So often, we turn life into either/or choices.  We are either happy or sad.  We are either living the dream or the sky is falling.  Yet, our lives are complex enough to hold two competing, even contradictory, emotions.  We are not taught how to dwell or abide in such tension.  Rather, we let one emotion rule and run over all other emotions.  We decide that everything is coming up roses or going to you-know-where in a handbasket.  Yet, to sit with the messiness of our lives might be the doorway we need.

I invite you today into a time of meditation.  Sit in a chair with your feet touching the floor, especially focus that the heels are firmly touching the ground.  While your back is straight, your shoulders relax, sink and settle into your chair.  Notice your breathing.  Christine Runyan says this, “There’s various techniques you can do with the breath, but if you’re going do one thing, a long exhale, because that’s part of our sympathetic nervous system, that dorsal part of our sympathetic nervous system that activates our calming — so, a long exhale. The inhale can have an activation part; a long exhale can — that alone can be quite calming, although there are some other breath techniques that one can use as well.”

For example, you can breathe in to the count of four and exhale to the count of six (you want your exhale to be longer than your inhale).  Or you can inhale to the count of five, hold gently to the count of six, and exhale to the count of seven or eight. 

Just breathe today.  Remember that one name for God, Yahweh, sounds like breath.  Yahweh, the name God gives Moses at the burning bush (Exodus 3), is made up of the sound of inhaling (Yah) and exhaling (weh).  You may even want to try that breathing in with the word, “Yah” and exhale with the word, “Weh”.  Image God dwelling and abiding right beside you in this holy moment.

Prayer: Breathe on me, breath of God, filling me with life anew.  Amen. 

 

The Melody of Lent

 

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day
Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away
Change and decay in all around I see
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

A bit of history of this hymn.  The words were written by  Henry Francis Lyte.  He was an Anglican minister.  Lyte’s story is one of heartbreak.  He did not have a good childhood, with his father abandoning him and his brother.  Lyte was able to receive a good education.  He spoke Latin, Greek, and French; enjoyed discussing literature; and played the flute.  But, Lyte had significant health issues.  When Lyte penned this hymn is debated.  Some say he wrote it for a friend whose hand Lyte held while his friend was dying and others say he wrote it after he preached his final sermon. 

His daughter, Anna Maria Maxwell Hogg, recounts the story of how "Abide with Me" came out of that context:

The summer was passing away, and the month of September arrived, and each day seemed to have a special value as being one day nearer his departure. His family were surprised and almost alarmed at his announcing his intention of preaching once more to his people. His weakness and the possible danger attending the effort, were urged to prevent it, but in vain. "It was better", as he used to say often playfully, when in comparative health, "to wear out than to rust out". He felt that he should be enabled to fulfil his wish and feared not for the result. His expectation was well founded. He did preach, and amid the breathless attention of his hearers, gave them a sermon on the Holy Communion ... In the evening of the same day he placed in the hands of a near and dear relative the little hymn, "Abide with Me", with an air of his own composing, adapted to the words.  Just weeks later, on November 20, 1847, Lyte died. The hymn was sung for the very first time at Lyte's funeral. 

In those words, I hear the second verse differently.  I hear Lyte’s own realization of how life can fade away.  That sometimes the things we seek and see as so important in life, end up not being so vital in the end.  Yet, God’s persistent presence, God’s prayerful abiding and faithfulness, is where we long to dwell.  I invite you again to hold each of these lines and let them connect to your life.  Where are things passing away right now, coming to an end?  What was so important a week ago, a month ago, or a year ago, suddenly doesn’t seem so big?  Where do you see decay around you?  How might each of these places be a dwelling space for God?  That final question is the one that gets me.  I can make a list of my laments, but to then ask, where is God in this, reframes and refocuses my attention.  Holy Week reminds us that God abides in the struggle, strain, stress, and even suffering.  Not that God causes this, not that God uses these moments to teach us a lesson – although we might learn something - not that God throws lightening bolts.  And yet, God can be found in the midnight of our souls.  To be open to the abiding presence of God in the uncertainty is a profound truth this hymn, and Lyte’s own story, point us toward.

Prayer: Abiding God open me to the places and spaces that are confining and confounding as still having room for You to move.  Amen.

The Melody of Lent

 

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide
The darkness deepens Lord, with me abide
When other helpers fail and comforts flee
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.

The word “Abide” is not exactly one that falls from my lips most days.  I don’t say, “I will abide in this line at the grocery story.”  Or, I will abide with my family in this abode.  Although, that last sentence has a kind of cool 18^th century English vibe to it.  The word “Abide” is synonymous with words like, “remain, wait, and dwell” (hold onto that last alternative, I will come back to it).  Often, that list is what happens to us.  We are told to wait in a doctor’s office or as a kid told to say remain right there.  Waiting puts us in a position where we are no longer in control.  So, initially abide doesn’t seem like something you want to do.  Until you consider that the hymn adds the word “with” to “Abide”.  For me, there is a sudden shift and breaking open.  Abide with means to stay with (someone) or to live with someone.  Suddenly, abide has agency and choice.  You can select where you stay and with whom you live.  You have a say. 

Abide is both an invitation from us and for us.  Abide is both a situation we are put into and we can decide to put ourselves into, which is where the word, “dwell” comes into play. 

Where are you dwelling (or abiding) right now?

You could answer that question physically – by describing your surroundings – are you inside or outside – in a place you want to be?

You could answer that question spiritually – how is your soul right now?

You could answer that question emotionally – how heavy or light is your heart?

As we enter, abide, reside, and dwell in our holiest week, I invite you to pray the words of this hymn slowly.  You can sing the words softly, for God to dwell with you.  You can belt out these words loudly as a passionate plea, cry for God to be with you as you try to emerge from the COVID cocoon, unsure what is safe or not.  Hold each line in your heart.  Where do you need God to abide?  Where do you feel the darkness deepen right now?  Where have other helpers (things you have turned to like retreats or the church or other people) failed to abide?

I pray this Holy week, you might hear your story in the story of Jesus facing the cross.  Moreover, I pray you will sense God’s abiding presence with you now and every day for months to come.

Prayer: Abide with us, O God, in these days send us Your love, power, and grace we need every day.  Amen.

The Melody of Lent

 

I love to tell the story, for those who know it best seem hungering and thirsting to hear it like the rest. And when I sing in glory, I know the new, new song will be the old, old story that I have loved so long.  I love to tell the story; and when I am in glory I'll tell the old, old story of Jesus' endless love.

 We wrap up and wind down another week.  I pray you have found the meditations this week meaningful and insightful – not only into a beautiful hymn but into the stories you tell others.  Two quick thoughts about the fourth and final verse.  First, I believe that we don’t have to wait until we are in heaven to sing in glory.  We sing in glory anytime we let God’s story embrace and be embodied in our story.  And singing doesn’t always mean vocalizations coming out of my mouth.  I sing in glory on Palm Sunday as I wave my palm branch while my heart silently cries out, “Hosanna”.  I sing in glory on Maundy Thursday as I break bread in stillness letting the spirit meet each of us.  I sing in glory on Good Friday – softly and tenderly in the face of God’s vulnerability on the cross.  I sing in glory on Easter when the mystery of God’s unceasing love breaks forth from the tomb.  I sing in glory every day that I remember the truth that God is always present and part of my life.  How I sing, whether I am in tune with God’s good news, and if I only do so half-heartedly – all that is up to each of us every day.

Second, when we are hungering and thirsting, we are longing for connections and community.  Humans are social beings.  This is because we are created by a divine dance of the Trinity – God and Christ and the Spirit are all in relationship.  To be crafted, created by that source means we will all crave connection.  Part of the pain of this pandemic is both that we cannot sing together and part is that we cannot be together to see each other.  Part of the pain is that telling your story to a screen over zoom or into the phone just isn’t the same.  I pray that as we emerge from the tomb (or could also be a womb) of the COVID cocoon, we will do so prayerfully and intentionally and hopefully and lovingly and telling a story that is bigger than any of us, but in which we can find ourselves.

If we can do that…my friends…we will discover the good news of God’s love that we can share with others.  May it be so for you and me.  May God’s love enfold and hold you as we enter our holiest week this coming Sunday.  Amen.

The Melody of Lent

 

You are invited to read prayerfully or sing the third verse of our hymn of the week:

I love to tell the story; it’s pleasant to repeat what seems, each time I tell it, more wonderfully sweet.

I love to tell the story, for some have never heard the message of salvation from God's own holy Word. I love to tell the story; and when I am in glory I'll tell the old, old story of Jesus' endless love.

We are leaning in and listening to the words of Kathrine Hankey’s hymn, I love to Tell the Story.  The third verse points out that we love to repeat and re-tell stories.  Each time we tell a good story, there is a new dimension to experience and explore.  This is true of scripture.  Each time I hear the Parable of the Prodigal Son there is some fresh, new, different – because I am different.  I hear word in a new way because this old, old beloved story is being filtered through experiences and encounters.  Maybe I hear how the younger son wandered away, thinking about how my kids will in just a few years will wander away to college.  Or I hear about the frustration of the older brother and I think about all the ways we as a people right now cling to our own anger and right-ness in our political/communal life together.  Or I think about the care of the father to go to both sons, inviting each to the party, how might I meet people where they are rather then where I am?

What stories do you repeat?  Are you always the hero or shero of your stories?  That is, do you always do the right thing and save the day when you tell a story?  Or are you always the bumbling and stumbling comic relief in the story?  Because the deeper truth is that we are both.  Do you only tell stories about struggle and stress?  Or do you share stories that evoke and provoke the prayerful healing art of laughter? 

Today, listen and lean in to your stories, especially the ones you return to when you meet someone new.  Today, you may want to even go and read a favorite Bible passage (like the Prodigal Son, Luke 15 or Psalm 23), pay attention to the ways your mind/heart/soul are interpreting the words of the story through your story.

Prayer: God help me hear the undercurrents of what I share as ways I am revealing the deepest truths about myself.  Amen.

The Melody of Lent

 

Please listen to the choir above and then slowly read the verses ~ or sing the words!

I love to tell the story of unseen things above, Of Jesus' radiant glory, of Jesus' endless love.
I love to tell the story, because I know it's true; it satisfies my longings as nothing else can do.
I love to tell the story; and when I am in glory I'll tell the old, old story of Jesus' endless love.

 

I love to tell the story; more wonderful it seems than all the golden visions of all our golden dreams.

I love to tell the story, I tell it now to you because I want to share it, because I know it's true.

I love to tell the story; and when I am in glory I'll tell the old, old story of Jesus' endless love.

 

I love to tell the story; it’s pleasant to repeat what seems, each time I tell it, more wonderfully sweet.

I love to tell the story, for some have never heard the message of salvation from God's own holy Word. I love to tell the story; and when I am in glory I'll tell the old, old story of Jesus' endless love.

 

I love to tell the story, for those who know it best seem hungering and thirsting to hear it like the rest. And when I sing in glory, I know the new, new song will be the old, old story that I have loved so long.  I love to tell the story; and when I am in glory I'll tell the old, old story of Jesus' endless love.

 

The second verse of this hymn speaks of “golden visions…golden dreams.”  Stories share the deepest part of ourselves with other.  Underneath the words we use when talking and telling someone about our days are our values, our emotions, our politics, our faith, our ancestors, and our dreams.

 

And you thought you were just talking about the weather!

 

Seriously, when you talk about the weather, you could talk about it being, “partly cloudy” or “partly sunny”.  You could listen to the clouds as they sail across the sky or be so busy studying the screen of your phone that miss wisdom the clouds offer.  You could pay attention to what is on your path or be so busy pushing forward that you are the proverbial bull in a glass shop. 

 

Again, you thought you were just talking about the weather!

 

Today, I invite you to pay attention to one story you share with another person.  After a conversation, pause, rewind/remember the story.  Did you emphasize the positive of what was happening or the negative?  Did you allow for mystery/curiosity or were you so certain you had it all figured out?  Did you feel anger causing your shoulders to tense or did you allow for laughter to sit with your seriousness?  Listen to your own story and what is beneath/behind the words you are using to create the world you inhabit.

 

God, help me tell my story in a way that is in concert/connected to Your story.  Amen.

The Melody of Lent

 

I love to tell the story; more wonderful it seems than all the golden visions of all our golden dreams.

I love to tell the story, I tell it now to you because I want to share it, because I know it's true.

I love to tell the story; and when I am in glory I'll tell the old, old story of Jesus' endless love.

This hymn is written by Kathrine Hankey, who was an English missionary and nurse.  Her father was a prosperous banker in London and was raised Anglican.  She was inspired by a Methodist rival and decided to assist her brother in his missionary work. Hankey had a serious illness while on a mission in Africa. During her long days of convalescence, she wrote on the life of Jesus in 1866 in two parts. The first part was a poem of fifty stanzas, titled "The Story Wanted" (dated January 29, 1866) and second part titled "The Story Told" (dated November 18, 1866).  It is second part that the words above are taken from.

But what I find fascinating is that she wrote this during an illness.  This makes me wonder what wisdom can be born out of this time of a pandemic and upheaval?  When you look back at the last year, what story would you tell?  What tone and tenor does it have?  If we are not careful, our minds are too controlled by cynicism – as if that is the highest form of critical thinking.  I sometimes wonder if part of my education has taught me only to deconstruct everything, point out the flaws and shortcomings as the way to show that I was “critically thinking”.  So, when it comes to examining and exploring my life, I do the same thing!  In my own story narration, I constantly point out my fumbles and stumbles. 

But what if, there is another way?  A way of curiosity?  A way that stays open to researching your life – after all you are a fascinating living, breathing being!  Try this, rather than saying, “Good Lord, why in the world did I say that?!?  I am such a bonehead.”  What if you re-phrase it, “Good and gracious God, the words that just fell from my mouth, I am not sure about.  Help me sort through the why of this.” 

See what that does?  I just heard someone say, we should all wear white lab coats as we research our own lives in the present tense.  Rather than jumping to conclusions and clinging to opinions, to stay open to what God is doing. 

I am inspired by Hankey, who could have wallowed and stared out the window while recovering.  Instead, she took a pen and paper and wrote a poem!  While you don’t have to write a poem, you could just write down your thoughts in a non-judgmental way.  You could write down the story that is on a loop in your mind right now, replaying in your life.  You could write a hymn or what God is up to in your life.  Or you could color a picture.  Or you could paint.  Let this hymn do more than stay stuck in your mind, let these words and how they were created sink and settle into your soul.