I have a small journal that I use to record poems (mainly hymns) that feed my soul spiritually. Every now and then I remember that I have it and add to it. When I do, I read over the previous entries. As I added the poem that I shared with you last week I ran across the following by Slovak-American hymn writer Jaroslav J. Vajda.

God of the sparrow
God of the whale
God of the swirling stars
How does the creature say Awe
How does the creature say Praise


God of the earthquake
God of the storm
God of the trumpet blast
How does the creature cry Woe
How does the creature cry Save


God of the rainbow
God of the cross
God of the empty grave
How does the creature say Grace
How does the creature say Thanks


God of the hungry
God of the sick
God of the prodigal
How does the creature say Care
How does the creature say Life


God of the neighbor
God of the foe
God of the pruning hook
How does the creature say Love
How does the creature say Peace


God of the ages
God near at hand
God of the loving heart
How do your children say Joy
How do your children say Home
©1983 Jaroslav J. Vajda. Used by permission. CCLI No. 1357134.

You don’t need me to tell you that this is good poetry, but you may need me to remind you that good poetry is worth the time to take it in slowly. That’s enough to think about for now. The peace of Christ to you.

The Seamless Robe that Jesus Wore

The first year we did Sunday Nights in the Neighborhood, it was just among the Baptist churches in our area. Last year our local pastors broadened it to include our brothers and sisters in Christ from other denominations as well. How refreshing that, while maintaining our individuality as congregations, we can agree on the essentials and celebrate our unity in Christ … at least for a few Sunday nights each summer.

Last Sunday night while a Baptist preached in the stoic, gothic beauty of First Presbyterian Church, I was looking for a possible closing hymn (which we don’t normally have with Sunday Nights in the Neighborhood, but the Methodist leading the music suggested that we might need). I happened upon the following text attributed to John Greenleaf Whittier.

Forgive, O Lord, our severing ways
The rival altars that we raise,
The wrangling tongues that mar Thy praise.

Thy grace impart, in time to be
Shall one great temple rise to Thee,
One Church for all humanity.

White flowers of love its walls shall climb,
Soft bells of peace shall ring its chime,
Its days shall all be holy time.

A sweeter song shall then be heard,
Confessing, in a world’s accord,
The inward Christ, the living Word.

That song shall swell from shore to shore,
One hope, one faith, one love restore
The seamless robe that Jesus wore.

Because I found parts of this text (but not the whole) to be quite profound, I searched the internet for the text to see if there were more stanzas that might strengthen the weaker stanzas, but couldn’t find anything in the exact form as above. Some of the key phrases are in a hymn that Whittier wrote for the dedication of a chapel near Mt. Shasta … but that text is significantly different. It makes me wonder who edited this for the hymnals in which it appears, and how much is really Whittier.

So what grabbed me? Look at the first stanza. It doesn’t matter how eloquent we are in our words of praise to God, anything that we do that results in disunity in the body of Christ vandalizes what could be a magnificent work of beauty.

That’s enough to think about for now. The peace of Christ to you.

Yeah ... what she said.

It's been a while since I've read the worship.com blog.  Spent a scant few minutes skimming the content this afternoon after a working lunch with a couple of young men in our fellowship who are helping me to keep current in my ministry thinking.  I resonated strongly with the content of this entry:

http://blog.worship.com/worship/2010/06/vintage-faith-new-life-from-an-ancient-text.html

Makes me want to look up the Heidelberg Catechism and see what it says.

That's enough to think about for now.

A Difference of Opinion

I have a vivid memory of attending a concert by The Cardiff Polyphonic Choir, from Wales, while I was an undergrad at Samford. Choral music is very important in Welsh culture. Each town has at least one choir, and they often compete with each other. The Cardiff Polyphonic Choir was not made up of professional singers, but of regular townspeople who were spending their own vacation time (and their own money) to tour the United States with the choir.

I have long loved the English choral sound. Though the sound of this Welsh choir was a bit coarser than that of John Rutter’s Cambridge Singers, I was captivated by it. As each piece ended, I wanted desperately to savor every last vibration that remained in the concert hall. But there was a young woman sitting a few seats down on the row in front of me who, at the end of each piece, scarcely waited half a second before breaking out in enthusiastic applause. The first couple of times it happened it was annoying. I wanted to let the sound settle in my soul, and what she was doing was making that impossible. After about the fifth or sixth piece, I gently tapped her on the shoulder and asked if she could please wait until the piece was completely over before applauding. I don’t know how impertinent I was with my request. I certainly felt that she was impertinent in the timing of her applause … so if my request was impertinent, then so be it.

That’s how I felt until intermission when she politely asked me … in a distinctly Welsh accent … if it was customary in my country to wait so long before applauding. I stammered an embarrassed apology and tried to explain my reasons for my request. I learned that she was a member of the choir but was unable to sing that evening due to some voice problems. She then explained that to a Welsh choir, immediate applause indicated a deeper appreciation than delayed applause. She wanted the applause to start early because she knew what it would mean to the choir members. I wanted the applause to wait because I wanted to savor every last sound the choir made.

Each of us assumed that the actions of the other indicated a lack of depth in appreciating the music … when just the opposite was the case. Neither of us understood the other until we actually had a conversation. I’m still embarrassed when I think about that incident … but it reminds me that I can’t possibly know what someone else is thinking until I actually talk with them. And whenever I assume that I know … I can be very, very wrong.

That’s enough to think about for now. The peace of Christ to you.