assurance

How deep the Father’s love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One
Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Lamb upon a cross
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom

— Stuart Townend

The reason I love this song is that the more I take time to look at myself and see the kind of person I am deep inside, the more I realize how really awful I am.  It’s not bad to take stock and try to improve, but I can’t do it without God.  The more I fail at trying to “be good”, the easier it is to feel bad about myself, and not even try!  This song promises me that no matter how bad I am, how mean, selfish, or lazy, God loves me.  He loved me before I even knew He was there and He will love me forever, no matter what I do or who I am.  That is so encouraging and makes me want to keep trying to be a better person because someone loves me unconditionally.

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concert hall

sitting in darkened silence

breathing womb of sound

brooding

conceiving

one shaft of gold

one shimmering note

quivering droplet

suspended

in ripples

of growing sound

birth waters

trickle

break

gush a cadence

in scarlet brass

amber strings

blue and green

and purple woodwinds

expectant

swells of music

deliver a flood of

rainbow resonance

rushing

cresting waves

foaming out the passage

and into the

grey

and thirsty

world

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How music saved the world: a fairy tale

Once upon a time, after the world ended, a man picking through the debris of a ruined city center pulled some wood out of the wreckage.

Not knowing it had been part of a great concert hall, he used it to make a shelter.

At night, the wood began to sing, softly at first, so it was part of his sleep, and his dreams began to change.

It sang louder every night, until one night it woke him up.

He took the wood and shaped it into a crude violin.  It hardly had to be played, but sang on its own.

He traveled around from shelter to shelter, letting his violin play.

And the people rose out of their lethargy and restored civilization.

And so music saved the world.

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Noël: Christmas Eve 1913

A frosty Christmas Eve when the stars were shining
Fared I forth alone where westward falls the hill,
And from many a village in the water’d valley
Distant music reach’d me peals of bells aringing:
The constellated sounds ran sprinkling on earth’s floor
As the dark vault above with stars was spangled o’er.

.
Then sped my thoughts to keep that first Christmas of all
When the shepherds watching by their folds ere the dawn
Heard music in the fields and marveling could not tell
Whether it were angels or the bright stars singing.

.
Now blessed be the towers that crown England so fair
That stand up strong in prayer unto God for our souls
Blessed be their founders (said I) an’ our country folk
Who are ringing for Christ in the belfries tonight
With arms lifted to clutch the rattling ropes that race
Into the dark above and the mad romping din.

.
But to me heard afar it was starry music
Angels’ song, comforting as the comfort of Christ
When he spake tenderly to his sorrowful flock:
The old words came to me by the riches of time
Mellow’d and transfigured as I stood on the hill
Heark’ning in the aspect of th’ eternal silence.

–Robert Bridges, Poet Laureate, United Kingdom (1913)

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The Rose

I heard this last week at the Jingle Bell Doc (Severinsen) concert in Minneapolis.  To me it is lovely and worshipful, and sums up what I’ve always felt The Rose‘s lyrics were really about.  What do you think?

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in quietis jubilo

peace comes dropping

slowly down

in amber liquid birdsong

silver rain

sun’s gold shining through leaves

caressing opalescent

stream of harp or flute

warmth of arms and lips

wordless joy

quietly

filling the void

carved by life

smoothing a heart

for a moment

maybe forever

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bottom of the ninth

Kent and I are in a community choir production of the last two movements of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, being performed tonight and next Sunday night at area churches.  The choir isn’t great, and neither is the orchestra, but we’d never sung the Ninth and wanted to get in on the action.  I thought the timing was especially good, because today is the anniversary of the first performance of the Ninth Symphony in 1824.

Beethoven, as we probably know without being told, is one of the most famous composers of all time, and the one whose music we have all heard, whether we know it or not.  The opening notes of the Fifth Symphony, Fur Elise, and the beginning of the choral part of the Ninth, are all nearly brandless for being so familiar (in fact, part of the Fifth was sent into space on the Voyager probes).  And anyone who knows anything about Beethoven knows that he was deaf.  He wrote the Ninth Symphony when he was completely deaf, and though he was on the platform conducting that first concert, one of his students was actually the conductor and had to turn him around to accept the applause at the end, as Beethoven was still waving his arms to the music in his head.  He was a byword at times because he would walk the streets humming the music he heard in his mind and waving his arms.

But his Ninth Symphony is probably the best-known piece of music in the world; in fact, a little-known fact is that the size of CDs (74 minutes) was chosen because some of the people involved wanted to make sure that the whole of the Ninth Symphony would fit on one CD.  (I’m sure there were other reasons, too, but that is a very interesting consideration.)  It also has the distinction of being the first symphony to include a choir, although others since then, like Mahler and Rachmaninoff, have gone where Beethoven led.

I’m including the translation text of the poem by Schiller that Beethoven used in the Ninth Symphony.  They are inspiring, and when taken with the music, must have been an awesome experience that night in 1824.

O friends, no more these sounds!

Let us sing more cheerful songs,

More full of joy!

.

Joy, bright spark of divinity,

Daughter of Elysium,

Fire-inspired we tread Thy sanctuary.

Thy magic power re-unites

All that custom has divided,

All men become brothers,

Under the sway of thy gentle wings.

.

Whoever has created

An abiding friendship,

Or has won

A true and loving wife,

All who can call at least one soul theirs,

Join our song of praise;

But those who cannot must creep tearfully

Away from our circle.

.

All creatures drink of joy

At nature’s breast.

Just and unjust

Alike taste of her gift;

She gave us kisses and the fruit of the vine,

A tried friend to the end.

Even the worm can feel contentment,

And the cherub stands before God!

.

Gladly, like the heavenly bodies

Which He sent on their courses

Through the splendor of the firmament;

Thus, brothers, you should run your race, like a hero going to victory!

.

You millions, I embrace you.

This kiss is for all the world!

Brothers, above the starry canopy

There must dwell a loving father.

.

Do you fall in worship, you millions?

World, do you know your creator?

Seek Him in the heavens;

Above the stars must he dwell.

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re-vision

Since about the spring of 2002, when everyone went nutso about being “patriotic”, and the government kept doing things I felt were wrong, but disagreeing with what was happening meant you weren’t a “true American”, and especially once the Patriot Act was passed in 2004, I have said on numerous occasions that I am not patriotic and would rather go live in a different country.  I may still feel that way many more times, especially the longer I stay in the US, but I kind of had a little epiphany, or a new insight, into the question of what it really means to be patriotic (and yes, I know epiphanies only work for the person having them, but I figured I’d give it a try).

I was listening to Louis Moreau Gottschalk and his “Union” song was playing.  About a third of the way through, the Star-Spangled Banner is played very sweetly, not the usual bombast and timpani rolling.  I suddenly thought that being patriotic really isn’t about armies and government and foreign policy.  It’s about home, really.  Living in a country that is home for you, where there are families and people just trying to be the best people they can be, and not lording it over another country because you’re better, but loving your country better because it’s yours, by birth or by choice.

I kept thinking before, when I’d see eagles or flags or yellow ribbons, “Oh, give me a break. Quit ramming patriotism down my throat.  The government’s wrong and you know it!”  But that’s not the point.  The government is never really going to be right.  There is no one right answer, and too many people in the government are in it for their own gain for those who are really trying to make a difference to be able to do so.  Patriotism isn’t thinking the government is right, or even liking what is happening with the way the country’s being run.  It’s loving the land, the people, the culture, the opportunities that are in the country you’ve chosen for your own.

So I suppose I am patriotic.  Not that I don’t disdain people, places, and attitudes here because I don’t find the viewpoints I think a country this diverse ought to have in a greater concentration.  I think it’s like being in a church.  You believe in the overall doctrine and you live with the things you don’t like about it, loving people for who they are.  I won’t go that far for my country, but it’s the same mindset.  No matter where I go, there will be “aberrational people”, as my mom says.  I just have to remember that I am someone else’s aberration and give others more leeway.

And even wave a flag on occasion.

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