Why Should Cross and Trial Grieve Me?

1. Why should cross and trial grieve me?
Christ is near With His cheer;
Never will He leave me.
Who can rob me of the heaven
That God's Son For my own
To my faith hath given?

2. Though a heavy cross I'm bearing
And my heart Feels the smart,
Shall I be despairing?
God, my Helper, who doth send it,
Well doth know All my woe
And how best to end it.

3. God oft gives me days of gladness;
Shall I grieve If He give
Seasons, too, of sadness?
God is good and tempers ever
All my ill, And He will
Wholly leave me never.

5. Death cannot destroy forever;
From our fears, Cares, and tears
It will us deliver.
It will close life's mournful story,
Make a way That we may
Enter heavenly glory.

7. Lord, my Shepherd, take me to Thee.
Thou art mine; I was Thine,
Even e'er I knew Thee.
I am Thine, for Thou hast bought me;
Lost I stood, But Thy blood
Free salvation brought me.

Hymn #523 The Lutheran Hymnal
Text: Ps. 73: 23
Author: Paul Gerhardt
Translated by: composite, based on John Kelly, 1867
Titled: Warum sollt' ich mich denn graemen
Composer: Johann G. Ebeling, 1666
Tune: Warum sollt' ich mich denn graemen

Four Preludes on the Playthings of the Wind

Here Sandburg gives us a somewhat uncomfortable perspective on reality. The language is nothing if not straightforward, and the meditation seems to come straight from Ecclesiastes: "Vanity, all is vanity." As Christians, our focus is to be "on things above, not on things of the earth"--items that become the "playthings of the wind." Christ Himself urges us to "lay up treasures in Heaven, where moth and rust do not corrupt, and thieves do not break through and steal." What are your treasures?

"The Past Is a Bucket of Ashes"
1
The woman named Tomorrow
sits with a hairpin in her teeth
and takes her time
and does her hair the way she wants it
and fastens at last the last braid and coil
and puts the hairpin where it belongs
and turns and drawls: Well, what of it?
My grandmother, Yesterday, is gone.
What of it? Let the dead be dead.

2
The doors were cedar
and the panel strips of gold
and the girls were golden girls
and the panels read and the girls chanted:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us every was.
The doors are twisted on broken hinges.
Sheets of rain swish through on the wind
where golden girls ran and the panels read:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.

3
It has happened before.
Strong men put up a city and got
a nation together,
And paid singers to sing and women
to warble: We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation,
nothing like us ever was.
And while the singers sang
and the strong men listened
and paid the singers well
and felt good about it all,
there were rats and lizards who listened
... and the only listeners left now
... are ... the rats .. and the lizards.
And there are black crows
crying, "Caw, caw,"
bringing mud and sticks
building a nest over the words carved
on the doors where the panels were cedar
and the strips on the panels were gold
and the golden girls came singing:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.
The only singers now are crows crying, "Caw, caw,"
And the sheets of rain whine in the wind and doorways.
And the only listeners now are
... the rats ... and the lizards.

4
The feet of the rats
scribble on the doorsills;
the hieroglyphs of the rat footprints
chatter the pedigrees of the rats
and babble of the blood
and gabble of the breed
of the grandfathers and the great-grandfathers
of the rats.
And the wind shifts
and the dust on a doorsill shifts
and even the writing of the rat footprints
tells us nothing, nothing at all
about the greatest city, the greatest nation
where the strong men listened
and the women warbled:
Nothing like us ever was.

Carl August Sandburg (1878 – 1967)

Faith Trends

This just in from the Patriot Post:

A new survey by the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life came up with
some interesting figures when asking whether people believe in God. The sad fact
is, the number among Christians was not 100 percent, but was anywhere from 99
percent for evangelical and black churches to 97 percent for Catholic and
Mainline Protestant churches. The numbers for other monotheistic religions were
even lower—83 percent of Jews believe in God compared to 92 percent of Muslims.

That left us wondering, isn’t the whole point of these religions that there
is a God? But even that’s not what left us completely puzzled. Among
self-described atheists, an astounding 21 percent actually believe there is a
God. Twelve percent believe in heaven and 10 percent pray at least once a week.
So, are these folks really atheists? Apparently, the next step is to set up a
church for God-believing atheists to gather for fellowship. Of course, if they
did that, other people might start to question their atheist, um, faith.

Morning Glories

Not even Solomon . . .

Common morning glory? What is common about this?

Nothing hails the summer dawn like those blue trumpets subtly wafting a wonderful, barely-there fragrance. When you’re lucky enough to discover the short-lived bloom and inhale its small vial of sweetness, the day is so much better. The morning is truly glorious when you see an entire fence draped with the marvelous things. Morning glories are anything but common. Their blossoms seize the brief, opportune window of time in the earth’s orbit, and then vanish. God snaps His fingers and the world breathes loveliness; blessed are those who have eyes to see. It was not enough that Adam and Eve should merely eat, drink and survive; God provided for the rejuvenation of our souls in His transcendent aesthetic.

“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall He not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?” Matthew 6:28-30

Brief Glory, or Glorious Brevity

Morning glory vine,
Vine of morning’s glory,
Glorious morning on the vine!
Petals of heaven,
Pieces of tumbled-down sky,
Drink heady sweetness of the morning
from the bugle-cup divine;
Sound the glories of the morning
from the trumpet on the vine!

Wine of morning yields to noon—
Phoebus’ chariot runs unchecked
Crushing all in its advance—
One chance
To be, to shine,
To shout such glory
In the narrow space of Soon.

Upgrading Church Music

"Many parishioners simply don't view what goes on in the church as 'the arts.'" This startling statement was uttered by my organ teacher, Sister MJ Wagner, of Elm Grove. Perhaps that's because the music used in the parish was low quality to begin with, and no one seemed motivated to improve on the status quo.

This new post from the New Liturgical Movement blog indicates a stirring among humble "church mice" such as myself to see the quality improved and uplifted as an offering worthy of the God we serve. Our efforts tell the world what we think of our God.

The Whole Counsel of God

One of my favorite theological blogs, Pyromaniacs, has a great post today concerning hermeneutical principles by Dan Philips. We'd do well to heed his counsel.

Paul told the Ephesian elders, "I did not shrink from declaring to you the whole counsel of God" (Acts 20:27). But not all can truthfully make that claim. Early on in my Christian life, I was exposed to the deadly danger of taking a concept, phrase, saying, metaphor, or even truth, extracting it from the rest of the Bible, free-associating, and then erecting a structure on it. Read more . . .

Sea-Fever

I must go down to the seas again,

to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship

and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song

and the white sail's shaking,

And a gray mist on the sea's face,

and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,

for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call

that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day

with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume,

and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again,

to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way,

where the wind's likea whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn

from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream

when the long trick's over.

John Masefield

Lake Michigan

Bryant and I recently spent some quality time on the shore of our beautiful Lake Michigan, and I was inspired to re-post some thoughts from last summer. Here they are:

"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul . . ." Psalm 23:2. Lake Michigan presents stunning evidence of God's care for the sons of men; in it God has provided for both physical and spiritual renewal of His creatures.

Physically, we barely comprehend how dependent we are on this superbly designed entity. We recognize easily enough that no one can live without drinking water and using it for hygienic purposes. Commerce and trade with distant states and countries is made possible through vital waterways. The water supports a world of life forms which produce oxygen and build up the food chain. The lake constantly renews itself and purifies the environment through the natural processes God set in motion. Had a human artist or engineer conceived such a marvel—such beauty, such efficiency, such utility—he would be an object of worship. His name would never die on the lips of human beings.

"The voice of the LORD [is] upon the waters: the God of glory thundereth: the LORD [is] upon many waters, Psalm 29:3. This is as close to mysticism as I come. I know only that God's voice makes itself heard without doubt in the glory of the waters. Christianity is not required for humans to acknowledge this, intentionally or inadvertently. Real estate along the water sells for a significantly higher price than property located elsewhere. Created in the image of God, hardwired with His aesthetic, the human spirit is instinctively attracted to and responsive to this beauty.

Those waters not only restore my equilibrium, they absolutely unchain my spirit. I am reminded of the words of our Savior: "Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." I am convinced this is one way God gives rest to his creatures. In its wholly unconstrained effect, the compelling cadence of westbound waves rolls the weight from my shoulders and pulls the tension from my muscles. My eyes can find nothing but delight in the rocky shore and the blue jewel of the marina. My mind searches the heavens in wonder at the Creator and consummate artist who invented this transcendent experience for the human creature. Surely it was created only for me!

All heartsick people come to the water. The mere sight of those great waters floods the soul with balm and healing, no matter how heavy the burden. I observe the faces of those who pass by, and it is plain that many seek healing for a wounded spirit and restoration of soul. We all find some measure of it there, in the majesty of God's creation. To regenerate and unconverted alike, the waters testify to the genius of their Maker and shout His praise aloud. Lake Michigan is a powerful communiqué to those who have ears to hear.

Overview: Lake Michigan, the second largest Great Lake by volume with just under 1,180 cubic miles of water, is the only Great Lake entirely within the United States. Approximately 118 miles wide and 307 miles long, Lake Michigan has more than 1,600 miles of shoreline. Averaging 279 feet in depth, the lake reaches 925 feet at its deepest point. The lake's northern tier is in the colder, less developed upper Great Lakes region, while its more temperate southern basin contains the Milwaukee and Chicago metropolitan areas. The drainage basin, approximately twice as large as the 22,300 square miles of surface water, includes portions of Illinois, Indiana, Michigan and Wisconsin. Lake Michigan is hydrologically inseparable from Lake Huron, joined by the wide Straits of Mackinac.

References: Great Lakes Atlas, Environment Canada and U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, 1995

Go, Lovely Rose

I love this poem not so much for its content but for its incredibly clever use of language and metaphor. This is another poem that has lodged itself in my inner being through the medium of music, impossible to forget. Enjoy the artful, carefully crafted work of Edmund Waller.

GO, lovely Rose--

Tell her that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that 's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,

That hadst thou sprung

In deserts where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired:

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

Then die--that she

The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee;

How small a part of time they share

That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

By Edmund Waller 1606-1687