Anders Widoff (Swedish, 1953–), Maria (The Return), 2005. Polyester, silicone, fabric, glass, hair, and oils. Uppsala Cathedral, Sweden. Photo: Lieke Wijnia.
The lengthening shadows of the cedar trees
Have blended into twilight, and the sun
Has plunged in glorious gold precipitance
Beyond the dim crest of the western hills,
Bearing with it the day’s disquietudes;
And now the stars, that lamp the feet of God,
Are lighted, and night’s purple silences
Steal gently round me fraught with memories.
’Twas such an hour as this—long, long ago
Yet seeming yesterday—he came to me,
My little son, in joyous travail born
Out there across the hills in Bethlehem,
Where we who journeyed southward to be taxed—
Strangers in our own father’s land—had found
No shelter in the crowded khan, and shared,
Perforce, a grotto with the stabled kine.
Ah, how it all comes back again to me!
The courtyard, in the flickering torchlight, filled
With huddled trav’lers sleeping ’neath the sky,
The kneeling camels of a caravan,
The patient asses dozing by the wall,
A smell of roasting meat at little fires,
The shouts of melon-sellers, the low drone
Of reverend elders bending at their prayers,
Barking of street-dogs, porters’ blasphemies,
The laughter of a girl, the mellow flute
Of some rapt lover, and the tinkling tune
Of sheep-bells forward moving through the dark.
And then the hour supreme, wherein my soul
Clomb the dark pinnacles of pain, and death
Grappled with life through whirling aeoned years,
But fled at length and left the Miracle.
They laid him there beside me on the hay,
A wee pink being in his world’s first sleep;
My arm was round about him and his breath
Was warm with life on my exultant breast,
And they whose winged watch is set to keep
Ward in the valley lands of heaven looked down,
Not up, that night to find their paradise.
All weak with labor and soul’s happiness,
I lay beneath the sapphire tent of skies,
And in my heart I made a little prayer
Of thanks that flew up to the throne of God
On swift dove pinions of unuttered song;
And as I prayed, lo, upon loops of stars
Night’s velvet curtainings were lifted up,
A wondrous light turned all the world to rose,
And down the skies swept singing seraphim
In mighty echoes of my little prayer.
Oh, can it be that threescore years have marched
In troubled caravan across the waste
Of desert life since then, and can it be
That I, who sit here in mine eventide,
White with the snows of sorrow and of time,
Was once a bright tressed girl who heard the choirs
Of heaven rejoice that she had borne a son?
Why, I can feel that little heart beat still
Close to my own, the touch of little hands
Warm and caressing on this withered breast;
Still I can hear the first low wail that marked
His woe’s beginning and the tortured path
That he should tread in mighty gentleness,
With pain and anguish, ’til his love supreme
And terrible meekness, overcoming death,
Should lead him conqueror to sit with God,
Pleading for sinful men in paradise.
Today I stole into the synagogue
And heard a rabbi read the sacred scroll:
How that my lord, Isaiah, said of old,
Thy Maker is thy husband, he hath called thee
As a forsaken woman, spirit grieved;
God, for a little moment, hides his face
From thee, but with his loving kindness soon
And tender mercies shall he gather thee.
Then was I comforted, and peace displaced
The turmoil in my heart, and minded me
Of that great promise Gabriel bore from God
And the immeasurable fruitage of his word,
The life and death and glory of my son.
So in the shades of life and night I sit,
Under the sheltering arbor of the dark
That curves above, vined o’er with trellised stars,
Waiting my spirit bridegroom, and the sound
Of that loved voice—long silent save in dreams—
Calling across the vibrant firmament,
O Mary, Mother Mary, come to Me.
This poem is from ’Prentice Songs (Pittsburgh: Aldine Press, 1913) and is in the public domain.
George Mahaffey Patterson (M. P.) Baird (1887–1970) was a lifelong resident of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, who worked in theater and city government. He graduated from the University of Pittsburgh in 1909 and then taught in the Department of English as a professor of theater history and production. He formed the student group the Pitt Players, financing, writing, and directing several of their early plays. While on the faculty, he also locally published three collections of poetry: ’Prentice Songs (1913), Loaves for Hyacinths (1914), and Rune and Rann (1916). In 1917 Baird joined the US Army, serving as a lieutenant in the Sanitary Corps during World War I. Upon his return to civilian life he began a career in government service for the city of Pittsburgh, serving as executive secretary of the Art Commission and chief examiner and later president of the Civil Service Commission. He was senior research analyst for the Department of City Planning when he retired in 1961.
George MacDonald (1824–1905) was a Scottish preacher, poet, essayist, and writer of both realist and fantasy fiction. He was a great influence on J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis, the latter of whom published, in 1946, a compilation of MacDonald’s theological writings excerpted from his sermons, novels, and other sources. “I know of hardly any other writer who seems to be closer, or more continually close, to the Spirit of Christ Himself,” Lewis wrote in the preface to George MacDonald: An Anthology.
MacDonald is best known for his fairy tales, such as The Princess and the Goblin (my entrée to the author as a child, via a 1991 animated film adaptation from Wales) and Phantastes. But more recently I have been appreciating his devotional poetry.
George MacDonald, as photographed by his friend and fellow writer Lewis Carroll, 1863
While in his fifties, MacDonald published A Book of Strife in the Form of the Diary of an Old Soul (1880), a collection of 366 short, original, untitled devotional poems, one for each day of the year. (Read it for free online.) Addressed to God, these poems voice discouragement, weariness, restlessness, desire, doubt, and trust. MacDonald asks God for healing and refreshment; for a vulnerable, stripped-down soul, clothed anew in Christ; for salvation from his stubbornness and folly; for guidance through his dark night of the soul; for rightly ordered loves; for Christian growth. He searches for God, confesses his sinful tendencies, praises God for God’s love and faithfulness, and prays for words when words fail him.
Below are my favorite selections—some full poems, some just single lines or excerpts—from MacDonald’s Diary of an Old Soul, which is in the public domain. The headings are my own, to aid in navigating more easily to different topics, and the trifold dividers mark separate entries.
When the book was printed privately in 1880, all the left-hand pages were left blank to encourage thoughtful reader responses; “Let your white page be ground, my print be seed,” MacDonald wrote in the dedication. I’d encourage you, too, to grab a journal and record your own prayers and reflections prompted by any of these verses, or simply to copy out the lines that resonate. And songwriters and composers: I can see potential for musical settings here!
A New Song
Barb thou my words with light, make my song new.
Seeing with the Inner Eye
That thou art nowhere to be found, agree
Wise men, whose eyes are but for surfaces;
Men with eyes opened by the second birth,
To whom the seen, husk of the unseen is,
Descry thee soul of everything on earth.
Who know thy ends, thy means and motions see:
Eyes made for glory soon discover thee.
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Lord, in the land of things that swell and seem,
Help me to walk by the other light supreme,
Which shows thy facts behind man’s vaguely hinting dream.
God Transcends All Imagining
What the heart’s dear imagination dares,
Thou dost transcend in measureless majesty
All prayers in one—my God, be unto me
Thy own eternal self, absolutely.
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Oh, let me live in thy realities,
Nor substitute my notions for thy facts,
Notion with notion making leagues and pacts;
They are to truth but as dream-deeds to acts,
And questioned, make me doubt of everything.—
“O Lord, my God,” my heart gets up and cries,
“Come thy own self, and with thee my faith bring.”
Be My All
Be thou the well by which I lie and rest;
Be thou my tree of life, my garden ground;
Be thou my home, my fire, my chamber blest,
My book of wisdom, loved of all the best;
Oh, be my friend, each day still newer found,
As the eternal days and nights go round!
Nay, nay—thou art my God, in whom all loves are bound!
In Him and by Him All Things Consist
Thy fishes breathe but where thy waters roll;
Thy birds fly but within thy airy sea;
My soul breathes only in thy infinite soul;
I breathe, I think, I love, I live but thee.
Oh breathe, oh think,—O Love, live into me;
Unworthy is my life till all divine,
Till thou see in me only what is thine.
Practicing the Presence of God at Work
Two things at once, thou know’st I cannot think.
When busy with the work thou givest me,
I cannot consciously think then of thee.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Therefore I make provision, ere I begin
To do the thing thou givest me to do,
Praying,—Lord, wake me oftener, lest I sin.
Amidst my work, open thine eyes on me,
That I may wake and laugh, and know and see,
Then with healed heart afresh catch up the clue,
And singing drop into my work anew.
“The life is more than meat, the body more than raiment”
Thy will be done. I yield up everything.
“The life is more than meat”—then more than health;
“The body more than raiment”—then than wealth;
The hairs I made not, thou art numbering.
Thou art my life—I the brook, thou the spring.
Because thine eyes are open, I can see;
Because thou art thyself, ’tis therefore I am me.
On Prayer
Sometimes, hard-trying, it seems I cannot pray— For doubt, and pain, and anger, and all strife. Yet some poor half-fledged prayer-bird from the nest May fall, flit, fly, perch—crouch in the bowery breast Of the large, nation-healing tree of life;— Moveless there sit through all the burning day, And on my heart at night a fresh leaf cooling lay.
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In my dead moments, master, stir the prayers.
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My prayer-bird was cold—would not away,
Although I set it on the edge of the nest.
Then I bethought me of the story old—
Love-fact or loving fable, thou know’st best—
How, when the children had made sparrows of clay,
Thou mad’st them birds, with wings to flutter and fold:
Take, Lord, my prayer in thy hand, and make it pray.
Prayers in Times of Spiritual Destitution
When I no more can stir my soul to move, And life is but the ashes of a fire; When I can but remember that my heart Once used to live and love, long and aspire,— Oh, be thou then the first, the one thou art; Be thou the calling, before all answering love, And in me wake hope, fear, boundless desire.
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There is a misty twilight of the soul, A sickly eclipse, low brooding o’er a man, When the poor brain is as an empty bowl, And the thought-spirit, weariful and wan, Turning from that which yet it loves the best, Sinks moveless, with life-poverty opprest:— Watch then, O Lord, thy feebly glimmering coal.
A Prayer for Joy in All Circumstances
Do thou, my God, my spirit’s weather control;
And as I do not gloom though the day be dun,
Let me not gloom when earth-born vapours roll
Across the infinite zenith of my soul.
Should sudden brain-frost through the heart’s summer run,
Cold, weary, joyless, waste of air and sun,
Thou art my south, my summer-wind, my all, my one.
A Prayer for Victory over Temptation
Haste to me, Lord, when this fool-heart of mine
Begins to gnaw itself with selfish craving;
Or, like a foul thing scarcely worth the saving,
Swoln up with wrath, desireth vengeance fine.
Haste, Lord, to help, when reason favours wrong;
Haste when thy soul, the high-born thing divine,
Is torn by passion’s raving, maniac throng.
Fair freshness of the God-breathed spirit air,
Pass through my soul, and make it strong to love;
Wither with gracious cold what demons dare
Shoot from my hell into my world above;
Let them drop down, like leaves the sun doth sear,
And flutter far into the inane and bare,
Leaving my middle-earth calm, wise, and clear.
A Prayer for Endurance through Trials
Thou wouldst not have thy man crushed back to clay;
It must be, God, thou hast a strength to give
To him that fain would do what thou dost say;
Else how shall any soul repentant live,
Old griefs and new fears hurrying on dismay?
Let pain be what thou wilt, kind and degree,
Only in pain calm thou my heart with thee.
A Prayer for Sanctification
Lord, in my silver is much metal base,
Else should my being by this time have shown
Thee thy own self therein. Therefore do I
Wake in the furnace. I know thou sittest by,
Refining—look, keep looking in to try
Thy silver; master, look and see thy face,
Else here I lie for ever, blank as any stone.
But when in the dim silver thou dost look,
I do behold thy face, though blurred and faint.
Oh joy! no flaw in me thy grace will brook,
But still refine: slow shall the silver pass
From bright to brighter, till, sans spot or taint,
Love, well content, shall see no speck of brass,
And I his perfect face shall hold as in a glass.
A Prayer against Workaholism
Help me to yield my will, in labour even,
Nor toil on toil, greedy of doing, heap.
“My yoke is easy, and my burden is light”
I cannot see, my God, a reason why
From morn to night I go not gladsome, free;
For, if thou art what my soul thinketh thee,
There is no burden but should lightly lie,
No duty but a joy at heart must be:
Love’s perfect will can be nor sore nor small,
For God is light—in him no darkness is at all.
God Our Mother
. . . Weary and worn,
Why not to thee run straight, and be at rest?
Motherward, with toy new, or garment torn,
The child that late forsook her changeless breast,
Runs to home’s heart, the heaven that’s heavenliest . . .
Faith and Doubt
Doubt swells and surges, with swelling doubt behind!
My soul in storm is but a tattered sail,
Streaming its ribbons on the torrent gale;
In calm, ’tis but a limp and flapping thing:
Oh! swell it with thy breath; make it a wing,—
To sweep through thee the ocean, with thee the wind
Nor rest until in thee its haven it shall find.
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Ever above my coldness and my doubt
Rises up something, reaching forth a hand:
This thing I know, but cannot understand.
Is it the God in me that rises out
Beyond my self, trailing it up with him,
Towards the spirit-home, the freedom-land,
Beyond my conscious ken, my near horizon’s brim?
New Life
If thou hadst closed my life in seed and husk,
And cast me into soft, warm, damp, dark mould,
All unaware of light come through the dusk,
I yet should feel the split of each shelly fold,
Should feel the growing of my prisoned heart,
And dully dream of being slow unrolled,
And in some other vagueness taking part.
And little as the world I should foreknow
Up into which I was about to rise—
Its rains, its radiance, airs, and warmth, and skies,
How it would greet me, how its wind would blow—
As little, it may be, I do know the good
Which I for years half darkling have pursued—
The second birth for which my nature cries.
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“Wake, thou that sleepest; rise up from the dead,
And Christ will give thee light.” I do not know
What sleep is, what is death, or what is light;
But I am waked enough to feel a woe,
To rise and leave death. Stumbling through the night,
To my dim lattice, O calling Christ! I go,
And out into the dark look for thy star-crowned head.
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Lord, wake me up; rend swift my coffin-planks;
I pray thee, let me live—alive and free.
Rooted in Christ
Thou in my heart hast planted, gardener divine,
A scion of the tree of life: it grows;
But not in every wind or weather it blows;
The leaves fall sometimes from the baby tree,
And the life-power seems melting into pine;
Yet still the sap keeps struggling to the shine,
And the unseen root clings cramplike unto thee.
Dying to Self
Lord, I have fallen again—a human clod!
Selfish I was, and heedless to offend;
Stood on my rights. Thy own child would not send
Away his shreds of nothing for the whole God!
Wretched, to thee who savest, low I bend:
Give me the power to let my rag-rights go
In the great wind that from thy gulf doth blow.
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Lord of essential life, help me to die.
To will to die is one with highest life,
The mightiest act that to Will’s hand doth lie—
Born of God’s essence, and of man’s hard strife:
God, give me strength my evil self to kill,
And die into the heaven of thy pure will.—
Then shall this body’s death be very tolerable.
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With every morn my life afresh must break
The crust of self, gathered about me fresh;
That thy wind-spirit may rush in and shake
The darkness out of me, and rend the mesh
The spider-devils spin out of the flesh—
Eager to net the soul before it wake,
That it may slumberous lie, and listen to the snake.
Lost Sheep
Things go not wrong when sudden I fall prone,
But when I snatch my upheld hand from thine,
And, proud or careless, think to walk alone.
Then things go wrong, when I, poor, silly sheep,
To shelves and pits from the good pasture creep;
Not when the shepherd leaves the ninety and nine,
And to the mountains goes, after the foolish one.
“Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors”
Keep me from wrath, let it seem ever so right:
My wrath will never work thy righteousness.
Up, up the hill, to the whiter than snow-shine,
Help me to climb, and dwell in pardon’s light.
I must be pure as thou, or ever less
Than thy design of me—therefore incline
My heart to take men’s wrongs as thou tak’st mine.
Spiritual Riches
Lord, in thy spirit’s hurricane, I pray,
Strip my soul naked—dress it then thy way.
Change for me all my rags to cloth of gold.
Who would not poverty for riches yield?
A hovel sell to buy a treasure-field?
Who would a mess of porridge careful hold
Against the universe’s birthright old?
The Prodigal God
Gloriously wasteful, O my Lord, art thou!
Sunset faints after sunset into the night,
Splendorously dying from thy window-sill—
For ever. Sad our poverty doth bow
Before the riches of thy making might:
Sweep from thy space thy systems at thy will—
In thee the sun sets every sunset still.
God’s Stability
Father of me, thou art my bliss secure.
Make of me, maker, whatsoe’er thou wilt.
Let fancy’s wings hang moulting, hope grow poor,
And doubt steam up from where a joy was spilt—
I lose no time to reason it plain and clear,
But fly to thee, my life’s perfection dear:—
Not what I think, but what thou art, makes sure.
God’s Universality
Where should the unknown treasures of the truth
Lie, but there whence the truth comes out the most—
In the Son of man, folded in love and ruth?
Fair shore we see, fair ocean; but behind
Lie infinite reaches bathing many a coast—
The human thought of the eternal mind,
Pulsed by a living tide, blown by a living wind.
Searching for Pleasure
Ah, me, my God! in thee lies every bliss
Whose shadow men go hunting wearily amiss.
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I see a little child whose eager hands
Search the thick stream that drains the crowded street
For possible things hid in its current slow.
Near by, behind him, a great palace stands,
Where kings might welcome nobles to their feet.
Soft sounds, sweet scents, fair sights there only go—
There the child’s father lives, but the child does not know.
Perfect Love
Thou dost demand our love, holy Lord Christ,
And batest nothing of thy modesty;—
Thou know’st no other way to bliss the highest
Than loving thee, the loving, perfectly.
Thou lovest perfectly—that is thy bliss:
We must love like thee, or our being miss—
So, to love perfectly, love perfect Love, love thee.
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Lord, with thy breath blow on my being’s fires,
Until, even to the soul with self-love wan,
I yield the primal love, that no return desires.
Surrender
O Christ, my life, possess me utterly.
Take me and make a little Christ of me.
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O Master, my desires to work, to know,
To be aware that I do live and grow—
All restless wish for anything not thee
I yield, and on thy altar offer me.
Let me no more from out thy presence go,
But keep me waiting watchful for thy will—
Even while I do it, waiting watchful still.
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My Lord, I have no clothes to come to thee;
My shoes are pierced and broken with the road;
I am torn and weathered, wounded with the goad,
And soiled with tugging at my weary load:
The more I need thee! A very prodigal
I stagger into thy presence, Lord of me:
One look, my Christ, and at thy feet I fall!
Freedom
So bound in selfishness am I, so chained,
I know it must be glorious to be free
But know not what, full-fraught, the word doth mean.
By loss on loss I have severely gained
Wisdom enough my slavery to see;
But liberty, pure, absolute, serene,
No freest-visioned slave has ever seen.
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So shall abundant entrance me be given
Into the truth, my life’s inheritance.
Lo! as the sun shoots straight from out his tomb,
God-floated, casting round a lordly glance
Into the corners of his endless room,
So, through the rent which thou, O Christ, hast riven,
I enter liberty’s divine expanse.
Receptivity to the Spirit
Faith opens all the windows to God’s wind.
Aging
O Life, why dost thou close me up in death?
O Health, why make me inhabit heaviness?—
I ask, yet know: the sum of this distress,
Pang-haunted body, sore-dismayed mind,
Is but the egg that rounds the winged faith;
When that its path into the air shall find,
My heart will follow, high above cold, rain, and wind.
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Thou, healthful Father, art the Ancient of Days,
And Jesus is the eternal youth of thee.
Our old age is the scorching of the bush
By life’s indwelling, incorruptible blaze.
O Life, burn at this feeble shell of me,
Till I the sore singed garment off shall push,
Flap out my Psyche wings, and to thee rush.
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My harvest withers. Health, my means to live—
All things seem rushing straight into the dark.
But the dark still is God. I would not give
The smallest silver-piece to turn the rush
Backward or sideways. Am I not a spark
Of him who is the light?—Fair hope doth flush
My east.—Divine success—Oh, hush and hark!
Death
God, thou from death dost lift me. As I rise,
Its Lethe from my garment drips and flows.
Ere long I shall be safe in upper air,
With thee, my life—with thee, my answered prayer,
Where thou art God in every wind that blows,
And self alone, and ever, softly dies,
There shall my being blossom, and I know it fair.
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I was like Peter when he began to sink.
To thee a new prayer therefore I have got—
That, when Death comes in earnest to my door,
Thou wouldst thyself go, when the latch doth clink,
And lead him to my room, up to my cot;
Then hold thy child’s hand, hold and leave him not,
Till Death has done with him for evermore.
The Diary of an Old Soul represents only a fraction of the poetry George MacDonald wrote. To explore more, see The Poetical Works of George MacDonald, vols. 1 and 2 (1893). Seeing as next year is the bicentenary of his birth, I expect to be hearing his name a lot more!
Below are songs by three different bands/artists who will be playing at the festival: “Praise to God (Whirlwinds),” a new setting by the Walking Roots Band of an eighteenth-century hymn by Anna Barbauld (recorded on The Soil and The Seed Project, vol. 4 and appearing on the Art & TheologyThanksgiving Playlist); “Again, Amen” by Spectator Bird (sisters Rachel and Lindsey FitzGerald); and “Grieve and Rejoice” by Ryan Scarberry, director of music at Incarnation Anglican Church in Williamsburg, Virginia.
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ONLINE EVENT: “In Memoriam: An Evening Celebrating Frederick Buechner’s Literary Contributions,” August 15, 2023: “Celebrated as one of the foremost spiritual writers of his generation, Frederick Buechner’s witty, vivid, and rich writing has inspired readers’ minds and stirred hearts through his more than 30 published books for six decades. One year after his passing, Frederick Buechner (July 11, 1926–August 15, 2022) remains an influential voice for writers across genres, from novelists and memoirists to homileticians and theologians alike. For those writers who feel not religious enough for religious readers, or too religious for non-religious readers, Buechner’s voice has been a welcome, guiding light.
“On the one-year-anniversary of Frederick Buechner’s passing, Image is hosting space for community members to gather and share their appreciation for Buechner’s literary contributions. From themes of paying attention to one’s life and stewarding one’s grief, to the unexpected influences on one’s vocation and the ordinary miraculous moments of everyday life, Buechner’s words offer a variety of invitations through which one might come to see the world and one’s place within it more deeply. Image community members are invited to bring a favorite selection of Buechner’s writing to read aloud and to briefly reflect on the difference his words have made for their life.” Register for this free, moderated, open-mic-style time of sharing and reflections at the link above.
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DOCUMENTARY: The Sea in Between (2013) by Mason Jar Music: Blayne Johnson and his family, who reside in Mayne Island, British Columbia, are big fans of Portland, Oregon-based indie singer-songwriter Josh Garrels. In 2012 Johnson reached out to Garrels and some of the folks at Mason Jar Music, the Brooklyn-based creative collective Garrels has worked with, to invite them up to his home for a relaxing getaway, and to play for his family and neighbors. Mason Jar specializes in live performance videos, so they sent a small crew and a handful of musicians with the intention of shooting a few of those at various locations around the island—along the bay, on a farm, in a church. Then they decided to extend the footage from the week into a feature-length documentary, directed by Matt Porter, which you can watch for free on YouTube (embedded directly below). The song recordings were released afterward on an album of the same name, along with others that didn’t make the final cut of the film.
The Sea in Between, the film, is about vocation, the creative process, patronage, faith, family, community, and the beauty of place, and it centers on the joy of making and experiencing music together. Besides Garrels, the musicians are Dan Knobler (slide guitar, mandolin), Jay Kirkpatrick (banjo, accordion), Russell Durham (violin), Charlaine Prescott (cello), Jason Burger (drums), Chad Lefkowitz-Brown (clarinet, flute, saxophone), and Gabriel Gall (miscellaneous), who served as music director and wrote the orchestrations. Michelle Garrels and Matt Porter play the aquarion (glass marimba), and everyone contributes vocals. Perhaps my favorite song from the film is “Pilot Me” (not to be confused with the Edward Hopper hymn “Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me”; this is a Garrels original):
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SONG: “O nata lux” by Thomas Tallis, performed by VOCES8: “O nata lux de lumine” (O Light Born of Light) is the office hymn at Lauds of the Feast of the Transfiguration, celebrated August 6. Here VOCES8 performs a setting from the English High Renaissance by Thomas Tallis, inside St. Bartholomäus-Kirche in Pegnitz, Germany.
O nata lux de lumine,
Jesu redemptor saeculi,
Dignare clemens supplicum
Laudes precesque sumere.
Qui carne quondam contegi
Dignatus es pro perditis,
Nos membra confer effici
Tui beati corporis.
O Light born of Light,
Jesus, redeemer of the world,
with loving-kindness deign to receive
suppliant praise and prayer.
Thou who once deigned to be clothed in flesh
for the sake of the lost,
grant us to be members
of thy blessed body.
On February 8–10, 2023, I had the pleasure of attending in person my first Calvin Symposium on Worship, an annual ecumenical gathering of Christian worship leaders from throughout North America (and some from overseas) organized by the Calvin Institute of Christian Worship at Calvin University and the Center for Excellence in Preaching at Calvin Theological Seminary in Grand Rapids, Michigan. The half-week is full of diverse worship services, lectures, breakout sessions, and opportunities to meet and mingle with folks who serve the church as pastors, liturgists, musicians, publishers, scholars, etc. It was an invigorating time!
The CICW is generous in providing recordings of much of its symposium content for free on their YouTube channel several months after the event, and they’ve just released a big batch. Below are some of my highlights that are shareable.
Though music is not the exclusive focus of the symposium, it is a major component, and my ministry background is in that area, so I want to share with you some of the new songs I learned.
The worship service on February 9, titled “Rooted in Christ,” was excellent and worth watching in full (the sermon, on Colossians 2:6–15, was preached by Rev. Dr. Marshall E. Hatch, pastor of New Mount Pilgrim Missionary Baptist Church in Chicago), but here are three standout songs. The first two are led by the Calvin University Gospel Choir, directed by Nate Glasper Jr., and feature guest soloist Eric Lige.
This song is a new gospel adaptation and arrangement by Gerald Perry of the classic Edward Mote–William Bradbury hymn “The Solid Rock.” It appears on the 2022 album Legacy by the James Family Singers (which is on Spotify), a West Michigan gospel group founded by Oscar and Erma James in 1981 and to which Perry belongs, along with more than two dozen members of his extended family.
A call-and-response song written by Lige’s late mentor, Morris Chapman (1938–2020), a Grammy- and Dove Award–nominated composer and recording artist. The song appears on the 2010 compilation album Incredible Gospel, vol. 2.
“If God” by Casey Hobbs, John Webb Jr., and Natalie Sims,2019:
This song of lament was sung by Samantha Caasi Tica, then a senior in Calvin’s speech-language pathology department, and Calvin alum Emma Gordon as the “Prayer of Intercession” portion of the service. The congregation (is that what you’d call the group of worshippers at a symposium?) was asked to come in on the chorus and the “Nothing but the Blood of Jesus” bridge. For the official live video of the song as performed by its writer, Casey J, see here.
And now from other worship services at the symposium:
There’s no standalone video for this song from the symposium, but I cued up the service video to where the song starts at 13:42; you can also listen to the solo recording released by songwriter Wendell Kimbrough in 2020. Director of music and songwriter at Church of the Incarnation in Dallas, Kimbrough is one of today’s foremost composers of biblical psalm settings for contemporary worship. Despite the dozens of settings that already exist of this most famous psalm, which begins “The Lord is my shepherd . . . ,” Kimbrough’s take is not a redundancy but rather a vibrant new and easily singable addition to this catalog of options. I brought it back with me to the local congregation I’m a member of, and the people took to it really well.
“Anta Atheemon” (You Are a Great God) by Ziad Samuel Srouji, 1990:
“Anta Atheemon” is sung by Christians throughout the Middle East and the Arabic-speaking world. It was written by Ziad Samuel Srouji, who was born in Haifa, Israel, and raised in Lebanon but then displaced by civil war to the United States. He is pastor of the Gate International Church in San Mateo, California.
What a wonderful song for the celebration of the Eucharist! “Bless the one whose grace unbounded this amazing banquet founded! The high and exalted and holy deigns to dwell with you most lowly. Be thankful! Soul, adorn yourself with gladness and rejoice!” I love the exuberant Puerto Rican melody.
The source of this hymn is the German communion chorale “Schmücke dich, O liebe seele” by Johann Franck (1618–1677). After being translated into Spanish by Albert Lehenbauer (1891–1955) for Lutherans in South America, the chorale traveled up to Puerto Rico, where it was reset to the tune CANTO AL BORINQUEN by Evy Lucío Cordova (b. 1934), now with an added refrain by Esther Eugenia Bertieaux (b. 1944). The English in the bilingual version here, published in Evangelical Lutheran Worship #489, is a composite translation, borrowing from Catherine Winkworth (1827–1878) and others.
“First, I wish to suggest that it is the Holy Spirit’s pleasure to work in and through our physical bodies, not just in our heads and hearts, in order to form us wholly into Christ’s body,” Taylor says. “And second, I would like to show how the sciences offer empirical insights into the metaphysical work of the Spirit to form our embodied communal singing.”
Citing Hebbian theory—namely, that “neurons that fire together wire together”—he says that singing together in corporate worship bonds us in ways that nothing else can, strengthening our kinship with one another through our bodies. “People who sing together experience a wiring together of their neural networks. They become tethered to one another in neurological and physiological ways, not just affective or relational ways.” He demonstrates this principle with the help of some audience volunteers.
The last twenty-five minutes of the video are Q&A. Unfortunately, the questioners aren’t miked, and not all the questions are repeated for the recording, so that part is a little hard to follow.
My favorite session that I attended was “The Practice of Lament,” a panel discussion with Drs. Wilson de Angelo Cunha, Cory B. Willson, and Danjuma Gibson, moderated by David Rylaarsdam—all Calvin faculty. “What are the different faces of lament? What is the goal of lament? How can pastoral leaders facilitate lament? What does lament reveal about the nature of God and what it means to be human?” It’s an excellent introduction to this important Christian discipline.
“Lament is a central part of our mission as God’s people, and I will say, we have largely failed,” says Willson. And later: “You cannot be a hopeful people or community if you don’t lament. And we need each other to hold out hope for us when we can’t find the strength to swing our feet from the bed to take another step toward a future.”
Asked to define lament, Gibson, a professor of pastoral care and a practicing psychotherapist, said, “Lamentation, or griefwork, is the process you engage in to come to terms with what has been lost, the rupture, the unattaching to what you have loved—that may be a way of life, that may be a person, that may be an image of how you thought things should have been—when there is a tragedy.”
Later in the discussion, in response to a question about how lament coheres with the apostle Paul’s call to rejoice always, Gibson clarifies: “Lamentation is not the opposite of joy. Lamentation is a particular manifestation of joy. And how I understand joy in my own work is this: joy is the inner assurance that you cultivate over time that you belong to God no matter what. . . . Lamentation is a declaration of that joy.”
Again, the questions from the audience are inaudible. But from memory, I can tell you that one was about divine impassibility (Greek apatheia), an attribute ascribed to God in classical theology that means that God does not feel pain or have emotions. This is an ascription that has always puzzled me and that I reject (it makes a virtue out of Stoicism), and indeed many Christian theologians have problems with it as well, because the picture of God that we have in both Testaments is of a God who is passionate, who grieves and gets angry and exults, and who is responsive to his people, empathetic.
Another question mentions the beating to death of Tyre Nichols by police officers in Memphis. Another asks how we know when we’re done lamenting a particular tragedy.
There’s so much that’s helpful and illuminating in this conversation; please give it a listen.
“What treasures and insights from the rich history of Christian worship music on the continent of Africa as well as from African diaspora communities in the United States and England should be more celebrated and cherished? What misunderstandings should be corrected? How can we learn from this rich history without misappropriating it? What signature examples of congregational song should we all learn more about and from? How can we all continue to learn more and explore more deeply connections across continents and Christian traditions?”
At 57:35, Abbington asks each panelist if they could teach the church one congregational song, one that’s important for the church to know, what would it be?
Registration for next year’s Calvin Symposium on Worship has not yet opened, but the dates have been announced: February 7–9, 2024. The theme is Ezekiel. Find out more at https://worship.calvin.edu/symposium/index.html.
Emilie Mediz-Pelikan (Austrian, 1861–1908), Blooming Chestnut Trees, 1900. Oil on canvas, 132 × 124 cm. Belvedere, Vienna.
Because I love
The sun pours out its rays of living gold,
Pours out its gold and silver on the sea.
Because I love
The earth upon her astral spindle winds
Her ecstasy-producing dance.
Because I love
Clouds travel on the winds through wide skies,
Skies wide and beautiful, blue and deep.
Because I love
Wind blows white sails,
The wind blows over flowers, the sweet wind blows.
Because I love
The ferns grow green, and green the grass, and green
The transparent sunlit trees.
Because I love
Larks rise up from the grass
And all the leaves are full of singing birds.
Because I love
The summer air quivers with a thousand wings,
Myriads of jewelled eyes burn in the light.
Because I love
The iridescent shells upon the sand
Take forms as fine and intricate as thought.
Because I love
There is an invisible way across the sky,
Birds travel by that way, the sun and moon
And all the stars travel that path by night.
Because I love
There is a river flowing all night long.
Because I love
All night the river flows into my sleep,
Ten thousand living things are sleeping in my arms,
And sleeping wake, and flowing are at rest.
“Amo Ergo Sum” (Latin for “I Love, Therefore I Am”) by Kathleen Raine is from The Year One (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1952) and is compiled in The Collected Poems of Kathleen Raine (Ipswich: Golgonooza Press, 2000).
Kathleen Raine (1908–2003) was a British poet and William Blake scholar who fervently promoted spiritual values in an age marked by secular materialism. She was born in Ilford, Essex, and raised in a Methodist household (her father was a lay minister), converting to Catholicism in the 1940s, but, following her interests in Jungian psychology, Neoplatonism, and sacred symbols, she came to embrace the perennial philosophy, which views religious traditions as sharing a single metaphysical truth. With Keith Critchlow, Brian Keeble, and Philip Sherrard and the patronage of then Prince Charles of Wales, Raine founded the Temenos Academy of Integral Studies in 1990, a London charity that offers education in philosophy and the arts in “the light of the sacred traditions of East and West.” Raine authored more than thirty books, both poetry and prose, and her honors and awards include the CBE (Commander of the Order of the British Empire) and the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry.
CALL FOR ART: Light in the Dark, Sojourn Arts: Sojourn Arts, a ministry of Sojourn Midtown church in Louisville, Kentucky, is accepting entries for wall-hung visual artworks on the theme “Light in the Dark” for its juried art show this Advent and Christmas. It is free to enter (see email submission instructions at link), but selected artists will be responsible for shipping costs to the venue. Three cash prizes will be awarded. Deadline: October 8, 2023. Open to continental US artists only.
>> “O My Hope (A Prayer of Saint Isaac the Syrian)” by Symon Hajjar:Symon Hajjar is a singer-songwriter from Tulsa, Oklahoma. I love, love, love his setting of this passage (lightly adapted from an English translation by Sebastian Brock) from the writings of Isaac the Syrian, a seventh-century theologian from Mesopotamia. Because the song would work well for Epiphany, Hajjar released it as the final track on his album Finally Christmas (2015), although it’s not available on Bandcamp as all the other tracks are.
O my Hope, pour into my heart the inebriation that consists in the hope of you. O Jesus Christ, the resurrection and light of all worlds, place upon my soul’s head the crown of the knowledge of you, and open before me suddenly the door of mercies; cause the rays of your grace to shine out in my heart. . . . I give praise to your holy nature, Lord, for you have made my nature a sanctuary for your hiddenness, a tabernacle for your mystery, a place where you can dwell, a holy temple for yourself.
Currently, Hajjar writes and performs kids’ songs under the name Hot Toast Music.
>> “Mahima Mariyeko Thumalaai” (महिमा मारिएको थुमालाई) (Glory to the Lamb Who Was Slain), arranged and performed by Psalms Unplugged: This song is #505 from Nepali Khristiya Bhajan, the definitive Nepali-language hymnal; the words are by Rev. Solon Karthak, and the music is by the late Kiran Kumar Pradhan, the most influential writer of Nepali hymns, who was particularly active in the 1990s. Inspired by Revelation 5:12, its refrain translates to “Glory to the Lamb who was slain / Praise to the Lord of lords / Shouts to the King of kings.” Read the original Nepali lyrics here.
The musicians who form the Nepali worship collective Psalms Unplugged are extraordinary. In this video are Subheksha Rai Koirala (vocals), John Rashin Singh (flute), Ayub Bhandari (keys), Sagar Pakhrin (guitar), and Enosh Thapa Magar (drums). The group’s mission is to see the transformation of lives through the preservation, cultivation, and spread of Nepali Christian music.
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LECTURE: “Janet McKenzie’s Women: Mothers, Midwives, and Missionaries” by Sister Barbara E. Reid, OP, September 27, 2015, Catholic Theological Union, Chicago: In this lecture, New Testament scholar Barbara Reid, OP, discusses three painted artworks by Janet McKenzie featuring women of the Bible, all in the collection of Catholic Theological Union: The Succession of Mary Magdalene, a triptych that shows Mary Magdalene deaconing with Susanna and Joanna (Luke 8:1–3), seated with Jesus Christ, her commissioning teacher (John 20:17), and preaching the Resurrection to Peter and John (John 20:2–9, 18); Mary with the Midwives, showing the Mother of God in the early stages of labor; and one of McKenzie’s most reproduced images, Epiphany, which replaces the traditional three wise men with wise women!
Janet McKenzie, The Succession of Mary Magdalene (triptych), 2008. Left to right: Companion; The One Sent; Apostle of the Apostles. Collection of Catholic Theological Union, Chicago.
Professor Reid’s talk starts at 13:55. Before that, there is an introduction by Barbara Marian from Harvard, Illinois, who commissioned the paintings and donated them to CTU (“The giftedness of women and our call to minister in the church must be made visible, no longer hidden or ignored and devalued,” she says), and by CTU President Mark Francis, CSV. Because the feast day of Mary Magdalene is coming up on July 22, it’s a particularly apt time of the liturgical year to share this!
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VIDEO: “12 Ways to Be a Christian” by SALT Project: The nonprofit production company SALT Project creates beautiful short films for churches and other clients. In sixty seconds, this one lists (and visualizes) twelve practical ways of living Christianly. The video is fully customizable to include your church’s name, logo, worship times, and website; click here for prices.
Charles White (American, 1918–1979), Love Letter III, 1977. Color lithograph on cream wove paper, 30 1/16 × 22 5/8 in. (76.3 × 57.4 cm). Edition of 30. Art Institute of Chicago.
First lie in it. Close your eyes. Let it move through you. Rock your shoulders back and forth. Dig your heels in. Slow your breath.
Curl forward and wash your hands with it. Pour it slowly on your legs. Rub your heels deeper into the damp. Bury your toes. Roll back, eyes shut. Disappear into it. Listen to the scratchings, then listen, listen to the roar.
This poem originally appeared in Communion by Pat Mora (Houston: Arte Publico Press, 1991). Used by permission of the publisher.
Pat Mora (b. 1942) is an award-winning poet and author of books for adults, teens, and children. A former teacher and university administrator, in 1996 she founded Children’s Day, Book Day (El Día de los Niños, el Día de los Libros), a year-long initiative to cultivate “bookjoy” in kids nationwide, culminating on April 30. Recurring subjects in Mora’s writing include nature, family, folktales, and her Mexican American heritage. She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
SPOTIFY PLAYLIST: July 2023 (Art & Theology): This month’s Spotify mix that I put together for you all includes a Shona worship song from Zimbabwe; “Adonai Is for Me,” a song in Hebrew by Shai Sol; a Black gospel rendition of the children’s classic “Jesus Loves Me”; a new setting of the Lord’s Prayer by Jon Guerra; a composition for clarinet and piano by Jessie Montgomery, written in April 2020 to try to make peace with the sadness brought about by the pandemic-prompted quarantine orders; a country-style setting of Psalm 121 by Julie Lee; and a benediction by Bob Dylan that I heard Leslie Odom Jr. sing in concert recently—its refrain, “May you stay forever young,” is not an anti-aging wish but rather a call to childlike faith, wonder, and curiosity in perpetuity.
The playlist also includes the following two songs.
>> “Come Go with Me”: A lesser-known African American spiritual performed by the Norwegian jazz singer-songwriter Kristin Asbjørnsen, from her excellent album Wayfaring Stranger: A Spiritual Songbook. She describes the spirituals as “existential expressions of life: songs of longing, mourning, struggling, loneliness, hopefulness and joyful travelling.” This particular one is about walking that pilgrim path to heaven, a path on which Satan lays stones to obstruct our progress but which Jesus, our “bosom friend,” clears away.
>> “Love, More Love”: A short Shaker hymn that opens with a common Shaker greeting: “More love!” “Our parents above” refers, I believe, to the elders of the faith who have passed on. The hymn uses horticultural imagery to describe the qualities of communal love—something planted and grown, becoming stronger and fuller and more beautiful as it is nurtured.
Love, more love A spirit of blessing I would be possessing For this is the call of our parents above
We will plant it and sow it And every day grow it And thus we will build up an arbor of love
The Shakers are a Christian sect founded in 1747, but because celibacy is one of their tenets (and thus they cannot rely on procreation for the community’s continuation), there are only two Shakers left: Sister June and Brother Arnold, who live in Dwellinghouse, Maine. But there has long been a historical interest in Shaker religious culture and aesthetics—which is why, for example, the Enfield Shaker Singers was formed, to preserve the hymnody.
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INTERVIEW + PHOTOS: “Photographer Shows the Raw, Unflinching Reality of Life on Skid Row”: For the past decade, anonymous street photographer Suitcase Joe has been spending time on Skid Row in downtown Los Angeles, a neighborhood inhabited by the largest unhoused community in America. He slowly developed trust and built relationships with the people in that community, learning more about their stories, and they granted him unprecedented access to their daily lives, allowing him to capture them on camera. Hear him talk about the experience, and about misconceptions people tend to have about those experiencing homelessness, in this interview, which also includes a sampling of photos. Even though the headline hawks “Raw!” and “Unflinching!,” I was more struck by how the photographs show experiences of joy and friendship.
POEM WITH COMMENTARY: “The Rungs” by Benjamin Gucciardi, commentary by Pádraig Ó Tuama: Each week on the Poetry Unbound podcast, Ó Tuama reads and reflects on a different contemporary poem. In this episode’s featured poem, “a social worker holds a group for teenagers at a school. They only half pay attention to him. Then something happens, and they pay attention to each other.” The poem is from Gucciardi’s latest collection, West Portal.
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ARTICLE: “Dool-Hoff: A Dutch Maze with New Jerusalem at its Centre (1705)”: The Public Domain Review is always uncovering unique, amusing prints and other artistic and literary curiosities from centuries past. Here they look at an early eighteenth-century religious maze published in Haarlem, Netherlands, whose pathways are filled with didactic verse, some leading to dead ends but others leading to heaven at the center.
Dool-hoff (maze), signed by the Dutch Catholic printer Claes Braau, 1705. Photo courtesy of the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
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SONG: “Home Inside” by Valerie June, performed by the Good Shepherd Collective: This Valerie June cover is sung so gorgeously by Sowmya Somanath with Kate Gungor, Bea Gungor, Jayne Sugg, Liz Vice, and Diana Gameros, and John Arndt accompanies on piano. It premiered in Good Shepherd New York’s March 12 digital service. The song is a prayer for belonging more fully to ourselves, to God, and to this earth; its speaker asks that she might be sensitive to the divine breath in all living things, and be soothed and refreshed by that great stream of water that flows from God’s heart. (Reminds me a bit of Universal Jones’s“River”!)
Fiona Morley (British, 1974–), You Are Everything, 2017–18. Stainless steel binding wire, 114 × 67 × 30 cm. Winner of the 2021 Chaiya Art Award on the theme of “God Is . . .”
If it is beauty you want, I [God] am beauty. If you want goodness, I am goodness, for I am supremely good. I am wisdom. I am kind; I am compassionate; I am the just and merciful God. I am generous, not miserly. I give to those who ask of me, open to those who knock in truth, and answer those who call out to me. I am not ungrateful but grateful and mindful to reward those who will toil for me, for the glory and praise of my name. I am joyful, and I keep the soul who clothes herself in my will in supreme joy. I am that supreme providence who never betrays my servants’ hope in me in soul or body.
How can people see me feeding and nurturing the worm within the dry wood, pasturing the brute beasts, nourishing the fish in the sea, all the animals on the earth and the birds in the air, commanding the sun to shine on the plants and the dew to fertilize the soil, and not believe that I nourish them as well, my creatures made in my image and likeness? As a matter of fact, all this is done by my goodness to serve them. No matter where they turn, spiritually and materially they will find nothing but my deep burning charity and the greatest, gentle, true, perfect providence.
—Catherine of Siena, The Dialogue, chap. 141, trans. Suzanne Noffke, in Catherine of Siena: The Dialogue (The Classics of Western Spirituality) (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1980), p. 290
Agnes Pelton (American, 1881–1961), Translation, 1931. Oil on canvas, 26 × 21 in. (framed). Collection of Fairfax Dorn and Marc Glimcher. Source: Agnes Pelton: Desert Transcendentalist, p. 105.
Great Nature clothes the soul, which is but thin,
With fleshly garments, which the Fates do spin;
And when these garments are grown old and bare,
With sickness torn, Death takes them off with care,
And folds them up in peace and quiet rest,
And lays them safe within an earthly chest:
Then scours them well and makes them sweet and clean,
Fit for the soul to wear those clothes again.
This poem was published in its earliest form under the title “Soule, and Body” in Poems and Fancies by the Right Honourable Lady Margaret, Countess of Newcastle (1653), and appears as above in the book’s second edition (1664). It is in the public domain.
Margaret Lucas Cavendish (1623–1673), duchess of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, was a prolific English writer across the genres of poetry, science fiction, drama, letters, biography, and natural philosophy. A pioneering feminist, she wrote in her own name in a period when most women writers remained anonymous. She spent three years as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Henrietta Maria (wife of King Charles I) at the royal court in Oxford and then in exile in France; it’s there that she met her soon-to-be husband, William Cavendish, then marquis of Newcastle, who remained a great influence throughout her life, encouraging her intellectual pursuits. Cavendish moved in circles that included Thomas Hobbes and René Descartes and, in 1667, was the first woman to be formally invited to visit the Royal Society. She is buried in Westminster Abbey.
Art & Theology 