31 Days in which I Am Saved by Beauty - Day 7

Have you ever been hungry for something

and didn't know it

until you ate,

and found relief? 

Tonight, we held our first Taize worship service,

and I was filled with the sweet and savory

presence of the Lord. 

If you are unfamiliar with Taize, I write out for you here the descriptive paragraph found at the top of tonight's worship folder:

A Taize service is a worship service of sung prayer and contemplation. The distinguishing marks include repetition and silence. Taize style prayer is repetitive with simple musical lines and core biblical texts that can be sung by a whole assembly. The assembly is to immerse itself in the simple but profound harmonies and let itself be carried by this sung prayer. Silence is perhaps the second most important aspect of this particular prayer practice. It is simply holding oneself in the presence of God and letting Christ, through the Holy Spirit, pray in us. The simple, repetitive prayers and an ample silence are means for the gathered assembly to "hear the Word, hold it fast in an honest and good heart, and bear fruit with patient endurance." (Luke 8:15)  

Candles, candles everywhere,
soft light spreading,
flicking
into dark corners,
lighting our way into the room. 

Thirty-five people, 
sitting spread out in the space,
two-thirds of them
under the age of 25.

Gentle singing, sweet harmonies, simple words . . .

"Come and fill our hearts with your peace,
you alone, O Lord, are holy..." 

"In the Lord I'll be ever thankful, 
in the Lord I will rejoice!" 

"Nothing can trouble, nothing can frighten. 
Those who seek God never go wanting. 
God alone fills us." 

A three-fold reading of Mark 10:13-16,
a lectio passage that spoke 
to the deepest places in my heart tonight.
"...that he might touch [the children]...
and he took them up in his arms, 
laid his hands on them, 
and blessed them." 

"The kingdom of God is justice 
and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit. 
Come, Lord, and open in us the gates of your kingdom." 

A penitential psalm . . .

"O Lord, hear my prayer. O Lord, hear my prayer:
when I call, answer me..." 

Space to make silent intercession for others. 


And then . . .

. . . this . . . 


Our worship leader led us in the refrain, 
"Adoremus Te Domine,"  
and then he chanted, 
very simply, 
these lines,
in between each simple singing of that phrase:

"Christ the Lord, you became poor and you offer the kingdom of heaven to the poor of the earth."

"O Lord, gentle and humble of heart, you reveal a new world to all who abandon themselves; we receive of your fullness." 

"O Lord, you fell prostrate on the ground, and you show us a path of consolation in our distress; you are the joy no one can take from us." 

"O Lord, you shed your blood, and you give the cup of life to seekers after justice; you quench every thirst." 

"O risen Lord, you showed yourself to the disciples and you pluck from our flesh our hearts of stone; we shall see you face to face." 

"O Lord, you divest the powerful and clothe peacemakers in festal robes; you transform us into your likeness." 

"O Lord, first of the living, you welcome into the kingdom all who die for you; we dwell in your love." 

Sung liturgy. 

That's what I was hungry for, 
starving for, 
in fact. 
And I didn't even know it . . .
until I heard it. 
Until I took it in. 
listening,
eyes closed,
singing the refrain,
holding my just-lit Christ candle. 

Saved by beauty, indeed . . . indeed. 

As the service ended,
we each took our candles,
placing them in the white sand 
surrounding the 
One light that lit us all, 
a circle of flickering flame. 

And the melting candle wax
dripped onto my finger,
stinging, 
biting,
as I moved my one, 
lone light
to join the circle.

Because sometimes
to step into
the circle of light,
we have to burn a little.
Sometimes
we have to let ourselves
drop out of our
carefully shaped 
plastic holders 
right into the dust of the earth.

Oh, that the Flame would shine,
brilliant and true,
through the gathered Body -
in this place,
for this time.

Joining tonight with Michelle, Jen, Ann, Jenn - and with Laura and Laura this week, too:

 

 

   

Sunday Musings

Just wondering . . .

on a summer Sunday night,

with cool night air drifting in from the door

and sweet worship music on 

the computer.

Just wondering . . .

what comes next?

We're home this week,

when we thought we'd be gone.

Traveling to the northwest,

to see beautiful country,

and beautiful friends.

But we're not. 

So here's a calendar,

suddenly open.

And here's a body,

more tired than I knew . . .

wondering.

My mom-in-law

began to slip,

 down

and down.

And her daughter had long-laid plans

to be gone.

It didn't feel right to be gone at the same time,

so here we are.

And really, it's fine.

We're relieved not to be packing and unpacking.

We look at each other and wonder -

how come we're feeling so tired?

When did we get so old?

And that has me wondering. . .

what happens in this culture

as we get old?

We see lots of pictures of

green space,

golf games,

exotic travel,

smiling, silver-haired models

seem to say,

"It's time to relax,

to enjoy the fruit of your labors,

to remove yourself from the world of work."

But here's what I'm learning.

It's truly difficult to do that.

I love to travel - I do.

But not all the time.

And I love to relax - I do.

But not all the time. 

So, we put our hands to what we find.

My husband, gifted with finance and investing,

sits on boards and committees,

and he manages the money he so carefully

invested for us,

for our moms,

for other family.

He tends this huge yard,

with good professional help. 

He invests himself completely in our grandkids

when they're around. 

And I?

I sit in my small study which needs sorting.

And I meet with those who are seeking

more of God.

And they teach me far more than

I ever teach them.

 And I tend to family, too.

Ailing mothers, growing grandchildren.

I make spinach salad for 50 at our
first-Sunday-back-to-college student lunch
after church today.

And in, around and through all of that,
 I try to write.

But I'm late to this game,

really late.

And I am also way past the age of most

of my compatriots out here in cyberspace. 

Most of the time, I'm okay with that.

But tonight, I'm feeling out of place,

out of sync,

out of my element.

I'm sure this wondering phase will sort itself out.

And I'm talking to God about it,

in my usual, on-going conversation

with this One who seems both near and far,

surprisingly small,

yet immense.

And right this minute,

I am listening to the song I wrote about 

in this post, the one about bodies.

And the beauty of it pierces,

it pierces through all the wondering,

all the melancholy,

all the feelings of uncertainty 

and ego-centered angst.

Because THIS is the truth - 

and a woman who lived many centuries ago*

wrote these words,

in another tongue,

another place.

But her words, her insights

speak to my soul this night, in this place:

I cannot dance, O Love, unless you lead me on.

I cannot leap in gladness, unless you lift me up.

From love to love we circle, beyond all knowledge grow.

For when you lead, we follow, to new worlds you can show.

Your love the music round us, we glide as birds on air,

entwining soul and body, your wings hold us with care.

Your Spirit is the harpist and all your children sing;

her hands the currents 'round us, your love the golden strings. 

Play me a medley,

play me a song.

Lead me, I am yours.

I cannot dance alone.

O blessed Love, your circling unites us, God and soul.

From the beginning, your arms embrace and make us whole. 

Hold us in steps of mercy, from which you never part,

that we may know more fully the dances of your heart. 

I cannot dance, O Love, unless you lead me on.

*Our Director of Worship Arts, Bob Gross, wrote a lovely melody to go with these powerful words written by Mechtild of Mageburg in the 13th century. This translation was done in 1991 by Jean Wiebe Janzen, but the words in bold are Bob's addition and serve as a beautiful refrain throughout the piece. Since I first wrote about this beautiful, haunting song, Bob has included it on #5 in a series of self-produced CDs taken from our Sunday worship services. And if you would like to listen to it, follow this link right here and scroll down to number six on the list. Hit the play button and enjoy. (If you use the contact addresses on the home page, you can order CDs for yourself. We are a congregation of about 325 people and apart from Bob, everyone you hear is a volunteer - vocalists, string players, acoustic and electric guitars and bass, piano, wind instruments, percussion - all from within our own community, many of them college students. We are so blessed. SO blessed. Please remember, these are not studio sessions, but live worship recordings.)

I'll join this with Michelle, Jen, Duane, Ann's Monday gratitude group - because I am grateful, even for the melancholy times - and maybe with Laura and Laura, though it's not particularly playful nor is it about a physical place so much as an emotional one.