O For the Wings of a Dove

I am privileged to go to a church that specialises in sublime music, as well as great sermons and liturgy.

Here's what we got today:



The text is from Psalm 55, which we read out loud, as well:

Hear my prayer, O God, incline Thine ear!
Thyself from my petition do not hide.
Take heed to me! Hear how in prayer I mourn to Thee,
Without Thee all is dark, I have no guide.
The enemy shouteth, The godless come fast!
Iniquity, hatred, upon me they cast!
The wicked oppress me, Ah where shall I fly?
Perplexed and bewildered, O God, hear my cry!
My heart is sorely pained, within my breast,
my soul with deathly terror is oppressed,
trembling and fearfulness upon me fall,
with horror overwhelmed, Lord, hear me call,

O for the wings, for the wings of a dove!
Far away, far away would I rove!
In the wilderness build me a nest,
and remain there for ever at rest.

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Mendelssohn's original text was in German, of course, and it's only fair that you get a chance to see that language!

Hör mein Bitten, Herr, neige dich zu mir,
auf deines Kindes Stimme habe acht! Ich bin allein;
wer wird mein Tröster und Helfer sein?
Ich irre den Pfad in dunkler Nacht!
Die Feinde sie drohen und heben ihr Haupt:
"Wo ist nun der Retter, an den wir geglaubt?"
Sie lästern sie täglich, sie stellen uns nach
und halten die Frommen in Knechtschaft und Schmach.
Mich fasst des Todes Furcht bei ihrem Dräu'n.
Sie sind unzählige - Gott, hör mein Fleh'n!
Herr, kämpfe du für mich. Gott hör mein Fleh'n.

O, könnt' ich fliegen wie Tauben dahin,
weit hinweg von den Feinden zu flieh'n,
in die Welt eilt' ich fort,
fände Ruh an schattigem Ort.

O könnt' ich fliegen wie Tauben dahin,
Weit hinweg vor dem Feinde zu fliehen!
In die Wüste eilt ich dann fort,
Fände Ruhe am schättigen Ort.

New Year's Resolutions

Written around the end of December 2011. But only found today...

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I'm quite a grump about New Year's resolutions. I'm realistic about myself, knowing that I am a fey and fickle creature, lazy to the bone, and can barely stop drinking coffee for a week, let alone keep a noble resolution for 365 days.

So I make some silly ones that are easy to keep, and over which I shan't pour scalding regret, if I did break them.

But this New Year's Eve, as I look back over my 20s and look forward to turning 30, seems a good junction to reflect, and ask myself some bigger questions about who I am, and who I would like to become.

I've never been much of a New Year's celebrator (I expend all my anticipation and excitement over Christmas), and I'm rather immune to the shiny excitment of a fresh new year (blank pages, unknown plans etc.) But Chesterton reminds me:

"THE object of a New Year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul and a new nose; new feet, a new backbone, new ears, and new eyes. Unless a particular man made New Year resolutions, he would make no resolutions. Unless a man starts afresh about things, he will certainly do nothing effective. Unless a man starts on the strange assumption that he has never existed before, it is quite certain that he will never exist afterwards. Unless a man be born again, he shall by no means enter into the Kingdom of Heaven."

-'Daily News.'

And so it seemed providential that this week's sermon at church mentioned Wesley's Covenant. Another local church had this in their weekly bulletin:

"John Wesley adapted a Covenant Prayer for use in services for the Renewal of the believer's Covenant with God. In his Short history of the people called Methodists (1781), Wesley describes the first covenant service; a similar account is to be found in his Journal of the time. Wesley says that the first service was held on Monday 11 August 1755, at the French church at Spitalfields in London, with 1800 people present. The prayer had some of its origins in the puritan, Richard Alleine. Services using the Covenant prayer have been included in most Methodist books of liturgy since. It has become usual to use this at New Year. We will offer the opportunity to pray this prayer today:

I am no longer my own, but thine.
Put me to what thou wilt, rank me with whom thou wilt.
Put me to doing, put me to suffering.
Let me be employed for thee or laid aside for thee,
exalted for thee or brought low for thee.
Let me be full, let me be empty.
Let me have all things, let me have nothing.
I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal.
And now, O glorious and blessed God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
thou art mine, and I am thine. So be it.
And the covenant which I have made on earth,
let it be ratified in heaven. Amen.

(Book of Offices of the British Methodist Church, 1936)."

Perhaps, instead of resolutions, which look to the will and strength of the man or woman to accomplish, we could pray this instead. Every day, for 365 days. And trust that God will work this in us, hourly, daily, for this year, and beyond.

The Spoken Project

My super talented friend and neighbour, Sophie, has started a bold and brilliantly creative venture, called The Spoken Project.

Sophie was formerly a journalist/news reporter in Sydney, before moving down to Melbourne.

Here's what Sophie writes about the aim of her podcasts:

The Spoken Project is about learning through living. It’s about being human. It’s stories that will move your heart, and strengthen your faith.

The first podcast is about Kate, her housemate, who speaks about having an eating disorder.

I listened to it today, while preparing to go out (it's a little over 15 minutes long, so a perfect length!) I loved its honesty, its unpretentiousness, its backing soundtrack - another friend of mine, Sarah, composed the music.

I was humbled by the power of the Story, and warmth of the spoken voice. I was reminded, once again, of the deep, hidden things in each of our lives.

I am in awe of Kate's courage, and yet realise that she's the girl with the wind-blown hair, who I see walking along Brunswick Road, carrying a green Safeway shopping bag.

Kate's story is unique, but she's also someone just like me. And the powerful, redeeming God who has gathered her to him, and whom she loves, is the same one whom I love, and who makes everything new in my life.

Poem

Lord, on mornings like this one
It's hard to believe you exist

The birds splutter out joyous song
Light shutters through the window

And my heart crashes
Shipwrecked and ripped at sea

My soul a tea strainer of tiredness
Squeezed out into a chipped cup

Joy does not come in the morning
And I find that dreary night is more preferable

In darkness at least we can hope
Uncertainties leading to leaps of imagination

In blinding sunlight
Our dreams are revealed for mirage

Chiasma which do not hold water
And reality bursts upon the brain

Are you there, Lord?
Are you true, Lord?

It's me.

You are too far for me to reach
My arms go only to trunk of bark

Then you must hold onto me, Master
Breathe fire and life into cold bones

Tree of Life!
Feed me with your healing leaf

Wrap me in splintering shadows
My faith is but gossamer thin

Your love is warp and weft
You mend and make sufficient

Succour me, sustain me, carry me Lord
Into the blithe continuum of joy