O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing

So, here is what you see outside the room I wrote about last time. I will always remember the first time I saw this sign over a decade ago and followed the arrow, intrigued.

It's impossible to describe in words what it's like to walk from the hustle and bustle of the airport, the constant movement and noise, into the quiet place that sign points to. It's such a welcome and unexpected contrast. We get so used to functioning in noise and tuning it out to the extent we can, that to walk into, and then sit in, such deep silence, causes the body and mind and spirit to move into a different realm of perception.

It takes a moment to adjust, and then you begin to notice things around you and within you that you simply would not have noticed, could not have noticed, with the noise.

This was the first time I noticed these hymnbooks on the shelf near the entrance. Maybe they were there before, but I had not seen them. Again intrigued, I picked one up and opened it.

And it's not possible to put in words either the sense of "walking into" that hymnbook. We were far from home, in a country where neither of us has lived, on a continent that has largely forgotten the faith that once infused its history, literature, architecture, ethics, and sense of identity.

So to sit in that place, open this book, and see hymns that I grew up singing in church was just a lovely surprise. This is even the same tune we used with this text when we sang it in church.

And then to see it written out in so many languages, and to know that people have been singing it in different countries (or else why would it have been included?) for many years, expressing the same thoughts and beliefs, even though their languages and cultures and histories and habits were not the same, just filled me with a beautiful sense of connectedness. I didn't feel so far from home.

Especially because we had this sung at our wedding, with its other tune, known as Hyfrydol.

This one started off with the Italian, at least on this page.

And here it begins in English. They included so many languages that they printed the music more than once for readability because they wouldn't all fit on one opening.

We also had this song at our wedding.

And we did not have this one at our wedding, which will surprise no one, probably, but it was one of my favorites growing up.

And eventually our time in the prayer room ended, and the journey continued.

Airport Adventures: May the Lord Go Before You

It may be a new record, going over six months without putting anything on my blog. Certainly not a record I intended to set.

Maybe reading the book Digital Minimalism affected me more than I realized. I did not determine not to write on my blog, but I was enjoying the intentional space between me and the screen as a result of reading that book (which I haven't yet finished, but do recommend.) It wouldn't surprise me if at some level that book was a factor.

But I think it had as much or more to do with a couple of different health issues that meant extra appointments over several months. And a couple of major house repair/renewal projects that interrupted life significantly. And singing in a couple of different choruses over the spring, which meant two rehearsals each week for a good bit of the time. Oh, and two out of town conferences that took me far away from home. (Don't they say good things come in pairs?)

Whatever the reason, here I am again. Determined to share some pictures and do a bit of writing about our recent travel to Croatia.

The picture above is from a booklet I found in the Munich airport, in the "Raum fur Stille und Gebet," or "Space for Prayer and Silence," a lovely small secluded area  which "invites people from all over the world to pray in silence, to calm down, and to draw new strength," as the website says. And it must have some amazing insulation, because when you get in there, it is completely quiet. You'd never imagine you were in a bustling, noisy airport if you didn't already know that.

I've written about it before here, and since that first visit have been there a few times. This is the first time I had seen the little prayer booklet, with this lovely prayer written in ten languages. It was a wonderful way to be welcomed onto the European continent and to begin our visit there.

I know I've seen a chapel in at least one other airport, somewhere in the States, but I can't recall where it was. I wonder if any of my readers have ever found a chapel in an airport? And how many have wished they could?

And I just found the most amazing thing. An entire history of this place, with photos from the architect's designs to the woods where they found the tree, and how they moved it into the airport. Fascinating. Now I just need to learn to read German beyond my single college semester level! (If you decide to check out that link, just know that there are a couple of blank pages after the initial title page. then it's full of pictures.)

All in a Moment

The other day I had one of those moments when the light falls on something and captures your attention so completely that for that moment you are transfixed, and time seems to stand still. I was actually working on the other side of the room, but something made me turn this way, and I saw the light.

It was light on this hydrangea blossom that I had put in a bowl and set on my prayer desk.

And then I saw the cross that the wood from the window made.

And then the cross on my candle holder, with its beautiful prayer:

O God of peace, who has taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved, in quietness and confidence shall be our strength: By the might of your Spirit lift us, we pray, to your presence, where we may be still and know that you are God.

And the gospel reading from the Sunday before Pentecost. The sermon that day was so good that I asked for a copy of it.

The ball of grapevine I bought after Mrs. White's death, to have a tangible reminder of the interconnectedness of our lives. Something I could pick up and touch when I needed to.

The crystal that a client once gave me as a token of appreciation. She grieved deeply at multiple losses during that time, and she felt she had become more solid through our work together, and that she reflected more light.

The pine cone from a beach in Fairhope, Alabama, a reminder of the importance of going deep. The tree from which it came was very, very tall. Quite a lot of the roots were exposed, because of the way the sea had eroded the sand. But others clearly went deep and kept it grounded and growing. I picked this up because I didn't want to forget that image for times when I feel like I'm being ripped up.

The stained glass window that I set inside my window. I found this in antique store in Collierville and wish so much that I knew where it came from. I'd like to think it was in a house out in the country somewhere in west Tennessee. I miss living in the country. It makes me think of a sunrise, even though it is blue instead of yellow. Or of a person raising both arms upward to greet the light.

A photo of a church window somewhere in west Tennessee, given to me by a friend who is quite good with a camera. She has suffered incredible wounds in her life, she struggles with the trauma symptoms. And she has such an eye for beauty, sometimes it seems incongruous. Other times it seems so natural, because beauty heals and gives hope.

This little pin with the "Love" stamp from the 80's, given to me by my friend Amy. We used to enjoy stamps together and sent many letters back and forth across the ocean. Her letters helped me live through the war in Croatia.

The Bible my dad gave me when I was six years old, the one I referred to in this post. This is its second binding, and I kind of think a third binding may be not too far away. Somehow this one has gotten pretty scratched up and really shows it, more than the first one did.

And the prayer beads from Deron in our Doctor of Minstry class, a section on spiritual disciplines. His wife and daughters made these for everyone in the class--so sweet! I did not grow up even knowing what prayer beads were, and they have not become a constant companion, but I think they are wonderful.

So, the light fell on all this for just a moment. And for that moment, which seemed like a very long time indeed, I took in all these wonderful objects and remembered the people, the places, the ideas, the love and sadness and joy and peace and tumult and just the life they connect me to. They lift me to that Presence where I can be still and know that He is God.

It was a blessed moment. A blessed moment that I wanted to remember. So I took these pictures, quickly and quietly, and then just sat for a while and wondered at how rich and full a life can be.

Dvadeset i Tri na Dvadeset i Treći (Twenty-Three on the Twenty-Third)

We interrupt this Lent for a special announcement . . . Twenty-three years ago today, we were married. Like today, it was a bit overcast and windy. (In fact, we have a hilarious picture of my veil blowing in the wind at one point.) Unlike today, we were twenty-three years younger and had little idea what lay ahead.

I remember hearing before I married that every wedding has something significant go wrong, that it would be bad luck if you didn't.

Well, our expectant-mother cake-maker was ordered on strict bed rest the day before the wedding. Our music director's child got chickenpox a few days before, and his wife was in cancer treatment and couldn't be exposed to it. And during the ceremony itself, one of the groomsmen fainted, nearly taking down with him all the ivy connecting the arch and flowers.

So according to the conventional wisdom, we should have been inoculated against bad luck. On the other hand, a dear woman made a wonderfully delicous cake at the last minute--and still came to the wedding despite the lack of sleep. And the music director was able to find childcare and direct the choir, which meant the world to me, since he had been my chorus director and beloved Bible teacher. And another groomsman caught the fainting one, saving the wedding from disaster; they even revived him before the end of "Lord, Make Me an Instrument" came, most people didn't even know it ever happened, as they had heads bowed and eyes closed for that prayer/song.

So, who knows, maybe all those last-minute "saves" undid our inoculation.

Of course, it wasn't "bad luck" that caused the war in former Yugoslavia. It was much more complicated than that. It may have been coincidence that we had bought our tickets to return there the very week that the war started. And it wasn't "luck" that we came from different cultures and spoke different languages; it was very much a choice we made to marry, knowing we came from different worlds. So I wouldn't say we had bad luck. But we did have a very tough start.

I've often looked back and wondered how many people choose this hymn as wedding music. Certainly today I don't hear it at weddings, and I don't know if I ever did growing up. But I knew I wanted it at ours, and Drazen agreed to it. We really were not expecting the war, but I already knew that moving so far away from home would be hard. And we knew that neither of us had "ease" or "idleness" on our list of hopes and dreams.

Father, hear the prayer we offer,
Nor for ease that prayer shall be,
But for strength, that we may ever
Live our lives courageously.

Not forever by still waters
Would we idly, quiet stay,
But would smite the living fountains
From the rocks along our way.

Be our strength in hours of weakness,
In our wand'rings be our guide;
Through endeavor, failure, danger,
Father, be thou at our side.

Twenty-three years later, by the grace of God, here we are. And it is by the grace of God.  He heard our prayer, and hears our prayers, and has given strength and guidance and many other things needed along the way.

And, I must add, I married a patient and persevering man. I don't think I'm an easy person for an engineer to live with; I know I'm not, for him. It's almost laughable to me, now a marriage therapist, to look at our scores on various personality tests. We are both extreme in most areas, and we are opposites in our extremities--except for the "intuitive" part on the Meyer-Briggs. So maybe intuitively we both knew we could make it, even with all the reasons we might not. Whatever the case, I'm thankful that he is who he is, and that he loves me as I am.

We didn't have these words at our wedding; I just noticed today that they are a part of the hymn based on St. Francis' Canticle of the Creatures--

And all ye men of tender heart,
Forgiving others, take your part.
O sing ye! Alleluia!
Ye who long pain and sorrow bear,
Praise God and on Him cast your care!

But we did have other verses sung, and thanks to God's faithfulness in all our wanderings, it seems a good way to end this writing about our anniversary.

All creatures of our God and King,
Lift up your voice and with us sing,
Alleluia! Alleluia!....

Let all things their Creator bless,
And worship him in humbleness,
O praise him! Alleluia!
O praise the Father, praise the Son,
And praise the Spirit, Three in One!
O praise Him, O praise Him!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Lent, Day Nine: A Difficult Prayer (that Brings Rest to Your Soul)

I often pray to see clearly, to see people and things the way God sees them.

Christview Ministry Center's name is about learning to see Christ. But it's also true that if we learn to see Christ, we begin to see life differetly, to view life as Christ does.

I've shared this prayer before and have decided it is worth sharing each year at Lent. Maybe it will help you if you are also wanting to learn to see life differently.

(This came to me by way of a blogger friend at Pentimento,

who said it was written by Servant of God Merry del Val.)

O Jesus meek and humble of heart, Hear me.

From the desire of being esteemed,
From the desire of being loved,
From the desire of being extolled,
From the desire of being honored,
From the desire of being praised,
From the desire of being preferred to others,
From the desire of being consulted,
From the desire of being approved,
Deliver me, Jesus.

From the fear of being humiliated,
From the fear of being despised,
From the fear of suffering rebukes,
From the fear of being calumniated,
From the fear of being forgotten,
From the fear of being ridiculed,
From the fear of being wronged,
From the fear of being suspected,
Deliver me, Jesus.

That others may be loved more than I,
That others may be esteemed more than I,
That in the opinion of the world, others may increase, and I may decrease,
That others may be chosen and I set aside,
That others may be praised and I unnoticed,
That others may be preferred to me in everything,
That others may become holier than I, provided that I become as holy as I should,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it. Amen.

Candlemas

It's dark and cold and wet outside. A good day for candles inside. And today is Candlemas, which, I've seen on calendars for some years but only recently learned refers to the day that Mary and Joseph took Jesus to the Temple, and Anna and Simeon testified to this Light coming into the world. As early as the latter part of the fourth century the church in Jerusalem was celebrating this day, according to a pilgrim who traveled there from Bordeaux, a woman named Egeria who kept a journal of her experience (that you can read here, if interested.)

In churches that celebrate the day, candles are an important part of the service, with every person in the procession carrying one, representing the Light of Christ entering the Temple.

Of course since electricity came along (and I'm not complaining), we have largely lost the sense of dependency on fire as a source of both heat and light. Candles are largely a decorative item for us. But how beautiful it must have been in the middle of winter in 380-something A.D., to go to church and see lots and lots of candles, even to carry one yourself, in a procession for the very purpose of remembering that the Light of God had come into the world as a human, and was spreading from person to person, lighting up the darkness.

Especially in the years after the fall of Rome, when the darkness must have seemed even darker than before, I wonder what it was like for people on this day and other special days--and of course every Sunday was a special day--as they tenaciously held onto their candles, whether literal or figurative, holding onto what they had been told, that Light had come into the darkness, that the darkness was not the final reality.

Most musical settings of Simeon's song use the older language, which I happen to believe is beautiful, having sung it many times.

Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant
depart in peace
according to Thy Word,
for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation
which Thou hast prepared
before the face of all people.
To be a Light to light on the Gentiles
And to be the glory of Thy people Israel.
Glory be to the Father
And to the Son
And to the Holy Ghost,
As it was the beginning,
Is now and ever shall be,
World without end. Amen.

+++++

Nunc Dimittis
by John Shephard (1515-1559)

(The photo is of candles in the cathedral of Milan, from my trip in 2008.)

Don't Rush

 I find God never guides us into an intolerable scramble of panting feverishness.
                                                                                              --Thomas Kelly, A Testament of Devotion.


I don't believe my piano teacher ever read Thomas Kelly, but she certainly believed these words. "Don't rush" wasn't just instruction for how to play piano well. She did not rush her life. She always had time for music, for prayer, for people--piano students, college students, her children and later grandchildren.

Recently another dear friend and mentor to my husband died. Someone shared this in the tributes, a quote from C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity, about what it means to be a holy person:


Their very voices and faces are different from ours: stronger, quieter, happier, more radiant. They begin where most of us leave off. They do not draw attention to themselves. You tend to think you are being kind to them when they are really being kind to you. They love you more than other men do, but they need you less…..They will usually seem to have a lot of time: you will wonder where it comes from… I strongly suspect (but how should I know?) that they recognise one another immediately and infallibly, across every barrier of colour, sex, class, age, and even of creeds. In that way, to become holy is rather like joining a secret society. To put it at its very lowest, it must be great fun.

"They will usually seem to have a lot of time." Of course. If we believe we will live for eternity, why on earth do we get in a rush?

Whether playing piano or listening to people or planning and executing the day, I think "Don't rush" is excellent wisdom for both holiness and happiness.

Sorella Luna

 

 

All Praise be yours, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars;

 

 

 

 

 

 

in the heavens you have made them,

 

 

 

 

 

 

bright, and precious, and fair.

 

 

 

 

~from "Canticle of the Creatures," Francis of Assisi

 

(And perhaps someday I will get a fancier camera so as to better photograph Sister Moon.)

Images for Lent, Inspired by Light

Ah, the beauty of hardwood floors. And of light coming in through the window.

And to me there is beauty in the simple lines, the clear delineations. This is this area; that is that area. All combining to form a whole, but each separate from the other. It looks so nice and neat. So orderly.

My life is not that way, and neither are the lives of many people I talk with. And anyone who checks my blog, or gets updates, can pretty well count on the fact that if it has been a while since I last wrote, it means life has not been neat and orderly in the meantime. Sometimes it's hard to even remember what has been going on that has kept me from writing. Since last time, I can look at my calendar and see a speaking engagement, a retreat planned and led, dinner guests or overnight guests many weekends, three concerts attended, a professional conference out of town, my birthday, and a day trip out of town. An audition. Oh, and physical therapy sessions were added to my schedule in the past week.

All that in addition to regularly scheduled work.

When I write it all out, I feel a bit gentler toward myself for not taking the time to sit and write. And I'm thankful for all the wonderful people and music and encounters. Especially the physical therapy, which even makes it possible to use the computer without the continual pain I'd felt for months.

But today has been a day of staying home, with no guests other than welcoming the presence of rest and peace. Ahhhhh.

And this seems now like a good time to share this prayer, which is engraved on the candle holder above and sits on the desk across the room from me:

O God of peace,
who hast taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved,
in quietness and confidence shall be our strength:
By the might of thy Spirit lift us, we pray, to thy presence,
where we may be still and know that thou art God;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

It is the prayer that we prayed at the beginning of the centering prayer group I used to meet with, until our schedules no longer allowed. But we will be meeting during Lent, and I do so look forward to that.

And of course it isn't just scheduled activities that keep us from peace. It's the activity of our minds and hearts, perhaps, that does so as much as, or sometimes more than, the outward activities. Which is one reason prayer is so important to me. It helps order my mind, orient my heart. It makes it possible to go into a maelstrom of activity, or into the maelstrom of other people's struggles (a big part of my work), and even into the maelstrom of my own heart and mind, and to have a center of peace and quiet in the midst of it all.

I'm thankful for Lent. A time to remember we are dust. A time to focus on prayer and fasting. A time to at least try to see ourselves in a clearer light, and to be thankful for the Spirit that animates our dust and loves us even in our messiness and disorder, bringing peace and order if we will accept them.