Little Flowers, Weird Hymn Lyrics, and Prayers Where I Brace Myself

 

1. 

   Scilla Luciliae

   Glory of the Snow

   
   

   Before we get to things, there's something you need to know about these small purple flowers that are popping up behind our house.  The gizmo ap thingy I have on my phone tells me they are called Scilla Luciliae, or "Glory of the Snow."

   
   

   Whatever they're called, they shouldn't be there.  Or at least, as far as it would have depended on me.  These are plants that have a more or less wild and unintentional beginning in the yard far longer than anyone in our family has lived there.  

   
   
2. It could very well be that the previous owners of the property planted them on purpose.  But it's more likely, judging from the mature yard just behind us, that they have migrated towards us on their own.  
3. 
   
4. Also, and this is significant, they have survived the construction project that resulted in our new little house being all cozy and quaint back here.  But before it was that, it was a mess. Yet all the tromping and digging and upheaval; none of it has deterred this small but feisty little lovely.  
5. 
   
6. And I, the non-gardener, marvel because I know that I do not deserve it.  I have done nothing to create this little bit of springtime joy, but here it is just the same.  
7. 
   
8. This needs to be said, before we get to the hymn.
9. 
   

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet,

Sung by flaming tongues above;

Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,

Mount of Thy redeeming love.

1. 
   
2. by Robert Roberston
3. In the category of "why didn't I ever notice this before?" a phrase in an old hymn we sang at worship service on Sunday caught my attention.
4. "Tune my heart to sing Thy grace."
5. I guess I'd always thought it was 'sing Thy praise,' which not only rhymes a little, adding to my mistake, but would also be a more expected way to end that thought, I think.  We sing praises, sure. More than we sing grace, right?
6. But noticing it on Sunday, it got me to wondering what it actually meant to 'sing grace.'  Not just sing about grace, but to sing grace itself.
7. Grace is a pretty big deal in the Bible.  And this hymn will keep circling back to it.  A thorough study would certainly yield much, not the least of which is the role of grace in God's big story of reconciling us to Himself.  And speaking of old hymns, how amazing grace is, in all its astonishing, soteriological layers!  For now, and at the risk of oversimplifying it, let's just define grace as being bestowed gifts or blessings or favour we most certainly didn't earn or deserve.  Like my little purple flowers out back.
8. And if that's the case, to sing grace, in a poetic sense, sort of sounds to me like we might spread that around a bit.  Share it into the spaces around us.  Just as we have received grace from God, we now pass that along to those in our orbits.  Like little splashes of springtime joy migrating from one yard to another.
9. Interestingly, the first examples of 'singing grace' that come to mind have to do with simple interactions with strangers.  Allowing space for that car that "didn't see" the lane closed sign way back there and is now trying to nose in.  Being extra friendly and patient with the cashier who's obviously tired and just a little bit grumpy.  Staying pleasant with the customer service associate on the phone, even when you're calling in a legitimate complaint.  Those are the easy songs though.  I can do, and write about, these and feel quite full of grace in my own little heart.  (Or full of something, anyways.)
10. The tune can get a little off key when things are closer to home, it seems.   Like when someone doesn't respond to an email and I am tempted to assign not so nice motives.  Or the repetition of a small but annoying habit begins to wear a groove in my patience. Or a well stated boundary is overstepped, yet again.  All of these things require relational attention for sure.  But with what song? 
11. [And here is interject a nod to the big and awful things that happen that require the kind of grace that can only happen because there is a God.  But this is not about that.]
12. Then there's the part about 'tuning.'   I'm not assuming to know the meaning Robertson gave this phrase, but I like this image a lot.  It speaks of spiritual formation, I think; that process of listening and adjusting and listening again.  
13. If my heart was an instrument to be used of God in His grand mission of making things 'on earth as it is in heaven (Matthew 6:10),' of moving us ever closer to a state in which His will is perpetually carried out and all the tears are wiped away (Revelation 21:4) and no one is afraid (Micah 4:6), and oh how glorious it will all be by then!!!....If that's what my heart is being tuned for, then it would sing of grace.
14. Out in the backyard yesterday, when I discovered my little glory of snow, I felt the Spirit make all the connections.  The little blue flower that I didn't deserve.  The grumblings of my spirit when wronged (perceived or real).  The way my heart is still off key and needs Divine tuning to help me sing His grace when it really counts.  
15. I hum the hymn.  I pray the prayer.
16. "Tune my heart, Lord, to sing Thy grace."
17. It's one of those dangerous prayers, of course, so I best brace myself.
18. 
    

What I Learned From Giving Up Productivity for Lent

Having previously posted my intention to give up "productivity" for Lent (So Far So Lent), I feel it's only fair to provide a few reflections on that experience now.  

Honestly?  These are just my own observations and learnings, and may or may not be of interest or relevance to anyone else.  

But since spiritual formation is a process, and open transparency is of some value in how we learn from one another, I offer these somewhat random points, just in case.

To recap, my observance of the 40 Days of Lent from Ash Wednesday (February 18) to Maundy Thursday (April 2) came in the form of refraining from the urgency and efficiency with which I normally strive to accomplish the work of my life.  There was a 'lesser' feel to my schedule during this time anyways, and I was curious to see if my sometimes flippant remark that 'productivity could easily become my god, if I let it,' had any teeth.

So, here's what I feel was revealed to me as I paused, took a breath, and stepped carefully out into the lesser-than journey this Lenten season.

1.  It's Okay to Be Me, But Mindfully

Throughout my intentional prayers and meditations, I realized and was affirmed again that my desire for productivity is not wrong it itself.  It's part of how God wired me up, and therefore the good stewardship of it is one important way of faithfully serving Him.  If I can get a lot done in any given day, and I'm feeling 'productive' and that makes me happy, that's not wrong.

But when productivity itself becomes separated from a servant's heart, becomes the driving force and primary goal, and/or gets tied up in my value and identity, that's when things get warped.  Stepping back from that, intentionally and mindfully, helped me see where I'm prone to step out of being Spirit-led into the realm of being fear-driven. 

2.  It's About How Things Get Done, Not How Much Gets Done

During this time, it wasn't so much about what I did or did not get accomplished in any given day or week.  Some weeks were a little lighter, sure.  But some weeks there were still many timely things to get done, reasonable expectations to fulfill, places to be, reports to be written and sent and filed, longer term plans to execute in the smaller weekly tasks.  All of that didn't stop just because it was Lent. 

The fasting from productivity, however, ended up feeling more about a general approach or attitude toward the tasks I consider 'work'.  It was more about lessening the intensity and leaving space for more thoughtful interaction with whatever was before me in the moment.  It was about giving myself permission to put something down and leave it for a while, when the time lines allowed, and picking it up later when I was able to give it fresh intention.  This replaced my admittedly-normal MO of pressing so hard to 'git 'er done' just so I could check it off the list and feel that sense of productivity.

3.  It's About What Gets "Accomplished" When I'm Not at My Desk

During Lent, I felt differently about time spent away from my desk, and this surprised me.  When I am focused on productivity, any other appointments or meetings or even getting out for my walk all seems like a competition for my time and energy.  As if I was somehow shirking my 'real' responsibilities.  But when productivity itself wasn't the goal, then that low-grade, white-noise anxiety wasn't there because it wasn't 'necessary.'

Generally speaking, I am quite protective about the time I spend at my desk, and for reason.  When my office situation was different, and the connective expectations higher, I had to modify my desire to be constantly 'available,' and set some difficult but essential boundaries.  Some of those boundaries, and the scheduling of uninterrupted time, are still helpful and necessary.  But beyond that, because of this fast from productivity, I think I am realizing that I tend to view the work done at my desk as the 'real' work, and everything else is a distraction from it.  Maybe it's because what I do at my desk gives me something more concrete to show for my efforts.  An agenda mapped out, a blog posted, an email sent, a sermon written, a lesson planned, a report written and sent and filed.  

And oh, how self-important all of this sounds!  I write these words as confession.  Made even more stinging because this seems a repeated lesson of the Spirit to my soul.  And I leave that here for me to sit still in it a little longer.  

4.  It's 40 Days, But More

Psychologists say that it normally takes 21 days to form a new habit.  Lent is longer, which is one reason, perhaps, the practice of it can be so formative.

For me, 40 days was long enough to feel it as a discipline, as a fasting-from.  All chill and determined to relax at the beginning, but ramping up a little by midway.  Forgetting I was doing this, even.  I had to write a little note to myself at the top of each week's list to remind me not to overload the expectations.  Oh yeah, I'm giving up productivity for Lent.  When I had a moment of anxiety because it felt like I was being lazy, or wasting the day, or - gasp - being unproductive!...Oh yeah, I'm giving up productivity for Lent.  Like that.

And also, 40 days was long enough to make for a more lasting change in some of my rushing-habits.  Rushing habit examples that I noticed this time out:  

Eating quickly just to get back to work, instead of taking a legitimate lunch break.  

Knowing I have 15 minutes before the next meeting begins and looking at the list for something I can check off and get done in that time, because, heavens, one wouldn't want to waste 15 minutes, right?

  

What about my walking pace?  For the purpose of exercise, you obviously want to keep it brisk.  But other times, like in the grocery store, or even just getting up from my desk to head to the kitchen, I found it interesting to notice what happened if I slowed that down a little, which I could do if I wasn't in any hurry to get anything in particular checked off the list.   I'm hoping some of this sticks.

"Spiritual Formation is the process of being formed 

into the likeness of Christ

for the sake of others."

M. Robert Mulholland

And so, patient friends, that's what I've come up with so far.  Feels like enough.  And ironically, I'll stop here before this update itself becomes something that feels more thoroughly productive rather than reflectively meditative.  And yes, I'm laughing at myself right now.  

And meanwhile, quietly, as if not wanting any undue attention, all this time of unproductivity has produced my first orchid bloom here in our new little house.  That's coming on to two years.  A longer time of being dormant, of being unproductive, and yet, here it is, all beautiful.

If you've come with me all the way to the end of this post, thanks for the company.  The journey into becoming our better selves is always better when taken together.

I'd be curious, if you'd be inclined to share it with me, how you might have observed Lent, and what your own learnings were.  My email is rabreithaupt@hcckw.ca.  Love to hear from you.

AKA Buy All the Chocolate Day

My particular Christian tradition does not necessarily explain or even mark Easter Monday in any particular way.  For me, growing up, it was the extension of the long weekend where I didn't have to go to school, and we didn't get the mail, but almost everything else went on as normal.

By now I'm just excited that ALL the blooms of my lily showed up in perfect sync to wow us on Easter Sunday morning, and will grace our front room with beauty for the week ahead!  AND...Ken and I will go hunt for discounted chocolate a little later on.  Why not?

But also, I am still absorbing all the learnings and joys of this whole Lent-leading-up-to-Easter season.  It was a new thing for me to practice Lent by abstaining from the intensive productivity that usually, and I could argue rightfully-according-to-how-I'm-wired, marks my approach to life and ministry.  In the same way more relaxed and laid back personalities should embrace who they are, I embrace this about me.  

And...it was good and instructive to be mindful of my responses and insights for these past 40 days.  In the spirit of all I have learned, I am collecting some reflections, but not rushing to check off the list.  It needs a bit of soaking first.

All that being said, I've been out for my walk already while the sun was still shining.  And there are good and meaningful things before me this week that I'd best get at.

However your week is starting off, I hope you feel ready, and hopeful, and empowered.

And if you'd like to, check out the link for some History of Easter Monday 

Resurrection Sunrise

 

Praise be to the God and Father of

our Lord Jesus Christ!

In His great mercy

He has given us new birth

into a LIVING HOPE

through the resurrection

of Jesus Christ from the dead,

and into an inheritance

that can never perish, spoil, or fade.

1 Peter 1:3-4

And this changes everything.

Great mercy.

New birth.

Living hope.

Certain inheritance.

No wonder we're going to party loud at Church this morning!

Jesus, in all His explosive glory!

Just look at Him!!!

Wishing you and yours a hope-beyond-hope Easter morning.

Not So Silent Saturday

 Stop,

and acknowledge that 

I am God.

Psalm 46:10

Photo Credit:

Seal on Jesus' Tomb

"Be still," it is commonly rendered, "and know that I am God."  And we put it on posters with images of solitude and peace, as an invitation to come away from the noise of our lives to sit lovely with a cup of tea, and a journal on our lap.  And, all by itself, it works as a good reminder to do just that.

But this morning is Holy Saturday.  Silent Saturday.  When everything stood still, and everything raged at the same time.

And in step with the full context of Psalm 46, where God is described as a Divine Warrior that directs His attention to the termination of wars and destruction, I don't think it's a stretch to hear Him make this declaration over the crucified body of His Son.

Behind the seal of a human empire lies the One who will bring all empires to submit to ultimate shalom.  The Kingdom of God can be described as a state where the perfect will of God is being perpetually carried out.  And that Kingdom is going to win this.

"He breaks the bow and snaps the spear, and burns shields in fire," are the promises in verse 9, just before the more famous verse 10.  And just before that, in verse 8, wars are 'terminated.'  

I need this today, on this Saturday in between.

This reminder that, ultimately, no human leader reigns supreme; that wars are not okay with God (1) and He exercises His authority to end them; that what looks like defeat is often just the beginning of something spectacular. 

This morning, though, as I gradually became awake, and aware of what day this was, His words were more that of a Shepherd than a Warrior, although truth be told I need Him to be both on my behalf.  But today it was in the unrushing sound of rain, keeping me in bed just a little longer, hearing Him speak it to me, just me, in that way He does with us.  The thoughts form, and turn towards me, gently.

"Stop, be still, cease striving.  

All the things that are uncertain for you right now, the things you want to fix but can't, are certainly and silently working for the better story you are writing with Me about you right now.  

And while you are a cherished daughter, and the object of all I can offer, really, Dear Heart, this is about so much more than just you.  

What looks like the final word, a Roman seal on a tomb, is really Heaven holding its breath for what comes next.  

And I will be with you, always.  Always."

And I will wait for this.

(1) For a thorough discussion on God's attitude towards violence, see Bloody, Brutal, and Barbaric? Wrestling with Troubling War Texts, by William J. Webb and Gordon K. Oeste, Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2019.

Wretched Friday

 

In sync with the Man's last exhale

the Cosmos holds its breath.

We wait.

Sorrows.

"It is accomplished."

Not Yet

If you know what this is, it's likely because you already have one in your house waiting for the weekend.  Or you just know flowers way better than I do, since I'm not sure I could identify a bloom before it opens, no matter how well-known the plant.

It is of course an Easter Lily.  We got this one last Friday from the grocery store.  They all looked quite healthy and full of potential sitting there on the rack, and it seemed worthy of the ten dollar investment. So we brought this one home.

I really like having them in the house at Easter, mostly because it reminds me of Spring, and any flowering thing is more than welcome.  But an Easter Lily has special association for me because of how I've understood it to be a visual representation of the Resurrection.

If you look it up, you'll discover there is a lot to the symbolic meanings of the lily.  The flower is mentioned a few times in Scripture (Song of Solomon 2:1; Hosea 14:5; Matthew 6:28-29 if you are so inclined to do a quick study).  But nothing necessarily in connection with Resurrection morning.  The spiritual symbolism comes to us more courtesy of 14th century artists and other influences, which is all fine and meaningful in its own right.

I think for me, the particular way the blooms stay closed shut, then open wide and trumpet-like has a resemblance to the Tomb of Christ, both before and after.  I find myself checking in each morning to see which blooms are almost ready.  There's a patient expectation.  I know it will be worth the wait.

When the blooms do open, it's almost like they're saying, "Ta da!"  Maybe it's the trumpet shape.  Maybe it's the purity of the white petals.  I can't seem to help myself in feeling 'yay.'  It happened!  He is risen!

But not yet.

We're not done Lent yet.

It's in these waiting spaces that much can be revealed in those deeper places where we are human.  It's in the 'before' that we are refined for the 'after.'  And this year, as I look toward the opening lily blooms, I am again reminded that I know the end of the story, whereas the original Disciples did not.  They did not know.  

Not yet.  

I find I am drawn to waiting with them this year as I look at the closed-up-ness of my lily.  With them and with sisters and brothers around the world not knowing yet how their own story will end.  For some it looks grim.  War does that.

I want to wait with others, closer to home, who know a fresh grief, and can identify so much more painfully with those original Disciples than I do right now.  With others whose stories seem all tight and unlovely in this chapter that unfolds for them these days.  

And I wait with my own wonderings at the strangeness of the ways some things appear to be so very not okay.   And I am okay to sit with that in these days before the Opening.

Because I do know the rest of the story.

But not yet.