Relief and Accomplishment

For the past month, I've been working on a big editing project.  One that has required us to reflect.  One that has asked us to look at the key experiences of the past six years of our school's life.  We are preparing for our accreditation visit next month and I'm on the writing and editing team for the self-study.  It has been an interesting journey.  My assignments were to write chapter one (the school profile), head up the focus group about curriculum and instruction, and then edit the whole project.  Last week, I was editing every spare moment.  Some sections went through three and four edits, and some are first drafts (and it shows).  When different people are writing different sections, it's challenging to try to put it all together as if it came from one source, one voice.  Hence the late nights and the hours (five and six hours each the past two nights) of work after a full day of teaching!!!  All told, I logged over 50 hours of overtime--for which I cannot be paid since I'm on salary.  Something's a little skewed about that, but that's another story. . .  

All of those 50+ hours, I was accompanied by my friend and colleague, Jill.  She is actually the leader of the whole project and she truly has put her heart and soul into it.  She was able to take Monday off as we finally put the project in the mail to the visiting team at about 5 p.m. last Sunday.  I took a few hours off, but didn't want to miss out on my teaching.  The principal sent us out to dinner and a show Wednesday night, though, and we had a good time, first going to Brios for supper (delicious) and then to the Mesa Arts Center to see The Good Lovelies in concert.  Now, prior to last week, I had barely heard of this band, but Jill knew their music and really wanted to go.  I'm always game to learn new things, so I didn't mind going...and was pleasantly surprised and the delightful time we had there.

Our seats were great--third row in a small, intimate theatre that held about 200.  This women's trio of Canadian folk singers were funny...and good.  It was somewhat of a shock, though, to look around us and see that we were, besides the singers, the youngest people in the room, by far.  Don't know why that demographic...but we all enjoyed ourselves.  The girls kept saying "thank you for coming.  You're all so attentive!  And it's true.  The audience was on their best symphony hall behavior, quietly listening during the songs and clapping enthusiastically at their conclusion.  We also gave them a standing ovation at the end, which I believe delighted the singers enormously.  They are relatively new--only about 6 years old as a band.  I was impressed.

Of course you pay for doing something like that mid-week.  I have indeed been scrambling ever since to get everything done that needed doing before this day ended. But...it's all done now.  And so I go to my rest tonight tired, but with an enormous sense of relief and accomplishment . . .

I Will Go

In our staff worship on Monday, our registrar shared a Steve Green song with us that had powerful meaning for her, but also for the rest of us gathered around the table.  Every day the principal and I meet to talk and pray together about the day and for our students and staff.  It's always nice when others come, but it's not often.  This week, the registrar has joined us.  The song she brought touched each of our hearts as each of us have left something or someone important to us to come where God has led us.  The principal's wife still lives in Texas because she is taking care of her elderly father there.  The registrar and her family left a stable situation in northern California and came to a very challenging situation here in Arizona.  I left all of my family on the east coast and came here where I knew no one and nothing about what I was getting into.  We all three believe God brought us here to Thunderbird, but it has not been easy.  The words to the song gave us all hope and courage for the journey:

Give me ears to hear Your Spirit
Give me feet to follow through
Give me hands to touch the hurting
And the faith to follow You.


Give me grace to be a servant
Give me mercy for the lost
Give me passion for your glory
Give me passion for the cross.


And I will go where there are no easy roads
Leave the comforts that I know
I will go and let this journey be my home.
I will go.
I will go.


I'll let go of my ambition
cut the roost that run too deep
I will learn to give away
What I cannot really keep.


Help me see with eyes of faith
Give me strength to run this race.


I will go, Lord, where Your glory is unknown.
I will live for You alone.
I will go because my life is not my own.
I will go.
I will go.
I will go.

~ Steve Green

My Story, My Song

This is my story, this is my song.
Praising my Savior all the day long.
This is my story, this is my song.
Praising my Savior all the day long. 

If anyone ever embodied the meaning of this beloved hymn, literally, it was my friend Virginia-Gene Rittenhouse.  I say "friend" because she truly was my friend, although many years older than I, and many times more gifted and talented and beloved than I could ever hope to be.  We were not equals in sense of the word . . . except in purpose and mission.  Her mission, her passion, was to bring God to the world through music.  Classical music.  It was there, through this medium of music, that we met.  It sounded like heaven.  It was there, through this ministry of music, that she and thousands met.  And it is there, because of her ministry in music, that we will meet again someday.  Founder and director of the New England Youth Ensemble, Virginia-Gene was a force to reckon with.  A legend.  An icon.  A difference-maker.  A mentor and friend.

Virginia-Gene Shankel Rittenhouse

Tuesday morning, a tsunami wave of enormous proportions swept over the musical world, leaving hundreds of musicians, young and old, bereft of their leader and mentor.  As the word got out that Virginia-Gene had passed to her rest, we began to reach out to each other, through Facebook and other means, to comfort and to share.  There are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of stories of how she brought kids together to play music and took them around the world to praise God.  We could tell stories by the hundreds--stories of the crazy experiences...and yes, miracles...that occurred on tour.  Tales of sleepless nights, bus breakdowns, lost passports, border crossings, sunstroke, buckets of granola, apple crisp, 5 concerts in a day, and lives touched.  And then there were her stories!  She was an amazing story-teller!  You've not heard stories until you've heard her tell one...

The Ensemble in 1975. 

I am struggling to find the words to express the difference she made.  I don't think it's possible.  You can read about her here, but unless you spent time with her, unless you saw her at her highest as well as her lowest, you can't begin to understand what it meant to have her in your life, however briefly.  She made her mark the first time you met her.  And if you were lucky enough to tour with her, even once, never mind over and over, your life was never the same.  And you were part of the Ensemble family forever.  That in itself is a gift.  We are coming together again this week, through Facebook, and over the next several weeks at various Life Celebrations.  We will be sharing our memories, sharing our loss and our appreciation for the gift she gave each of us.  This world will not be the same without her, but we have the hope and promise of seeing her again in the world made new.  That blessed assurance was hers.  That, above all, was her story and her song.  And it is ours in no small measure because of her.

Fanfare for a Fragile Life

Tonight's Tucson Memorial Service began with Aaron Copland's "Fanfare for the Common Man." A lovely and powerful way to begin a time of reflection, celebration, and encouragement. Written to commemorate America's entrance into World War II, the Fanfare was also Copland's tribute to all who contributed to victory, especially those not in the spotlight.

I was reminded of the role of the "common" person several times tonight throughout the speeches and readings. In between the tears and admiration came the realization, or maybe I should say reminder, that life is fragile. These were common, ordinary folks thrust into an extraordinary situation not of their making or choosing who did not shrink from the service of their country or neighbor.

I was inspired. And humbled. It could have been me. It could have been any of us on any given Sunday.

What Sweeter Music Can We Bring

For journal writing this week, I've had my students writing about and around Christmas. One day I asked them to write about their favorite Christmas carol. Today, I played some Christmas music (Chris Botti's Christmas album) and asked them to write where the music took them. At school, I don't play music with words because I want the students to use their own words and not be influenced by those of others. But at home, and in the car, it's a different story. Nothing says Christmas to me like Christmas music. And nothing says Christmas music to me like John Rutter's Christmas carols (unless it's the Carpenters Christmas albums...).

One of my favorite John Rutter carols is actually a setting of a poem by 17th century English pastor and poet Robert Herrick. His "What Sweeter Music" describes exactly the power and purpose of music to express our love and gratitude for the gift of the Christ child. (I wrote about this carol a couple of years ago, too, and you can go here to read more about the poem and hear a nice setting of it.)


A Christmas Carol, Sung to the King in the Presence at White-Hall

Chorus:
What sweeter music can we bring,
Than a Carol, for to sing
The Birth of this our heavenly King?
Awake the Voice! Awake the String!
Heart, Ear, and Eye, and every thing
Awake! the while the active Finger
Runs division with the Singer.

From the Flourish they came to the Song.

Voice 1:
Dark and dull night, fly hence away,
And give the honor to this Day,
That sees December turn'd to May.

Voice 2:
If we may ask the reason, say:
The why, and wherefore all things here
Seem like the Spring-time fo the year?

Voice 3:
Why does the chilling Winter's morn
Smile, like a field beset with corn?
Or smell, like to a mead new-shorn,
Thus, on the sudden?

Voice 4:
Come and see
The cause, why things thus fragrant be:
'Tis He is born, whose quick'ning Birth
Gives life and luster, public mirth,
To Heaven and the under-Earth.

Chorus:
We see Him come, and know Him ours,
Who, with His Sun-shine, and His Showers,
Turns all the patient ground to flowers.

Voice 1:
The Darling of the World is come,
And fit it is, we find a room
To welcome Him.

Voice 2:
The nobler part
Of all the house here, is the Heart,

Chorus:
Which we will give Him; and bequeath
This Holly and this Ivy Wreath,
To do Him honor; who's our King,
And Lord of all this Revelling.

Robert Herrick (1596-1674)

God Speaks

This song has been on my mind since sometime yesterday morning. It was written by Mel Rees and was on an LP Record that we used to listen to Friday nights and Sabbaths when I was young. The lyrics are most comforting...

God speaks in the stillness of the night

God speaks in the days so warm and bright.

the flaming sunset paints the sky

And sets the clouds ablaze

God speaks in all these wondrous ways.

God speaks in the mountains and the plans

He speaks in the scent of autumn rains,

In mighty rivers rushing in their haste to reach the sea,

God speaks to you and me.

How can we feel alone with Him so near?

Lift up your heart, He'll see and hear.

When things go wrong and no one seems to care,

Just look around, He's everywhere.

God speaks in the whiteness of the snow,

He speaks and the flowers begin to grow,

His voice is hear in chapel bells

And in the peaceful doves,

God speaks in every heart that loves.

At the Cross

My father is a violinist. He's many other things--an educator (principal at GBA in the 70s!), a theologian, a carpenter, a gardener, a philosopher--but at heart he's a musician, and a pretty good one at that. When he was in high school, he had hopes of being a concert violinist, or at the very least a professional orchestral player. But then he went to college and God called him to the ministry--both pastoral and teaching. Growing up, I heard him play many times--all kinds of classical music. But my favorite memories of him playing are of when he'd play for church, always just a simple hymn. He wanted to reach out to everyone with his music and hymns, for him, did that. Hymns like "Face to Face with Christ my Saviour" and "Into the Woods my Master Went" and "O Sacred Head Now Wounded" were among his favorites. Hearing them played under his skillful hands made them my favorites as well, especially after I looked the words up in the hymnal and realized the impact of what he was playing.

Every year at this time, I am drawn to the music of the time. The hymns my father put into my mental iTouch always start to play in my mind and take hold of my heart, especially Paul Gerhardt's setting of the ancient Latin hymn "Oh Sacred Head Now Wounded":

O sacred Head, now wounded,

with grief and shame weighed down,


Now scornfully surrounded

with thorns, Thine only crown;


How pale Thou art with anguish,

with sore abuse and scorn!


How does that visage languish,

which once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered,

was all for sinners’ gain;


Mine, mine was the transgression,

but Thine the deadly pain.


Lo, here I fall, my Savior!

’Tis I deserve Thy place;


Look on me with Thy favor,

vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

This week, as those words swirled through my head, the images they created jammed up my heart and made me grateful anew for what my Saviour actually did for me. They also brought to mind another, related hymn, "At the Cross":

Alas, and did my Savior bleed,

And did my Sov'reign die?

Would He devote that sacred head

For such a worm as I?

Chorus:

At the cross, at the cross

Where I first saw the light,

And the burden of my heart rolled away

It was there by faith I received my sight,

And now I am happy all the day!

Was it for crimes that I had done

He groaned upon the tree?

Amazing pity, grace unknown,

And love beyond degree!

So, what, then, does it mean to me that Jesus became a human being and lived as a man for 33 years and then died for me? A man that got hungry, tired, thirsty? A man who had intense feelings? A man who knew temptation? Does all of that really affect my life today? What difference does it make? Well, for me, Jesus’ life means four things:

1. He provides atonement. Since Adam and Eve chose sin, with its penalty of separation from God, only Jesus, according to the preconceived plan, could pay the penalty and thus change the consequences of that sin. The man Jesus provided atonement--at-one-ment—and restored harmony between man and God.

2. I better understand God. To face Satan’s accusations about God and His character, to bridge the distance resulting from sin, to heal misunderstandings likely in that relation-ship, God chose to give the watching world, and me, a living example of what He was really like. Jesus went beyond telling to show me what His Father was like. How could I love or serve some impersonal, cosmic force? But now, I see God Himself through the life and person of His Son.

3. He better understands me. Because I am convinced that He has felt my pain, I will more easily turn to Him for encouragement or forgiveness, confident that He will care, He will sympathize, He will understand.

4. He provides a pattern, a role model. As a person subject to pressure, bound by time, plagued at times by fatigue, I carefully watch Jesus’ life for His responses. And I see unqualified love (John 15:12), unhurried purpose (John 12:27), constant dependence (John 5:19), and responsive obedience (John 14:31). What a contrast to my self-centeredness, independence and defensive-ness!

The words and music of Easter encourage me to look at Christ’s life on earth which, in turn, shows me that what God expects of me is not impossible. Someone else has gone before me and shown me the way. Because of His life, I know how to live my life. Because of His struggles, I know how to get through my struggles. Because of His earthly death, I have the promise of eternal life. And so do you.

Musical Patterns

The Wednesday evening before Christmas, I had the privilege of attending a family concert in a love old home in Sterling, MA. I've been to this home countless times over the past 35 years or so, but until this night had not heard that it was actually a historic landmark with an interesting story beyond what I already thought was interesting with its current owner (legendary musician/conductor/composer/teacher/mentor Virginia-Gene Rittenhouse of New England Youth Ensemble fame).

In the midst of the concert that various family members and friends (including myself) gave for each other, one of my oldest friends, and my sister's sister-in-law--Connie--told us the story of Virginia's house. I was fascinated! Here's the opening of its history from the Butterick website. If you like sewing and history, this story will interest you:

"The year was 1863. Snowflakes drifted silently past the windowpane covering the hamlet of Sterling, Massachusetts in a blanket of white. Ellen Butterick brought out her sewing basket and spread out the contents on the big, round dining room table. From a piece of sky blue gingham, she was fashioning a dress for her baby son Howard. Carefully, she laid out her fabric, and using wax chalk, began drawing her design.

"Later that evening, Ellen remarked to her husband, a tailor, how much easier it would be if she had a pattern to go by that was the same size as her son. There were patterns that people could use as a guide, but they came in one size. The sewer had to grade (enlarge or reduce) the pattern to the size that was needed. Ebenezer considered her idea: graded patterns. The idea of patterns coming in sizes was revolutionary. He experimented, creating heavy cardboard templates; it quickly became evident that the heavy cardboard patterns were not suitable for folding or shipping throughout the country. Ebenezer tried lighter papers and discovered that tissue paper was ideal to work with and much easier to package.

"The first graded sewing patterns were cut and folded by members of the Butterick family and sold from their home in Sterling, Massachusetts. In no time at all, they needed extra space and expanded into an adjoining house. As business continued to grow, they moved into a larger house in Fitchburg, Massachusetts and in one year, set up a business at 192 Broadway in New York City.

(from "Buttrerick History" website. To read much more, go to http://butterick.mccall.com/butterick-history-pages-1007.php)

All is Calm

It's snowing! We're in the middle of a Winter Storm, New England style. I woke to unusual stillness outside. I live near a major highway and can usually hear its noise, however muffled. This morning, nothing. The snow has been falling since last night and it continues to fall, although we may be seeing the beginning of the end. (The photo here shows the depth of the snow on my bathroom window sill. You can see the snow is almost up to the edge of the window hanging.) Visibility in some places is 100 yards or less, although it's not that bad here. Looks like we'll get about a foot all told. Farther south of us (Boston), they are describing it as a "blizzard." There are many, many school children waking up this morning wishing it were Monday and not Sunday! Bad as it is today I'm sure things will be cleared up for school tomorrow.

Yesterday, we had a wonderful Lessons and Carols service at our church. Three families plus three others provided the music, the congregation served as the choir, and three readers shared the Old and New Testament lessons. It was a beautiful service. My sister, her husband, and two children were four of the dozen musicians.

Seven of the group have been playing together since they were kids (in the New England Youth Ensemble, a group I played with as well). One piece they played brought back memories that are 35 years old when the group played each year for the Christmas Eve service in a small Episcopal Church. I still remember the air pungent with incense and balsam fir, the candle-lit sanctuary, the slow procession of the priests bringing the Baby Jesus to the manger as the Ensemble accompanied Jerry (now my brother-in-law) as he played the sweet and lovely Jesu Bambino. That's one of my most sensory memory of Christmas and always brings me a sense of peace and calm.

One of my friends just posted the loveliest poem set to music and video on his facebook page. It's a poem by Chilean poet Pablo Neruda which reads as follows:

Leaning Into The Afternoons Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets towards your oceanic eyes. There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames, its arms turning like a drowning man's. I send out red signals across your absent eyes that smell like the sea or the beach by a lighthouse. You keep only darkness, my distant female, from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges. Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets to that sea that is thrashed by your oceanic eyes. The birds of night peck at the first stars that flash like my soul when I love you. The night gallops on its shadowy mare shedding blue tassels over the land. Pablo Neruda

Be Still and Know...

I heard Barbara Walters interview popular rock star Ricky Martin a few years ago. At the time, he was internationally famous, making millions of dollars. He didn’t seem to have a moment to himself, what with touring and fans, etc. I was amazed, then, when he started telling Ms. Walters that the thing that kept him centered, that kept him from losing his focus was silence, was listening for and to God. “If you have a lot of noise in your life,” he said, “How can you listen to God?”

If you have a lot of noise in your life, how can you listen to God? Oh, how true! For me, one of the ways I find God is through music. Shakespeare once said that music can calm the savage beast…and I have found that to be true in my life. There are several pieces that I turn to to calm my nerves, to bring my blood pressure down, to clear my mind, to turn down the noise of the world so I can be still and hear what God has to say to me. Ralph Vaughn Williams’ The Lark Ascending or Durufle’s Sanctus movement from his Requiem, or any number of hymns as well as other classical pieces.

Sometimes, I’ll listen to them over and over, just trying to push everything else out of my mind, and open it up to the peace that comes with listening like that. For me, being still as I listen, enables me to open my ears, my eyes, my mind, my heart to the soothing healing power of God’s active presence in my life.

Lucky Find!

I happened on a wonderful concert this afternoon by the Choir of St. John's College, Cambridge, England. At first, I just thought it was a random choral concert of boys and men (I wasn't really looking, mostly listening while I did other things). When I finally realized this wasn't just any old group, I started paying attention. They were really good! I didn't discover who they were until the credits rolled. Then, I looked them up. Here are some of the more interesting things I found out (from Wikipedia and the St. John's College website):

It is an old choir in that its origins go back to the beginnings of the College in 1511. They sing the daily liturgy in the college Chapel and broadcast and record extensively. The English cathedral tradition means that the group is made up of men and boys. The boys attend the St. John's College School at the opposite end of the College ground. They walk back and forth between their school and the Chapel wearing gowns and mortar boards (cloaks in the winter).

Before meals, they say Grace: "The eyes of all wait upon thee, O Lord: and thou givest them their meat in due season. Thou openest thine hand: and fillest all things living with plenteousness. Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which out of thine abundance we are about to receive, and grant that by their saving nourishment we may have power to fulfill the obedience due to theek, through Jesus Christ our Lord."

After the meal, they say the Post Prandium: "Pour forth, we beseech thee, Lord god, thy grace into our minds, that we may use these gifts, given by Margaret our foundress adn other Benefactors, to thy glory and together with all who have died in the faith of Christ rise again to life in heaven, through Jesus Christ our Lord. may God, of His infinite mercy, grant His Church unity and peace,k preserve our most august queen, Queen Elizabeth, and grant peace to the whole Realm and to all Christians.

And now, for the most interesting thing of all (to me): Since the 16th century, fellows of St. John's are the only people in England other than the Royal Family who are legally allowed to eat unmarked mute swans.

Silent Night, Holy Night

One of the pieces the instrumental group played in church was Silent Night, a beautiful arrangement of the Manheim Steamroller's version, featuring my niece on the cello. I had never heard it before, and it took my breath away. It was so sweet and poignant. So right for a service celebrating the gift of salvation and eternal life. Here's the original instrumentation, also beautiful. But I have to say, the deep mellowness of the cello as the soloist was something special...

Happy Hanukkuh, #400, and SNOW!

I failed to notice when I posted on Friday that it was my 400th entry in this blog! It kind of crept up on me when I wasn't looking, I guess. It's kind of amazing to me that I've accumulating that many entries, as I wasn't always that regular in posting. Others I know are much more prolific. I respect their ability to share on a daily basis. My goal is to write more in the coming year. It's good for me, if nothing else.

This weekend our church celebrated Christmas and Hanukkuh in the same service. I thought it was a profoundly beautiful service that not too many people enjoyed, thanks to heaps of snow pouring down from the sky. We had wonderful music (that included my sister, her husband, and two children, all cellists) throughout the service.

Then a Russian scholar of Judaism talked about the origin of Hanukkuh and connected it to the Messiah and Salvation. It was fascinating. He brought with him a handwritten scroll of the Torah that took nearly two years to write. It was very old (don't remember how old) and fragile, but we were allowed to see it up close.

It had started to snow Friday afternoon and didn't stop much over night until early morning. Then it started again in the afternoon and kept on snowing all night and all day. It's still snow, in fact. Many things were canceled becasue of the snow, but not the Patriots' game. If you watched it, you saw how crazy it was out there. I went to a game once, years ago, in the snow. We had sleeping bags and heavy blankets to keep us warm, but there were some who didn't have as much protection. And still they stayed. My eyes watered so much, and then the tears froze on my face and my feet were blocks of ice, in spite of the covering we had. But did we leave? Of course not! That's a New Englander for you =)

All the same, school is already canceled for tomorrow. That's because it has now turned to ice on top of all the snow and is very dangerous. Tough, yes. Wreckless, we're not.

What Sweeter Music

One of the things I love best about Christmas time is the music. I especially love the carols. Originating from the French word caroller, meaning to dance in a circle, the word eventually came to mean not only dancing, but also lyrics set to music, particularly about the Nativity. They were first introduced into church services by 12th century writer and church man St. Francis of Assis (of "Lord, Make me an Instrument of Thy Peace" fame).

Many of my favorite carols were first poems written by English poets, now set to music. As I've mentioned before, Christina Rossetti is a favorite of mine and many others, but perhaps the work of a lesser known poet (at least to the general public), is that of 17th century genius Robert Herrick. Best known for his carpe diem poetry, he also wrote this beautiful carol that was first presented to the king.

My favorite setting of it is John Rutter's, maybe because I've had the privilege of playing under his baton a number of times, but I think more because of the peace that overcomes me when I hear the music and contemplate the impact of the gift of salvation that is implicit in the birth of Christ. For me, there truly is no sweeter music we can bring than a carol celebrating our Savior's birth.

High on Haydn

It snowed over night. Not enough to get excited about. Not even enough to cover the ground. Just enough to tease you, to let you know winter is on its way. Another sign that winter is on its way is the proliferation of Christmas concerts, both amateur and professional. I enjoyed one of Boston's oldest traditions: the Handel and Haydn Society's annual weekend of Messiah performances. I went on Saturday afternoon with my high school piano teacher who came to town just for that.

The concert took place in Boston's Symphony Hall, one of the finest concert halls in the world. It was, as you might expect, wonderful. This was the full Messiah, all 2 hours and 45 minutes of it. Truly inspiring. The soloists were quite good. We liked the men especially. The conductor, a guest from England, was beyond interesting to watch. He literally shaped the sound we heard, using every part of his body to do so. It was a riveting performance in every way.

Photos from the Handel and Haydn Society's website

We Gather Together

Yesterday, my family and extended family and a few friends gathered together for an afternoon of delicious food, interesting conversation, and beautiful music. This is something we've been doing for decades now, ever since my sisters and I were in college when it was a gathering of families of our friends. Some of those friends have since become in-laws, and so the tradition has continued over these many years.

This time was special because we were celebrating two major "decade" birthdays: the 90th birthday of the oldest of the group and the 80th of my mother. To honor them, we had a mini-concert of string, piano, harp, and vocal music. We closed it out by singing We Gather Together.

We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing.
He chastens and hastens to make His will known.
The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing
Sing praises to His name, He forgets not His own.

Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining;
Ordaining, maintaining His Kingdom divine;
So from the beginning the fight we were winning;
Thou, Lord, were on our side, all glory be Thine!

We all do extol Thee, Thou Leader Triumphant,
and pray that Thou still our Defender wilt be.
Let Thy congregation escape tribulation;
Thy name be ever praised! O Lord make us free!

I've sung that hymn many, many times throughout my life, but I never took the time to find out what it was all about until this morning when I looked it up. I was surprised to discovered that it was not an American hymn, but rather a Dutch hymn written about when they were fighting for independence from the Spanish in the 16th century. At the time, they were forbidden by the Catholic king to worship as they chose, so the words "gather together" were particularly meaningful for them.

The hymn appeared in American hymnals in 1903. It was the first hymn in the first hymnal of the Dutch Reformed Church in North Amerca, but it wasn't until it was chosen for inclusion in the national hymnal of the Methodist-Episcopal Church in 1935 that it became better known. During World War II, the words "the wicked oppressing" were connected with the Nazis and Japanese.

For Christians, we are always under siege from some evil force. Perhaps now, more than ever. I am thankful for the Leader Triumphant who is our Defender still.

Thanksgiving Gratitudes

I'm thankful for so many things tonight. Almost too many things to count, but I'm going to attempt to shorten them to a top five list:

My students. I had a wonderful class with the seniors today. We are studying Renaissance poetry right now and my plan for the 80 minute period was to focus on sonnet writing (they had one of their own due). I always start the class period with a journaling prompt that I come up with in the 20 minutes or so prior to class. For some reason, I decided they should write a quick poem about the moon, and I played Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata as inspiration for them. While they were writing, I starting thinking about where artists get their inspiration and all of a sudden the class evolved into a full-length discussion on artistic inspiration. The conversation ranged from Picasso's Guernica to basketball player's creativity on the court. I showed them Sting's Sister MoonYouTube video that was inspired by a line from a Shakespeare Sonnet they had learned this week. And they shared what inspires them to write. I was totally inspired by the time the class was over!

My colleagues. I have some great, caring, deeply spiritual co-workers. It's such a pleasure to work with each of them. We all like each other. We enjoy spending time hanging out, talking, laughing, praying together. It's pretty amazing.

My family. The kids are growing up. It's hard, yet wonderful, all at the same time. The girls are bringing their boyfriends around this holiday. The boys are more talkative. They all like being with the grown ups. It's a pleasure and inspiration to talk with them. My sisters are my best friends. My youngest sister calls me every morning while we are both driving to work, and my other sister volunteers at school, so I see and talk with her every day, too. My parents are still on their own, still making an impact in their neighborhood, still showing me the way to be a gracious, generous force.

The stark beauty of post-autumn New England. This year's fall was one of the most beautiful in recent memory. I was hoping it wouldn't end. And yet when it did, what has replaced the fiery glow all around is the interesting textures of shape against shape, leafless branch against steel gray sky. Striking in a different way.

The music in my life. It's not just the fact that my family is musical, or that we have many musical friends, although that's enriching enough. It's not only the opportunities I've had to travel and the people I've met as a result of being part of musical groups myself, although that's been enriching as well. It's the peace that comes from listening to, from sharing, from playing that music.There is much more, but these are the things that have been foremost in my mind this day, as I've experienced blessings from each of them in specific ways today.

May you and yours give and receive blessings in a special way tomorrow. Happy Thanksgiving!

Praise the King

I learned a number of new songs in the past three days. The young man who came to do the music for us is in the process of cutting an album and he shared many, if not all, of the songs he's recording. This one is quite beautiful, and rather fitting for the week we just spent. Cindy Morgan wrote the lyrics.

Praise Him in the morning
For tall and lofty trees
And praise Him in the evening
For children on their knees
Oh and praise Him in the noon day
For gentle birds that sing
Oh praise Him all ye people
Praise the King

And praise Him for a peaceful porch
A nd rocking chairs that sway
Praise Him for the rolling hills
Where children laugh and play
Oh and praise Him for the wandering soul
That never lost their way
Oh praise Him all ye people
Praise the King

Chorus:
Praise the King
Praise the King
Let it ring
Praise the King
Praise the King
Praise the King
Let it ring
Praise the King

And praise Him for the blood that fell
And bloomed a rose that day
And praise Him that He suffered through the guilt, the grief, the shame
Oh and praise Him that His tender love will still forgive today
Oh praise Him all ye people praise the King

(chorus)