The Words of My Mouth

My hometown was a church-going community. For many years all its businesses shut down on Sundays, and some closed early on Wednesdays to accommodate those attending mid-week prayer services. The principal of my high school was a faithful Christian man, and I believe his influence granted the local Young Life ministry nearly unfettered access to its facilities. Many of those on the school’s A-List--the cheerleaders, the athletes, and the popular crowd--identified themselves as followers of Jesus.

It was not hard for me to label myself as a Christian during my high school years. I could close my eyes, raise my hands, and sing about that spark that kept the fire going along with the best of them.

Yesterday we celebrated Palm Sunday at my church as did, I suppose, many other congregations. Each year my pastor calls the children of the congregation forward and hands each a palm leaf. As the children wave their arms, jostle about, and attempt to avoid poking one another in the eye, my pastor talks with them about familiar elements of the Palm Sunday story:

Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. Crowds lined the streets. They waved palm branches and shouted, “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”

Even though, he told the children, many said words they didn’t mean.

Had I been one of the crowd lining the streets of Jerusalem, I easily could have waved my palm branch along with the rest, honoring Jesus with my lips while my heart was far from Him. Because I’ve done so more often than I’d really care to admit.

I’m fairly certain that most of the praise I sang to Jesus during my school years sprang more from peer pressure and a desire to fit in than from a heartfelt desire to offer him what he deserved. And though I’d like to think I’ve matured in my faith and that my worship is now more heartfelt and authentic:

I affirm, It is Well with My Soul, though I toss and turn at night doubting God’s care for me.

I claim to believe that God’s Word has laid How Firm a Foundation, even though I neglect to read it.

I assert that I Surrender All, even while clinging tightly to idols of time, money, and possessions.

I sing Holy, Holy, Holy, though I am careless about observing the Sabbath or offering works of justice and mercy in God’s name.

The good news of the gospel is that Jesus came, riding into Jerusalem on that donkey not to condemn me for my careless acts of faithlessness. The One who conquered death offers me newness of life, the kind that actually starts to reflect the words I sing in church. He woos me to himself, transforming me into the kind of person whose heart moves toward the words which flow from my lips. He offers streams of mercy, never ceasing, that call for songs of loudest praise.

One of the dangers of growing up in the church, I suppose, is that the songs and stories have become almost too familiar. I can mouth the words without engaging my heart. My prayer during this holy week--leading toward the most familiar, most important story of all--is that both the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. (Psalm 19:14, ESV)

Joining Michelle @ Graceful:

And Jen and the sisterhood @ Finding Heaven:

And with Shanda for On My Heart Tuesday:

Testify to Love

Old hymns speak and sing my love language.  Yet, every once in a while something contemporary comes along that just makes me want to throw my hands up in the air and shout, "Hallelujah! and Amen!"

And I'm Presbyterian, so that's saying something.

Anyway, here today in the US all sorts of people are a-twitter about midterm elections.  I will vote because I think it's important and it's the way I was raised.  I used to get ridiculously excited about election day and voting and participating in the American political process.  For me, it was like a holiday.

But this year, even though it's election day, what I'm most excited about is that it is the day my friend kicks cancer's butt!

So here, in my little corner of blog world, I am declaring today Testify to Love Day and I'm posting this video in my friend's honor.  It's a clip of Wynonna Judd singing in an episode of Touched By an Angel.  Say what you will about the show's highly questionable theology and over-the-top sentimentality; about country singers in general or even the color of Wynonna's hair.

This song speaks truth.  And my beautiful, brave friend, in her battle against cancer and in her life--together with every corner of creation--truly does testify to the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit.  Amen!

And, my rock-star diva, cancer-conquering friend sings a mean version of this her own self.



Won't you join me today in celebrating, by letting every breath you take give thanks to God above?

Linking up @ Finding Heaven today.  Come take a look.

Put Down That Hymnal

Were you to visit my church, you could find me sitting in the first pew on the right-hand side of the sanctuary, tall and gray-haired, probably wearing red.  And I would be singing without a hymnal.  This is one of the things newcomers say they've noticed when they meet me.  They ask if I know all the hymns by heart.

I don't.  And my practice of singing without the hymnal isn't about being noticed.  But it is intentional.

Some years ago, I noticed a young woman in my church who seemed to have all the hymns memorized.  She sang with both hymnal and eyes closed.  When I asked her about this, she said that she did know many of them.  She also said that keeping the hymn book closed forced her to really think about what she was singing.

So often when singing in worship, I can zone out, tossing familiar words off my tongue, effortlessly joining in on an often-sung tune.  But the words are far from my heart.  My thoughts wander to what is at home in the refrigerator for lunch, or to whether or not my son finished his homework, or to what someone else in the congregation is wearing.

Singing without the hymnal forces me to consider what I'm singing and to Whom I am singing.  More often than not, I know more words than I think I do.  I can usually find a familiar phrase while singing along with the congregation, listening to the rhyme scheme, recalling the number of times I've sung the lines before.  Think of how easy, how natural it seems to join your voice with others' when Christmas carols are played and sung throughout December.  You probably know more words by heart than you think you do.  Try it next December.  Try putting down your hymnal.  Then keep doing it.

The more I sing without the words in front of me, the more deeply they etch themselves into my brain, my heart, and my soul.  I think of Paul and Silas praying and singing hymns at midnight while in prison.  No hymnal.  No words printed in the bulletin.  No overhead projector.  Just words they knew by heart, offered in petition and praise.

When the enemy comes to me at midnight, (or, in the case of this middle-aged woman, more often at 3 a.m.) tempting me to fear and doubt, the words of praise penned by godly hymnwriters of the past come to me, forming the basis for my prayers today.  They became my petitions at my father's bedside as he was slipping away into eternity and my heart was too heavy to form words of my own.  I offer them to my heavenly Father when words fail me in seeking to walk with Him.

Joining the community at Holy Experience, walking with Him today.

All Will Be Well

We expect a bright tomorrow; all will be well. Faith can sing through days of sorrow; all is well.

As a former Baptist girl, I have great affection for old-time gospel hymns. Blessed Assurance. Standing on the Promises. What a Friend We Have In Jesus. Most, I know by heart. All the verses. One possible exception is the old favorite Just As I Am because, in my church, we only ever sang the first, third, and the last of that one. Every week.

With some trepidation I confess, however, that I’m not a huge fan of It is Well With My Soul. With apologies to those who find tremendous comfort and consolation in the words of that one, sometimes I feel like such a hypocrite singing it. There are times when the words pass through my lips but things are not well with my soul. I’m moody, or angry, or frustrated, or impatient. I’m tossed about with many’a conflict, many’a doubt. I have fightings and fears within and without.*

The above lines are from a hymn which does for me what It is Well seems to do for so many others. Written in the early 1800s by Mary Bowley-Peters, this song was recently updated and recorded by Matthew Smith of Indelible Grace. Lyrics are available here. One of the ways this hymn speaks to me is through its use of verb tense shifts. Yes, I really am that much of a grammar nerd. As one whose own verb tenses tend to shift wildly out of control in ways that would have horrified my seventh grade grammar teacher, tempting her to throw her dog-eared copy of Warriner’s in my general direction, I tend to notice things like that.

Contrary to what happens in my own writing, I believe these shifts are deliberate. They also reflect sound theology. Throughout the song, I am reminded, “All will be well. All is well. All must be well.” The beauty in this structure is that it reflects the already-but-not-yet reality of God’s work of redemption. All will be well because God is about the business of redemption; reconciling and restoring the brokenness of creation to the way it ought to be. The things that hurt now won’t always be this way.

All is well because, in Christ’s victory over the grave, the curse of sin, and sorrow, and death has been broken. These things remain, and they hurt and torment and try our souls. But the mortal wound has been delivered; our enemy has been defeated. Lo, his doom is sure.

All must be well because, frankly, if it isn’t, then what is the point, really? Without the certainty that all must be well, the best any of us can hope for is to get out of this life having experienced a minimal amount of suffering and tragedy and pain. All must be well because it depends on the certainty of the character and promises of almighty God.

It may not be well with my soul in this moment, in these circumstances, at this time; but all will be well. All is well. All must be well. Oh, Lamb of God, I come.

Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus.

*Just As I Am, v. 3





214. All will be well.

215. All is well.

216. All must be well.

217.  Miss Stuck and everything she taught me out of Warriner's.

218. Hearing the story of a family singing God’s praises around the bed of a faithful saint as she was ushered into heaven to join the eternal song. The powerful testimony of her life and the reminder that it is all, all true.

219. The privilege of weeping and praying and waiting with a friend; the opportunity to share her burden.

220. Blooming crocus and daffodil and forsythia.

221. Robins singing, “Cheerily, cheerily.”

222. Starting the spring yard work.

223. Prayerful support as we step into unfamiliar territory.

224. The way those prayers help me see that the opportunity to sit outside in the sun, read a good book, and enjoy a glass of wine during a difficult day is a gift and a reminder me that God is present and will give joy in the journey.

225. Father and son running a 5.5k road race together.

226. The son’s smile at the start of the race.

227. Dinner plans that changed at the last moment when the other couple had to cancel; a surprise opportunity to enjoy a lovely dinner alone with the beloved husband.

228. An invitation to our son to enjoy outdoor fun on campus with college students; the way it energized him.

229. A Sunday afternoon walk providing the opportunity to feel some sun on my shoulders, to meet a new neighbor, and to catch up with one whom I hadn’t seen all winter.