O Sabbath rest by Galilee

Dear Lord and Father of mankind, forgive our foolish ways;

Reclothe us in our rightful mind, in purer lives Thy service find,

In deeper reverence, praise.

When I visited Israel in 2008, I discovered that the various places I visited required different levels of using my imagination to connect with how that place was "back then." In some places, there a huge gap between how it is now and how it was then; the Church of the Holy Sepulchre presented one of the biggest challenges. (I hope to blog about my experience there soon.) In other places, the gap is smaller, because those places haven't changed much in the past 2000 years. The Sea of Galilee was one of my favorite places in Israel because it had the smallest gap of any place that we visited - so small that it melts away once you are out on the water, feeling the waves lapping at the side of the boat, feeling the wind and watching the gulls play on its drafts. The captain of our boat was a Jewish man who came to Sea of Galilee to work on a boat and ended up coming to believe that Jesus was the Messiah after, as he put it, sensing the spirit of Jesus on the water.

The hymns that mention the Sea of Galilee tend to speak of it in a very romanticized and idealized way. In preparation for our trip, we are reading an excellent book by NT Wright called "The Way of the Lord", which I would highly recommend to any Christian, whether they are preparing for a trip to the Holy Land, or whether they want to imaginatively walk where Jesus walked without leaving their armchair. In his chapter on Galilee, Bishop Wright warns against a quaint idealism about Galilee, favored by the Victorians, which casts Galilee as simply a quiet, lovely place with gently sloping hillsides and a tranquil lake for fishing. Galilee is beautiful, but it is a real place. As the Gospel shows us, living in a beautiful place does not exempt people from dealing with sickness and hunger and occupation by a foreign power.

O Sabbath rest by Galilee, O calm of hills above,
Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee the silence of eternity,
Interpreted by love!

The hymn Dear Lord and Father of Mankind speaks of the Sea of Galilee as a particularly peaceful place where Jesus sought rest in his Father's presence, but it also acknowledges our all too human tendency to forget our need for Sabbath rest. I love this hymn because it speaks so eloquently of how in the busyness of our lives we so easily err and stray from God's rest like lost sheep; how we follow too much the desires and devices of our own hearts, and will be restless until we find our rest in God.

Drop Thy still dews of quietness,
Till all our strivings cease;

Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
The beauty of Thy peace.

Breathe through the heats of our desire
Thy coolness and Thy balm;
Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;
Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
O still, small voice of calm.

Going to Israel to see the places of the Bible, it is easy to get into "go go go" mode out of a desire to see as much as we can before we have to head back to the airport. If we are used to a high level of strain and stress and striving in our daily lives, we will have to be intentional about entering into a different mode of being on our trip, in order for this to be a true pilgrimage and not just an exercise in tourism. The Bible speaks of coming into the promised land as "entering God's rest." May we enter into God's rest on this pilgrimage.

slideshow of my pictures from the Sea of Galilee
"Dear Lord and Father of Mankind" - sung by the Scottish Festival Singers

O God of peace, you have 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.

Jerusalem if I forget you

I never intended to turn primarily to the hymnal as my source of inspiration for this blog, but it's been a really wonderful way to focus my reflections on the church seasons. With our church trip to Israel and Palestine just around the corner, I thought it would be fun to explore music that focuses on places that we will be visiting.

I'm going to start with a song about Jerusalem that is rather unusual and doesn't show up in any hymnal: Matisyahu's Jerusalem. Matisyahu is an Hasidic Jewish reggae rapper. As far as I know, no one has tried that particular combination of religious and musical influences, but it works for him.

(my point in posting this is more the song than the video - though the video does show some recreations of the temple that give you a sense of what it would have been like.)

In the chorus of this song, Matisyahu quotes from Psalm 137:

Jerusalem if I forget you
let my right hand forget what it's supposed to do

Psalm 137 is a psalm of exile; the people of Israel are desperate to remember Jerusalem and not to forget it because they have been cut off from it. They have been forcibly removed from their land and taken to Babylon. The loss of one's homeland would be enough reason to grieve, but the people of Israel have lost more than that.

Matisyahu speaks of Jerusalem being important to his people, not simply because of the land itself, but because it is the "dwelling place of his majesty." For the people of Israel sent into exile, leaving Jerusalem and its temple meant being cut off from God's presence, because the temple is God's throne seat; the place where God concentrated his presence among them; the axis between heaven and earth. Even before they leave Jerusalem, however, the temple is not what it was; in what I find one of the most painful passages of the Bible, Ezekiel depicts God's shekinah glory slowly leaving the temple in stages. God has been showing up to the people of Israel for centuries - in the burning bush, in the pillar of cloud and fire over the tabernacle, until he comes to rest in the temple that Solomon builds for him in Jerusalem, the crown of the city, and the throne of God. But the covenant God has made with his people is broken, and as a result God withdraws his presence from the temple. The people too are removed from their land, for their presence in the land was always inextricably linked to their covenant relationship with God. The exile was the apocalyptic event for the people of Israel - the event that signaled what for them was the end of their world. Their beloved city with its temple was razed; their homeland was mostly emptied of its inhabitants; and they were again slaves to a foreign master, as in Egypt. It appeared that all hope was lost. They suspected that God had washed his hands of them.

In that context, the message of the prophets like Ezekiel and Isaiah and Jeremiah is as shocking as it is hopeful. They announced that Psalm 30:5 is a true description of Israel's God:


For his anger lasts only a moment,
but his favor lasts a lifetime;
weeping may remain for a night,
but rejoicing comes in the morning.

God would not forget them; God would restore them to relationship with him, and that would result inevitably in being restored to the land of promise, including the holy city and its temple. There are so many prophecies that focus on Jerusalem being renewed and restored, but one of my favorites is from Micah 4:

It shall come to pass in the latter days
  that the mountain of the house of the LORD
  shall be established as the highest of the mountains,
  and it shall be lifted up above the hills;
and peoples shall flow to it,
  and many nations shall come, and say:
Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD,
  to the house of the God of Jacob,
  that he may teach us his ways
  and that we may walk in his paths.
For out of Zion shall go forth the law,
  and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.
He shall judge between many peoples,
  and shall decide for strong nations far away;
  and they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
  and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
  neither shall they learn war anymore;
  but they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree,
  and no one shall make them afraid,
  for the mouth of the LORD of hosts has spoken.


Jerusalem will become the place that draws not only the people of Israel but the peoples of all the nations, and they will come in order to encounter God and to learn his ways. This leads to the end of fear and war and ushers in a lasting peace, a time when Jerusalem will fulfill its destiny to be the place where God comes to live as our God, and we come to live with him as his people. Thanks be to God.

A model reconstruction of Jerusalem with its temple.

One Church, Two Names

I looked in vain on the web for detailed pictures of the front mosaic on the Church of All Nations, also known as Church of the Agony, which I described in my last post. When I was transferring photos to my new laptop recently, I discovered to my delight that I took some really good photos that zoom in on the figures. I am returning to Israel and Palestine on November 8th to spend a couple of weeks there with a group from my church, so I've been going over my photos from my last visit.

Here is the entire pediment.

Here to Christ's right are the wise and powerful of the world - the philosophers, the rulers, the soldiers, the musicians (I *think* that's a harpist at the back), bowing in humility before Christ. One of them holds a book that says "Ignoratio," meaning ignorance. I take that as a symbol that before Christ, all of the "wisdom" of the world is revealed to be foolishness. These figures represent our need for Christ that is revealed in our misuse of our strength.

I believe all of these figures are women. The one in front holds the lifeless body of her son. Others bow their heads in grief or pain; others fold their hands in prayer and look up to Christ in hope, imploring him to intervene on their behalf. In contrast to the strength and power of those on the other side, these women represent the weakness and powerlessness of humanity - our need for Christ that is revealed in our suffering. Perhaps we are to see these two groups as connected; rulers in power are often the cause of much suffering among their people.

Jesus kneels in the center, turning his face up to the Father who sits enthroned and stretching out his hands to both of these groups, showing them to the Father and mediating on their behalf. I imagine him asking forgiveness and mercy for those to his right and for restoration and healing for those on his left.

This is also called Church of the Agony, because it is in the Garden of Gethsemane. When you read the story of Jesus' struggle there, he is focused upon his own struggle - his awareness of what lies ahead of him - suffering at the hands of the powerful - and his ultimate decision to accept that suffering because it was God's way forward for him. By connecting Gethsemane with the book of Hebrews, this mosaic suggests that in those moments of agony, Jesus interceded for all of us - for the people of all nations who have known the folly of human power and the horrors of suffering. It reminds us that he did that for us. Jesus is our Great High Priest. Thanks be to God.

Go To Dark Gethsemane

Even after all these centuries, there is still a garden called Gethsemane on the hill across a valley from Jerusalem. It has been walled off and protected from the modern world. When I entered the garden through a door in the stone walls, I immediately sensed the peace of this place. It is beauty and tranquility are ironic, because it is famous as a place where one man underwent great spiritual agony. His torturous physical agony was still ahead of him at Pilate's seat and on the streets of Jerusalem and at Golgotha. At Gethsemane, he underwent a wrenching struggle to accept the bitter cup that was before him.

There is now a church next to Gethsemane. It is called the "Church of all Nations" and also the "Church of the Agony." It was built in the 1920s, so it's fairly recent.



It is called the Church of the Agony because when you go inside, you find a piece of bedrock where Jesus may have sweated out his struggle the night before his death. It is called the Church of all Nations for at least 2 reasons:

First and most practically, because churches from many different countries financed the building, which was telling after World War I.


Second, because of the depiction of Christ above the church doors as the mediator for humanity. Christ is clothed in red, kneeling and looking up above him to his Father, who is surrounded by angels. To Jesus' left and right are people. Those to his left are the poor and troubled - a woman weeping and carrying the body of her dead child is the most striking figure in this group. Those to his right are the powerful - a soldier, a philosopher, a rich man, all kneeling and bowing their heads. In his agony he is lifting up the sorrows of all nations - both the sorrows that come through power and those that come through weakness.

A verse from Hebrews 5:7 is in inscribed in Latin across the front of the church:

preces supplicationesque cum clamore valido et lacrymis offerens exauditus est pro sua reverentia

"Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverence."

I think of a different verse from Hebrews when I see this mosaic (4:15-16):

"For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses,
but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.
Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace,
that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need."

Here's another hymn about Gethsemane (click the link for an instrumental guitar arrangement):

Go to dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the tempter’s power;
Your Redeemer’s conflict see, watch with Him one bitter hour,
Turn not from His griefs away; learn of Jesus Christ to pray.

Lead Me To Calvary

We are fast approaching Holy Week, the high point of the Christian year. What does it say about us as a people that our "high point" includes what by all accounts is a low point - a very, very low point, a nadir? The Christian story is not simply about triumph, success, the good stuff in life. It includes in its embrace that which is lowly, despised and painful. The things we would rather not embrace; the things we wish life didn't include; the things we might cut out of our stories if given a magic wand. If we were to write the story of Jesus, we might have him come to earth and just wave his heavenly wand and make everyone better. We might write a story in which he lives forever and doesn't undergo death. Who would ever expect their god to die?

He didn't have to undergo death. He had the divine prerogative to skip that part of human experience, but he chose to enter into our deepest source of sorrow and to transform it with his love. "Death, where is your sting?"

This morning the hymn "Lead Me to Calvary" came to my mind as I prepared my Palm Sunday sermon. Jennie Hussey, the woman who wrote the lyrics, was a Quaker who lived in New Hampshire. She was born in 1874 and died in 1958. Not much is known about her except that she spent much of her life caring for an invalid sister. She wrote poetry that was later set to music as hymns. This is a good song for Palm Sunday, because it asks God to lead us through the events of Holy Week.

This time around I am particularly struck by Jesus' struggle in the Garden of Gethsemane. The hymn asks God to

Lead me to Calvary

Lest I forget Gethsemane

Lest I forget thine agony

Lest I forget thy love for me

Lead me to Calvary

Don't let me forget what happened there. Don't let me forget that Jesus struggled as I sometimes do to accept your will. When he was on that side of the struggle, when the pain and suffering were still ahead of him, he felt the agony that humans feel when they anticipate pain - which is sometimes worse than experiencing the pain itself. I see Gethsemane as the place where Jesus inwardly, spiritually took up his cross. He was able to shoulder his literal cross in humility and submission - like a lamb before the slaughter, he did not open his mouth - because he had taken time in prayer the night before to wrestle with and finally accept the bitter cup that had his name on it. And he did it all for us.

I found a youtube video of Christians in Bangalore, India, singing this hymn in beautiful harmony:

Lead Me to Calvary

King of my life, I crown Thee now,
Thine shall the glory be;
Lest I forget Thy thorn crowned brow,
Lead me to Calvary.

Refrain:
Lest I forget Gethsemane,
Lest I forget Thine agony;
Lest I forget Thy love for me,
Lead me to Calvary.

Show me the tomb where Thou wast laid,
Tenderly mourned and wept;
Angels in robes of light arrayed
Guarded Thee whilst Thou slept.

Let me like Mary, through the gloom,
Come with a gift to Thee;
Show to me now the empty tomb,
Lead me to Calvary.

May I be willing, Lord, to bear
Daily my cross for Thee;
Even Thy cup of grief to share,
Thou hast borne all for me.

on the 11th day of Christmas - In the Bleak Midwinter

by Christina Rossetti

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

on the 10th day of Christmas - Bring a Torch, Jeannette, Isabella

Bring a torch, Jeanette, Isabella

Bring a torch, come swiftly and run.

Christ is born, tell the folk of the village,

Jesus is sleeping in His cradle,

Ah, ah, beautiful is the mother,

Ah, ah, beautiful is her Son.

Hasten now, good folk of the village,

Hasten now, the Christ Child to see.

You will find Him asleep in a manger,

Quietly come and whisper softly,

Hush, hush, peacefully now He slumbers,

Hush, hush, peacefully now He sleeps.

(meant to post this last night, but here it is anyway.) Sufjan does a cover of this song, and while listening to it, I wondered who this Jeannette Isabella girl was - perhaps an obscure saint whom the songwriter imagines to be present at Jesus' birth? - so I thought I'd look into it. It is a French carol dating back to the Renaissance. Jeannette and Isabella are apparently two girls and are not of any notoriety. According to Robert Morgan (link below), the best guess is that this song references a fable in which a couple of milkmaids show up to milk the cows early in the morning after Jesus' birth and discover the Holy Family in the stable. The voice in the song urges them to run and tell the others in their village about the birth of Christ and bring a lantern so that everyone can see the baby Jesus.

At first, I don't think of this song as a theological heavyweight; its main theme is about the peaceful sleep of the baby Jesus, which is an overdone and sentimental theme. However, upon thinking about it more, I think this theme is more substantial than that. The angels tell the shepherds, "Peace on earth"; what more fitting way for that peace to be embodied than in the peaceful rest of the baby whose birth inaugurates this peace? Also this song emphasizes sharing the news with others as the right response to Christ's birth, reminding us that there is a missional dimension not just after Christ's death and resurrection but at the time of his birth as well.

George Le Tours was inspired by this song in his painting (above) of the nativity called "The Newborn" which features a young woman (is it Jeannette or Isabella?) holding a lantern up to cast a dramatic light upon Mary and Jesus. Very Caravaggio.

Robert Morgan has written a wonderful piece about this song at the Donelson Papers:

http://web.archive.org/web/20040124084340/http://www.donelson.org/pocket/pp-031130.html

on the 9th day of Christmas - We Three Kings

(oops, I have missed a lot of days of Christmas on this blog - mostly due to dear friends being here to stay with me!)

This morning at church we sang "We Three Kings." It was written by John Hopkins Jr, who was at the time an ordained deacon in the Episcopal church and later became a priest. He wrote this song in 1857 for a Christmas pageant at General Seminary in New York City.

Verse 1:

We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar
Field and fountain, moor and mountain
Following yonder star

Chorus:

O Star of wonder, star of night
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading, still proceeding
Guide us to thy Perfect Light

I have long thought that I knew this song pretty well - the first verse is well known, but I also was aware that each wise man gets his own verse to sing about the gift that he brought to Jesus. First gold as a symbol of his kingship:

Verse 2:

Born a King on Bethlehem's plain
Gold I bring to crown Him again
King forever, ceasing never
Over us all to reign
O Star of wonder...

Then frankincense as a symbol of Christ's deity, because it was an incense used for prayer:

Verse 3:

Frankincense to offer have I
Incense owns a Deity nigh
Pray'r and praising, all men raising
Worship Him, God most high

Finally, myrrh, which was used to embalm dead bodies, to foreshadow his sacrificial death:

Verse 4:

Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume

Breathes of life of gathering gloom
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying
Sealed in the stone-cold tomb

Those four participles in the 3rd line following one after another so gruesomely and beautifully sum up Christ's passion.

Though I thought I knew this song pretty well, I have never before paid attention to the final verse until this morning:

Verse 5:

Glorious now behold Him arise
King and God and Sacrifice
Heaven sings Alleluia
Alleluia, the earth replies

It moves from Christ's death in verse 4 to his resurrection - "now behold him arise" - and then recaps his 3 identities revealed by the 3 gifts - gold for a King, incense for a God, and myrrh for a sacrifice. Heaven and earth, joined by his birth, death, and resurrection, respond in praise - "Alleluia."

This song just gets more beautiful as it unfolds. Too bad so many only have ever heard the first verse and chorus!

May Christ, who by his Incarnation

gathered into one

things earthly and heavenly,

fill you with joy and peace.