Hymn of Promise ~ Natalie Sleeth In the bulb there is a flower; in the seed, an apple tree; in cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free! In the cold and snow of winter there's a spring that waits to be, unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see. There's a song in every silence, seeking word and melody; there's a dawn in every darkness bringing hope to you and me. From the past will come the future; what it holds, a mystery, unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see. In our end is our beginning; in our time, infinity; in our doubt there is believing; in our life, eternity. In our death, a resurrection; at the last, a victory, unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see. Songs “There’s a song in every silence….” One of my greatest joys is that both my boys love to sing. Different voices, but drawn to similar music. Their music is something they will share their whole lives. Over the years, I’ve watched their music companion them and encourage them. Music is their outlet and their touchstone. Their songs set them free and bring them home. As a parent when I think about the life lessons to be passed on teaching them about finding a song for their silences is a most precious gift. “There’s a song in every silence seeking word and melody…” There are times when my silence is peaceful. Time spent in that silence is either waiting or spent, done exhaustion. More often than not, though I find that my silences are seeking something. The words from this phrase fit for me. “Seeking words” maybe not answers but seeking ancient guides or nudges or breadcrumbs left along the way. “Seeking melody” truly the rhythm, the energy, the keys of life that somehow, thankfully, mysteriously continue to hold me up and carry me on. “There’s a dawn in every darkness bringing hope…” More times than I can count I’ve sought out the sunrise. Literally and figuratively. I probably started in high school and still set my alarm to get up in the dark. There is a waiting that happens when you wait in deep darkness for more light. There is an anticipation in the waiting of what is not yet. I think about the darkest times of my life, and it felt impossible to hear the words of this phrase. And truly impossible to believe them. When I've been lost in the dark, it has felt like both a head/heart thing. Head and heart struggled with what to do, how to find my way back from this separated place. My head knew the facts of the situation, my heart wanted to something different/greater/easier, wanted light to come. My head probably would have given up, if it hadn't been for my heart's longing, waiting, hoping. Dawn speaks to hope. “From the past will come the future…” Getting out and away from the usual practices, intentionally setting ourselves apart can provide a space for thoughts to slow down and allow space for our hearts to catch up. Perhaps sometime on this Lenten journey you will find the place and space to slow down and even stop. Perhaps then there may be a space for reflection. It’s most always amazing when that happens, and I come away wondering why I'm not more intentional about those kinds of moments. Each day. Everyday. Slow down and breathe deeply. Let the noise quiet itself down. I was able to do that yesterday. I came home and turned off all the noise, the stimulus, and let go of the busyness of the day. I lit a candle, made a cup of hot tea and listened. Truth be told I was thinking about this hymn, one of my favorites. And I was thinking about how life does often circle back again. What was can sometimes enter into what currently is, but not in a repeating way. For me, last night it felt more informing and companioning. Both/and. There can be a building upon what has been our life experiences. In being mindful of the seeds we have planted, if they are good seeds, we will watch as they take root and grow. “What it holds, a mystery,” There is so little that we really and truly know. Life is fluid. Alive. Uncertainty walks side-by-side with expectations and both are held lightly. “Now we see in a mirror dimly” from 1 Corinthians 13 talks about our wondering as we make our way. In the living of our days, we are reminded time after time that we are not reading from a script. We are not hitting our marks and reading our lines in some play that already has the ending written (cue stage lights). Instead we are dancing and singing our way through, stumbling and bumbling our way through these days. The fact that we can find grace and compassion, kindness and love along the way is a living mystery. Often, we can’t explain it. We can just be thankful. “Unrevealed until its season something God alone can see.” This line holds us on this Lenten journey, just as surely as it holds our lives. Our questions won’t be answered, our struggles won’t be completed on timetables of our understanding or controlling. Our questions and struggles are for a season, and somewhere along the way in the fullness of time grace finds us. Even when, especially when we don’t think it’s at all possible – in those hours of those days, that is when we sing this song. From start to finish, this is a song to sing from the heart, for the heart. Even when, especially when we are ready to turn from – God, from what we've always known and trusted, from the whole thing – especially then it is the promise that can hold our hearts. Even when we think that we can’t, it is then that the singing of this song provides a roadmap for the continuing of our journey. God is here, with us. We may fumble with the melody and we may forget the words, but somehow, someway God knows it by heart. God knows it in and through us, after all, it's God's promise. Leave a Reply. |
AuthorLesley is an ordained minister in the United Church of Christ. Her passions are listening to her sons, John Brogan and Sam sing; great conversations, long walks and baseball. Archives
April 2020
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