Hannah’s Story

There is a beautiful story in the Old Testament about a woman named Hannah. She’s married, but can’t have children, and her husband’s other wife adds to the grief of this by taunting and mocking her.

The emotion in the narrative is tangible. Hannah is ‘deeply distressed’ and ‘wept bitterly’ as she prayed to the Lord about her situation (1 Sam. 1:10).

The priest in the temple sees her pouring out her heart in prayer, but because she isn’t praying out loud, accuses her of being drunk.

But Hannah answered, “no my lord, I am a woman troubled in spirit. I have drunk neither wine not strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord.

Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for all along I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation.” (1 Samuel 1:15-16)

When we’re in a situation that’s really hard on our emotions, it can be really easy to feel worthless and like we’re lacking in faith. We have this idea of what faith looks like, that believing in God against all the odds means we shouldn’t feel, or express the emotion and pain of what our circumstances are putting us through.

This is why I love Hannah’s story so much. She doesn’t hide how she’s feeling or pretend she’s ok when she isn’t. I think her act of faith was to take her anxiety, distress and vexation to the One who could do something about it.

There’s also something very intimate in this story, as it deals with Hannah’s deepest desire. She doesn’t necessarily ‘need’ a child; she is well-provided for at home. But the Father hears her heart, he knows her and remembers her. He intervenes in this situation which is causing Hannah so much heartbreak. She is not simply dismissed as an over-emotional woman.

My friend Garrett reminded me that there’s also a lot of emotion in the Gospels, especially at the end of Mark’s account. Peter weeps, Mary weeps; Jesus himself is “greatly distressed and troubled… sorrowful even to the point of death” (Mark 14:33-34). Was he worthless? Lacking in faith? No. He was bringing his suffering before the only One who could sustain him through it.

And God the Father answers every one of these people in their distress. Peter is forgiven, Mary is comforted, Hannah has not only one son, but many children. And Jesus? He is resurrected, raised from the dead, and becomes the Great High Priest, who mediates salvation for the whole of humanity.

A plethora of emotion doesn’t necessarily entail a lack of belief. Perhaps trusting God with the deepest things we feel is a profound sign of how strongly our faith is rooted into Him. And we can take comfort that God does answer his people.

“They cried to the Lord in their trouble,

and he delivered them from their distress.

He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed.

Then they were glad that the waters were quiet,

and he brought them to their desired haven.

Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,

for his wondrous works to the children of men!” (Psalm 107:28-31)

Mumford & Sons, “Sigh No More”: A vaguely theological review

I love the way that God can use anything to grab your attention and speak to your heart and remind you of what’s real. I’ve been listening to Sigh No More by Mumford & Sons a lot recently, so here are some of the thoughts it provoked in me…

Musically speaking, the band are excellent; interesting, quirky and energetic. Lyrically, the album may best be described as bitter-sweet. Motifs are interwoven and repeatedly returned to throughout, in an interplay between the harsh realities of life and love denied, and the assurance of grace, hope and ‘the beauty of love as it was made to be’ (Sigh No More).

Many of the songs are set in winter, and there’s an icy chill “As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts” (Winter Winds) and “I sit alone in this winter clarity which clouds my mind” (Thistle and Weeds). Bitter temperatures linger around the edges of the album (“cold is the water, it freezes your already cold mind (Timshell)) which seems appropriate for the brutal honesty and heartbreak of some of the lyrics:

You did not think when you sent me to the brink, to the brink,

You desired my attention, but denied my affections, my affections

Tell me now where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart (White Blank Page)

Oh and pestilence is won when you are lost and I am gone

And no hope, no hope will overcome (Winter Winds)

 

Themes of manhood and failure are also explored in Little Lion Man:

Weep for yourself, my man, you’ll never be what is in your heart…

And it was not your fault but mine, it was your heart on the line,

I really fucked it up this time, didn’t I my dear?

And there is a reworking of similar issues in Dustbowl Dance, a Grapes of Wrath type tale of barren lands, loss, oppression and remorse.

The raw and often painful lyrics reflect a life where ”man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards’ (Job 5:7). Whether that trouble is of your own making, or someone else’s there is a comfort from having it recognized in a song.

However, as surely as we are presented with bitter heartbreak, we are also reassured that winter does not last forever:

And if your strife strikes at your sleep

Remember spring swaps snow for leaves

You’ll be happy and wholesome again

When the city clears and sun ascends (Winter Winds)

Clear messages of hope permeate the album, where we are told ‘plant your hope with good seeds’ (Thistle and Weeds) and to ‘hold on hope’ (The Cave).

Perhaps mostly poignantly we are told

But you are not alone in this

And you are not alone in this

as brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand

Hold your hand (Timshell)

 

The good news is that we’re not left alone in our suffering and that there is grace for us and the possibility of change.

It seems that all my bridges have been burned

but you say ‘that’s exactly how this grace thing works’

It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart

But the welcome I receive with each new start (Roll Away Your Stone)

 

The lively and vibrant Awake My Soul seems to encapsulate the heart of the matter:

In these bodies we will live

In these bodies we will die

Where you invest your love, you invest your life,

Awake, my soul

Awake, my soul

You were made to meet your Maker

You were made to meet your Maker

 

The album ends with After The Storm, a beautiful promise that winter will pass and spring is on its way. Grace and hope are our travelling companions, and we are inspired to keep journeying to a time and place where love exists as it was meant to be:

There will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears

and love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears

Get over your hill and see what you find there

With grace in your heart flowers in your hair.

 

Waiting for hope

Betsy sent me this a while ago, from a sermon by George Matheson. It seems appropriate again today.

“There are times when things look very dark to me — so dark that I have to wait even for hope. A long-deferred fulfillment carries its own pain, but to wait for hope, to see no glimmer of a prospect & yet refuse to despair; to have nothing but night before the casement & yet to keep the casement open for possible stars; to have a vacant place in my heart & yet to allow that place to be filled by no inferior presence — that is the grandest patience in the universe. It is Job in the tempest; it is Abraham on the road to Moriah; it is Moses in the desert of Midian; it is the Son of man in the Garden of Gethsemane.

There is no patience so hard as that which endures, “as seeing him who is invisible”; it is the waiting for hope.

Thou hast made waiting beautiful; Thou has made patience divine. Thou hast taught us that the Father’s will may be received just because it is His will. Thou hast revealed to us that a soul may see nothing but sorrow in the cup and yet may refuse to let it go, convinced that the eye of the Father sees further than its own.

Give me this Divine power of Thine, the power of Gethsemane. Give me the power to wait for hope itself, to look out from the casement where there are no stars. Give me the power, when the very joy that was set before me is gone, to stand unconquered amid the night, and say, “To the eye of my Father it is perhaps shining still.” I shall reach the climax of strength when I have learned to wait for hope.
Strive to be one of those–so few–who walk the earth with ever-present consciousness–all mornings, middays, star-times–that the unknown which men call Heaven is “close behind the visible scene of things.”

~

“He has made everything beautiful in its time” Ecclesiastes 3:11

My cello story: in which I feel very loved

So if you’ve read this previous post, or this one, you’ll know that it’s long been a dream of mine to own a cello, so I can learn to make it sing the music in my soul.

I did have a cello once, but God asked me to give it away to some African pastors who were collecting instruments for their church. It just about killed me.

God: “Give them your cello.”

Me: “Really God? My cello?”

God: “Yes, really.”

Me: “Ok. But really?”

God: “Really.”

So I gave away my cello – not a super great one, but mine, nevertheless. And although I made peace with the decision and knew it was right, I would have a little pang of pain in my soul whenever I thought about the fact that I had no longer had a cello. I knew that I would probably not be in a position to purchase another one for a very long time, if ever.

Anyway, fast forward a few years and I’m about to leave Minnesota after spending a year there, working with a church in Apple Valley, knitting my heart with some very precious people.

I was thrown a beautiful party in this great setting, a house where I have spent many happy hours eating treats in the kitchen, drinking wine on the roof and the like.

There were tiki torches, Nat & Betsy’s home-brew and my personal favorite,  floating candle boats.

The night was warm and fragrant and the company was delicious.

At one point we were all ushered into the living room where there was a cellist getting ready to play.

“Oh my goodness I love cello music! Someone is going to play!” I exclaimed.

My friend got up and announced that everyone knows how much I love the cello, so they had hired someone to play for my party. I sat enraptured while Byron played some beautiful classics.

Then the playing stopped and my friend got up again and did a great speech about how when you see someone doing something well, it inspires you to get involved, and how everyone has been inspired by me and loves me and wanted to get me something special that would not only be for me but for everyone as they worship.

“and so,” he said, pointing to Byron’s cello, “this  cello is yours.”

My mouth dropped open in shock – I had no idea this was going to happen! Predictably, I started to cry. Well, wouldn’t you?!

I got up and hugged my cello, and gave an emotional speech which mostly consisted of more tears and “I can’t believe you got me a cello!”

I spent the next few hours hearing all the different parts of the story how people had organized the surprise, and thinking back to earlier in the day when my friend kept mentioning that it was going to be a good night, and that  I should probably be prepared to say something. No kidding about the good night!

The evening ended outside around the fire laughing and joking with some of my favorite people.

I am so amazed to have such incredible friends who gave me probably the most generous, thoughtful and personal gift I have ever received. My new cello is beautiful, much better than my old one and when I hold it, it somehow feels like mine.

I am extremely grateful to everyone who made this possible, but most of all, I am grateful to the amazing God who shows his great love through the kindness of his people.

Wrong side of the car, wrong side of the road, wrong side of the world…

It’s a terrible thing to go home and feel that it’s not home any more.

While you’re away it’s legitimate to feel out-of-place, like you don’t quite belong and you’re not really sure what’s going on half the time. You’re not supposed to understand the finer points of baseball or (American) football; you’re not supposed to know how to drive on the other side of the road; you’re not supposed to be understood when you ask for a glass of water in a restaurant.

It’s legitimate to be dazed and confused and sometimes get into the wrong side of the car – you are a foreigner after all.

So you work really hard to make this place feel like home. You invest time and energy into understanding ‘the system’ and feel all proud of yourself when you can do something mundane like mail stuff, use the library, learn different words for familiar objects. It feels like an adventure and an achievement.

And then there’s the people.

You invest time and energy, heart and soul into them. The Spirit’s love reaches out from inside of you like ever-expanding vines and entwines itself tightly around each person, creating a strong, powerful connection. There is life – given,  received, affirmed. You are allowed the tiniest glimpse of God’s perspective on someone, and you try to pour as much encouragement and blessing and faith into them as you can before the bell tolls for you on the other side of the world.

Then there it is. The sombre sound that summons you back to that unfamiliar home, the wrong side of the world, where you are reminded that home is really eternity – not a place to be found this side of the kingdom to come.

And your heart breaks as you leave pieces of it behind, planted into others, entrusting them to let the Spirit grow new vines out of his love in you, in them.

And what is left in all the dust and ashes and brokenness?

These three which remain: faith, hope and love.