I’m only just now taking down my Christmas decorations (and full disclosure: the tree is still left). I’ve come to believe I have until Epiphany, in any case–but I’ve pushed it a little longer this year. I’ve relished driving into my neighborhood and seeing my lights illuminating the darkness. And, in the stillness of my house, I’ve been so delighted by a little extra twinkle.
I know I’m not the only one: I had a friend admit recently that she was planning on keeping her decorations all the way through January as a comfort. I get it (and I guess we’ll see how long the tree remains).
The older I get, the more grateful I am for these small consolations. I know my history well enough to know that disaster and loss, chaos and tyranny have always been more often the norm than their opposites. Injustice, illness, the inevitability of death–how can we bear it? Perhaps it’s being mindful of the solace of these tiny stays against the dark. Moments when, as the poet Jane Kenyon claimed, “God does not leave us comfortless.”
And, as Steve examined yesterday, how do we continue to become the people we want to be and not people malformed in reaction to calamity. I did not mean to “challenge-unto-chastisement” with my question: “how do we exhibit integrity around our beliefs and exhibit the self-emptying love of Christ with each other?” Instead, I wanted to try to articulate this extraordinarily difficult call because it is extraordinarily difficult.
Before I left on my Christmas travels, I was perusing Apple Music for new material to take with me on the trip, and the Great Algorithm suggested a new-to-me artist (though it turns out she has been producing music for over a decade), Jess Ray. Based in North Carolina, Ray has recently produced a series of short albums, called the Matin series; she describes them as “an uninterrupted, thirty-minute set of quiet songs and hymns, performed from first light until sunrise.” I’ve loved the combination of original material and re-interpreted hymns. They are linked here, so you can explore, if you wish.
At Christmastime, I only knew of Matin:Turn. On that record, I’m been particularly drawn to “I Need You” and her setting of Psalm 19. I commend both of them to you. But it’s been “Grace and Mercy” that has been on the heaviest repeat: it has been providential in reminding me of God’s extravagance to me, but also my own necessary posture towards others (which helps me grapple with that very challenging second question above).
Here at midweek, here in the midst of whatever chaos surrounds, either personally or simply in recognition of a world on fire, may this be a small stay and reminder of the God who compasses you round.
“Grace and Mercy”
For every time I make the choice
To love the sound of my own voice
Another’s wants, another’s needs
I trample underneath my feet
For every time I boldly say
That I’m the one who knows the way
And I come down with a heavy hand
And withhold my understanding
I know now, more than ever
I know now, more than ever
I know now, more than ever
I know now, that-
I am still so in need of grace and mercy
I am still so in need of grace and mercy
For every time that I hold up
My life against another one
And I envy what I cannot have
And curse what I don’t understand
Oh, on this darkness, shine a light
Remind me once again that I-
Know now, more than ever
I know now, more than ever
I know now, more than ever
I know now, that-
I am still so in need of grace and mercy
I am still so in need of grace and mercy
I’d like to think that I’m older now
And surely I must have grown out of this
I’d like to reach some higher ground
But what a sad life to live without
Grace and mercy, grace and mercy
Yeah, I am still so in need of grace and mercy
I am still so in need of grace and mercy
Photo by Fabrice Villard on Unsplash