kyrie eleison – still

(This is a reprint of a post from November 21, 2007 to help prepare for Thanksgiving.)

Lord have mercy.

That’s what kyrie eleison means. It’s Latin. I heard it about 30 times last Sunday afternoon. Not because someone was upset (“Lor’ have mercy”) but because I was listening to a children’s choir sing.

That’s the choir in this really bad picture taken with my cell phone. What you should be able to see in this picture are the following: 50 kids, 6th-9th grade; a conductor; a piano; a jembe drum; 3 steel drums; a drum set; a cow bell; a shaker (not the religion, the percussion instrument).

This kyrie, taken from a mass attributed to Saint Francis, was set in Caribbean style by Glenn McClure. It starts with the steel drums, and then involves the whole group you see.

As I was helping set up for the concert, I carried in the stands for the steel drums. They are made of ordinary, hardware-store-variety galvanized pipe. And then I thought about the steel drums themselves, made in Jamaica, shaped by hand with more skill than expense. The same is true of the hand drum. And the cowbell. And the voices. And the words said by many, attributed here to a follower of Christ who abandoned pretty much everything, including dignity.

And as I listened to the voices and percussion blend, I realized (or remembered), that calling out to God for mercy doesn’t have to cost much. It doesn’t take expensive instruments (like the 8 foot Steinway grand piano) as much as it takes willingness. We don’t have to build ornate places to cry out for mercy.

In fact, the cry for mercy comes not when we understand everything but when we can’t; not when we are on top of the world, but when there isn’t anywhere else to go; not when our lives are together, but when they are falling apart.

Thanksgiving is a melancholy time for many people. We know we are supposed to be thankful, but we look in the mirror and can’t imagine the people around us being very thankful for…us. And we know we are supposed to be thankful, but we aren’t sure who to thank. And we know we are supposed to be thankful, but…

And so, may I offer a suggestion for what to say right before you put on the smile and make the list?

“Kyrie eleison.”

–

related posts

8 ways to be thanked.
waiting
gratitude

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the next prayer

So my friend Rob sends me a text today.

“Keep your guests on other blogs…my .02.”

He’s talking about the conversation that has been happening on my earlier post about guest writers, a conversation that I have enjoyed.

Less than two hours later, he’s sending me a picture, saying “One more post for you today.”

Some people, you know? I mean, after three posts already, what could possible be worth another one. You will be sick of hearing from me. And after saying to keep people off, he’s wanting his own picture up.

But then I looked at the picture, from a church in Maine. And I knew that Rob was right.

As I write this, the polling place 50 feet from where I am sitting is still open. It will close at 6:00pm, 15 minutes from now. And then the results that have been held in abeyance through the day will begin to come out. And people will cheer and cry and laugh and mope. People will start planning for the next election, the next struggle, the next….

But for people who have a conversational relationship with God, there is one thing to do first. No matter which name was next to the button you pushed, pray.

For the person who will, before the night is over, be president. For the senators and representatives. For the judges. For the county assessors. For the coroner (yes, I voted for coroner today). For the state representatives. For the county commissioners and school board members.

For protection. For wisdom. For strength. For chocolate milk.

(But please not for “seeing things my way.”)

I agree with the sign: “Now…pray for them.”

looking back – pass it on

(First published May 31, 2007)

Today Chris was talking about the importance of teaching, of taking what we know and passing it on. His point is affirming and challenging and frustrating to me. At times I hear my response to that point: “I don’t know much. No one needs what I know. I don’t have the time.” In fact, as Nancy and I were walking last night (keeping a purpose set in December), we were talking about our neighbor who has done quite well as an academic author and I said, “I don’t know anything that well.”

However, the more I thought, the more I realized that I better pass on the advice I gave someone recently. This person, who has children and loves them and is loved by them, is having a difficult time praying. Somehow the words aren’t tracking right. Somehow it feels like the intention isn’t quite right or that God must be questioning how the praying is happening or maybe God is saying, “I gave you everything you need, what are you waiting for?” This is a person near the edge.

So I said “Spend the next few days listening to how your children talk to you and your spouse. Listen to what is requested. Listen to the talking for talking sake. Listen to inflection and urgency and desire to be with you and hear you and love you. And then talk to God the same way.”

We get so stuck in formality, in pleasing, in rituals that we forget completely that we are talking to Dad. At least that’s what I read.

I’m praying that it helps this person. And maybe you.

—————

“Looking Back” is an opportunity to republish posts which have mattered to me. They may matter to you, too.

Kyrie eleison

Lord have mercy.

That’s what kyrie eleison means. It’s Latin. I heard it about 30 times last Sunday afternoon. Not because someone was upset (“Lor’ have mercy”) but because I was listening to a children’s choir sing.

That’s the choir in this really bad picture taken with my cell phone. What you should be able to see in this picture are the following: 50 kids, 6th-9th grade; a conductor; a piano; a jembe drum; 3 steel drums; a drum set; a cow bell; a shaker (not the religion, the percussion instrument).

This kyrie, taken from a mass attributed to Saint Francis, was set in Caribbean style by Glenn McClure. It starts with the steel drums, and then involves the whole group you see.

As I was helping set up for the concert, I carried in the stands for the steel drums. They are made of ordinary, hardware-store-variety galvanized pipe. And then I thought about the steel drums themselves, made in Jamaica, shaped by hand with more skill than expense. The same is true of the hand drum. And the cowbell. And the voices. And the words said by many, attributed here to a follower of Christ who abandoned pretty much everything, including dignity.

And as I listened to the voices and percussion blend, I realized (or remembered), that calling out to God for mercy doesn’t have to cost much. It doesn’t take expensive instruments (like the 8 foot Steinway grand piano) as much as it takes willingness. We don’t have to build ornate places to cry out for mercy.

In fact, the cry for mercy comes not when we understand everything but when we can’t; not when we are on top of the world, but when there isn’t anywhere else to go; not when our lives are together, but when they are falling apart.

Thanksgiving is a melancholy time for many people. We know we are supposed to be thankful, but we look in the mirror and can’t imagine the people around us being very thankful for…us. And we know we are supposed to be thankful, but we aren’t sure who to thank. And we know we are supposed to be thankful, but…

And so, may I offer a suggestion for what to say right before you put on the smile and make the list?

“Kyrie eleison.”

—–

related posts

8 ways to be thanked. 
waiting
gratitude

Subscribe to this blog for free by clicking here.

waiting

As you may remember, I’m working with Hope on the set for a high school play. Last Friday afternoon I figured out how to solve one construction issue. I brought home some pieces and went this morning to pick up the rest. When I got home about 8:45 am, I took the lumber to the garage, marked my cuts and then stopped.

Andrew was still asleep.

Andrew has class on Mondays at 11:00, which means that he likes to sleep in. (I would like to as well, Monday being my day off, but that’s a different post.) Anything I do with powertools is very audible in his room. So I had a dilemma: let him sleep and make Hope wait, or wake him up and get her work done.

Some dads would say, “Hey, it’s morning.  By 9:00 the day is half gone. Let him wake up.” Some dads would say, “the oldest child has rights. Hope will just have to wait.”

Those of you who have wisdom, however, are already saying, “What time does she need the work done? Can’t you use hand tools? How much cutting needs to be done? Why did you wait til the day it’s needed, anyway, Jon?”

And most of you are right, except for those who assumed I procrastinated. This time, I didn’t. What I ended up doing was waiting until this afternoon to accomplish the task. Andrew slept, Hope was pleased.

Why is this significant?

Because when we pray, we often don’t think that God may have a clearer–and kinder–sense of timing than we do.

I’ve been laying low, technologically speaking, for the last few days. It was part of some fasting, asking for clarity, asking for something now. And I’m not getting an answer now. Or maybe, more accurately, I’m not getting what I would regard as the most helpful answer now. Metaphorically speaking, my part of the set is not getting built now.

But perhaps, I’m not hearing what I want right now because someone else is needing rest. Construction on my project would mean disruption of their (whoever they are) rest. And maybe My part of the set isn’t needing for awhile. I’d like it done so I would know that it’s done…but I don’t get to do the scheduling.

As I juggle the needs of our children, I know better than either what they BOTH need and how those needs can be coordinated. (and, truth in advertising, Nancy knows better than I do).  And if I, in my finiteness, can understand that, then how much more my heavenly Dad knows what I need to know when I need to know it.

In the meantime, I will just keep doing what I know.  Including coming back to my online world.

———

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gratitude

Started laughing the other night when I realized that one chain labels their baskets with far more accuracy than they intend. We spending inordinate amounts of time as the store getting things, getting happier, getting ready for events, getting poorer.

But “get” isn’t just about acquiring. Sometimes it can be about allowing.

We talk about getting to do something for fun after working. We talking about getting to take a vacation. We talk about how we get to use a friend’s vacation house for the week (okay, not us. But it would be a really nice thing, right). And I use that word when I talk with God.

At the end of praying (which, like conversation, doesn’t necessarily end), I at times say, “In Jesus’ name we get to pray, amen.”

If you have hung around in church much, you may have heard something close to that. We do this thing which sounds like code, praying in Jesus’ name. At times we treat it like part of the magic formula. If we say that, we get whatever we asked for. Except praying isn’t exactly like throwing magic phrases. It’s more like talking with someone.

But sometimes when you are talking with someone, asking them for something, you start looking for a connection, something that will give you credibility. “Tell ‘em Sal sentja.” “I’m a friend of your uncle Maurie.” “Chris told me you would help.”

Sometimes we wonder about the connection; we really didn’t like Uncle Maurie that much. But sometimes, because we are so close to the connector, we treat the person like family (assuming, of course, that that’s a good thing.)

So we’re told by Jesus that when we talk to his Dad, we get to drop his name. And anytime some one lets me use their name, I want to remember that it’s a privilege.

And so that’s why I remind myself that this is something shouldn’t take for granted, I shouldn’t make a formula. I’m not acquiring, I’m allowed.

Get it?

prayer spirituality

be stilling

be still

Originally uploaded by jon.swanson

I’ll be talking about being still on June 10. That comes out of Psalm 46 where God tells us to be still and know that He is God. Of course, I am having a rough time being still. I sit on the deck and drink tea or coffee and read but the noise is deafening (all the twittering!) and my attention these days is wandering.

So help me think.

Is being still the same as being in silence? How long to I have to be still before I know that God is God? Is there a time constraint or is it something else? Do I need to still myself or can God still me?

Psalm 46 starts by talking about some absolute chaos (mountains and oceans and turmoil). As you think about being still, can you imagine it being in the middle of the earthquae?

Is stillness a weekly thing, a daiily thing or a wishfull thing?

Is there any other way to know that God is God?

Are there cultural constraints to stillness? I mean, do siesta cultures have more stillness? Or is it an arrogance thing? or what?

Or do I just need to stop talking?

pass it on

Today Chris was talking about the importance of teaching, of taking what we know and passing it on. His point is affirming and challenging and frustrating to me. At times I hear my response to that point: “I don’t know much. No one needs what I know. I don’t have the time.” In fact, as Nancy and I were walking last night (keeping a purpose set in December), we were talking about our neighbor who has done quite well as an academic author and I said, “I don’t know anything that well.”

However, the more I thought, the more I realized that I better pass on the advice I gave someone recently. This person, who has children and loves them and is loved by them, is having a difficult time praying. Somehow the words aren’t tracking right. Somehow it feels like the intention isn’t quite right or that God must be questioning how the praying is happening or maybe God is saying, “I gave you everything you need, what are you waiting for?” This is a person near the edge.

So I said “Spend the next few days listening to how your children talk to you and your spouse. Listen to what is requested. Listen to the talking for talking sake. Listen to inflection and urgency and desire to be with you and hear you and love you. And then talk to God the same way.”

We get so stuck in formality, in pleasing, in rituals that we forget completely that we are talking to Dad. At least that’s what I read.

I’m praying that it helps this person. And maybe you.

Technorati Tags: prayer listening children

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On the road

path

Originally uploaded by jon.swanson

We spent the morning working on the garden this morning. More accurately, I helped a little and Nancy spent the morning working on the garden. We dug out violas and wild strawberries and some daisies and grass that had taken over the upper section of the perennial garden. Nancy was wanting to move some stones stepping stones to new places. She was planting and transplanting. We added some bags of soil.

While we were looking at the paths, I asked if there could be an additional stepping stone to the far side. I need a place to step when crossing the bed to be able to use the grass trimmer along the back of the bed. When she asked about arrangement, I said that I just needed a path and that she is the one that understands the design.
We took a break, did some shopping, and Nancy went back to work and I started reading. (This division of labor was a gift from her to me).

After she was done and everything was put away, I went looking with the camera. When I looked at the paths that Nancy had created, I discovered that this brick path was extended to exactly where I need to go. It is weathered, aesthetic, and very functional.

I’m thinking these days a lot about paths, about next steps, about how to get from where I am to where I need to be. I wonder exactly where God is taking us and how He is arranging the bricks. Sometimes it seems that what I need to do, what I am called to do, what I am obliged to do, is on the other side of the flower bed and I can’t get there without stepping on something, without doing damage. But after today, I’m thinking that if I acknowledge to God that I know what I’m supposed to do and then leave the arrangements to Him, maybe, just maybe when I look at the path, the next set of bricks will be in place.

So here’s to letting go of the bricklaying sometimes. Here’s to not being in the spiritual roadbuilding business and staying in the path following business.

on the road

to the western suburbs of Chicago. Talk nicely among yourselves for the next couple days.

Think about how long the week would feel, and how short, if you knew for sure that you were going to die on Friday. And none of your friends believe you.

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