I was there when they crucified my Lord;
I held the scabbard when the soldier drew his sword.
I threw the dice when they pierced his side,
But I’ve seen love conquer the great divide.
—U2/B. B. King, “When Love Comes to Town”
OK, so I was on a bit of a U2 kick this trip. Even so, this is a great lyric, and something every Christian ought to be able to sing full-throated, with a full heart.
I believe in the Kingdom Come,
Then all the colours will bleed into one,
Bleed into one;
But yes, I’m still running.
You broke the bonds,
You loosed the chains,
You carried the cross and
All my shame,
All my shame;
You know I believe it.
But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.
But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.
—U2,“I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”
I don’t want to get into the argument about what U2 themselves mean by this song. According tothe Wikipedia article, “both Bono and Edge have . . . called it agospelsong on numerous occasions,” and I have no reason to doubt that; I’ve seen other sites assert that they have repeatedly called it a song of “spiritual yearning,” which seems obvious enough, though I’ve never seen any original source for either of these attributions. At the same time, reading around the ‘Net, it’s clear that a lot of U2 fans don’t want to believe that the song’s about anything of the sort, and they’re entitled to their own opinions.
My interest at the moment, though, is rather different; if you wanted to be technical, I suppose you could say that I’m setting aside questions of authorial intent and opting for a bit of reader-response criticism. To wit, it occurred to me as I was listening to this song on the way home Monday that whateverU2means by this song, it serves quite well as an apt expression of our experience of the process of sanctification (or of mine, at least). I believe all those things, too—and yet I would have to confess that in some ways, at least, I too am still running. There are still areas where I resist what God desires to do in my life, and areas in which I follow him determinedly until the temptation gets too tempting, at which point I run off like any other dumb sheep convinced that the grass overtherereally must be tastier. (Only to find out when I get there, as always, that the “grass” is really only extra-long Astroturf.)
I believe it all, but I still haven’t found what I’m looking for—not in God, but in me, and in my own life. I haven’t found the trust, the submission, the willingness to follow faithfully; I’ve found the peace of God, but not the contentment to rest in it, and the joy of God, but not the single-mindedness to stay in it, instead of jumping off to go check out other things to see if they might be better. I’ve found the beauty of the gospel and the glorious blessing of the grace of God, but not the ability to wholeheartedly trust that they are forme. I preach it, I preach it constantly, but I do so as much as anything because I knowIneed to hear it, because I haven’t found it in me to fully believe it. Not yet.
But by the grace of God, I know I will—not by my efforts, but by his gift. His grace doesn’t depend on me, one way or the other; and whether I can always fully believe it or not, I know he who promised is faithful, and will do it. And for that I give thanks.
Wouldn’t it be great if no one ever got offended?
Wouldn’t it be great to say what’s really on your mind?
I have always said all the rules are made for bending;
And if I let my hair down, would that be such a crime?
Chorus:
I wanna be consequence-free;
I wanna be where nothing needs to matter.
I wanna be consequence-free,
Just sing Na Na Na Na Na Na Ya Na Na.
I could really use to lose my Catholic conscience,
‘Cause I’m getting sick of feeling guilty all the time.
I won’t abuse it, yeah, I’ve got the best intentions
For a little bit of anarchy, but not the hurting kind.
Chorus
I couldn’t sleep at all last night
‘Cause I had so much on my mind.
I’d like to leave it all behind,
But you know it’s not that easy
Chorus
Wouldn’t it be great if the band just never ended?
We could stay out late and we would never hear last call.
We wouldn’t need to worry about approval or permission;
We could slip off the edge and never worry about the fall.
Chorus out
It’s a catchy song, and the video (which is below, if you’re interested) is the sort of fun, goofy piece that Great Big Sea likes to do. It’s also, as I’ve said somewhere, one of the stupidest song lyrics I’ve ever run across. What does it mean when our actions are consequence-free? When our actions have no consequences, we say they’reinconsequential; that means they don’t matter, which is why inconsequential is a synonym forunimportant orinsignificant. If nothing we ever did had consequences, if none of it ever mattered, thenwe wouldn’t matter; if all our actions were insignificant, it would mean that we would be insignificant, our lives would be meaningless. As I wrote last fall,
The key is that our actions matter becausewematter. Indeed, we matter enough to God that he was willing to pay an infinite price for our salvation; and so our actions matter greatly to him, both for their effect on others (who matter to him as much as we do) and for their effect on us. Our actions have eternal consequence because we are beings of eternal consequence; it could not be otherwise.
Only a fool could wish for insignificance; it’s profoundly foolish even to feign a wish for such a thing.
Now, it’s hardly a new or shocking idea to suggest that our media establishment is composed largely of fools, but they’re so far in the tank for Barack Obama that it’s taking them to new and surprising depths of folly. We see this particularly in the ongoing effort by the MSM—who would be better called the OSM, the Obama-stream media; they’re so deep in his pocket, they’renothing more than pocket lintat this point—to render the president consequence-free, at least when it comes to negative consequences: if anything bad happens, it’s all that evil Bush’s fault, or that evil Cheney’s fault, or the fault of some other evil Republican. Thedeepest depthsof thisdrivel(so far) have beenplumbed by Maureen Dowd, who wrote in theNew York Times,
No matter if or when terrorists attack here, and they’re on their own timetable, not a partisan, red/blue state timetable, Cheney will be deemed the primary one who made America more vulnerable.
In other words, it doesn’t matter when it happens, or what happens, or how it happens, or what could have happened, or what the president and his administration have done, or what they haven’t done, or what they could have done, or what they should have done—according to Maureen Dowd, if terrorists ever do anything here again, no matter what, it’s Dick Cheney’s fault.
Now, to a superficial mind, I can see the appeal of this: it preserves the “blame everything on the GOP” strategy that got the Democratic Party to power, wherein it is asserted that only the GOP can do or cause bad things, while all good things are solely to the credit of the donkeys. What Dowd apparently fails to see, however, is the way in which her assertion completely emasculates President Obama and his administration. What she’s essentially saying is that Barack Obama is fundamentallyinconsequential and ineffectual, at least by comparison to the previous administration. George W. Bush and Dick Cheney are the ones with the real power, the ones who really matter; Barack Obama just can’t be expected to compare, or to have the same kind of effect on the world. He can’t be held responsible if al’Qaeda or somebody else attacks us, because, um, it can’t possibly be his fault, because, uh, well, he just can’t be; there has to be someone else to blame. The buck doesn’t stop at his desk; that’s above his pay grade, or something.
I’m sorry, but when people start saying things like that about the President of the United States, that’s just pathetic. But hey, at least he can dance around and look cool, like these guys:
Crown Him the Lord of love, behold His hands and side,
Those wounds, yet visible above, in beauty glorified.
No angel in the sky can fully bear that sight,
But downward bends his burning eye at mysteries so bright.
Worship isn’t about our experience, but that doesn’t mean our experience is meaningless; and I will tell you that standing to sing that Tuesday night with 3300 brothers and sisters in Christ, all of us singing at the top of our lungs, gave me chills. I have a sense of what it means that the Lord is enthroned on the praises of his people, because I could feel it, just a little.
All hail, Redeemer, hail! For Thou has died for me;
Thy praise shall never, never fail throughout eternity.
I’m not sure why I didn’t think to post this earlier; John Updike is best known for his prose, but this poem is a jewel.
Seven Stanzas for Easter
Make no mistake: if he rose at all
It was as His body;
If the cell’s dissolution did not reverse, the molecule reknit,
The amino acids rekindle,
The Church will fall.
It was not as the flowers,
Each soft spring recurrent;
It was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled eyes of the
Eleven apostles;
It was as His flesh; ours.
The same hinged thumbs and toes
The same valved heart
That—pierced—died, withered, paused, and then regathered
Out of enduring Might
New strength to enclose.
Let us not mock God with metaphor,
Analogy, sidestepping, transcendence,
Making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the faded
Credulity of earlier ages:
Let us walk through the door.
The stone is rolled back, not papier-mache,
Not a stone in a story,
But the vast rock of materiality that in the slow grinding of
Time will eclipse for each of us
The wide light of day.
And if we have an angel at the tomb,
Make it a real angel,
Weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair, opaque in
The dawn light, robed in real linen
Spun on a definite loom.
Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
For our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
Lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are embarrassed
By the miracle,
And crushed by remonstrance.
Ah, holy Jesus, how hast thou offended,
That man to judge thee hath in hate pretended?
By foes derided, by thine own rejected,
O most afflicted.Who was the guilty who brought this upon thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee.
’Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee:
I crucified thee.Lo, the Good Shepherd for the sheep is offered;
The slave hath sinned, and the Son hath suffered:
For man’s atonement, while he nothing heedeth,
God intercedeth.For me, kind Jesus, wast thine incarnation,
Thy mortal sorrow, and thy life’s oblation:
Thy death of anguish and thy bitter passion,
For my salvation.Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay thee,
I do adore thee, and will ever pray thee,
Think on thy pity and thy love unswerving,
Not my deserving.
Words: Johann Heermann
Music: Johann Crüger HERZLIEBSTER JESU, 11.11.11.5
This is a medley of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” and “We Three Kings of Orient Are” done in a folk-rock style by the Barenaked Ladies and Sarah McLachlan. Great track, imho.
This is probably my favorite Christmas carol (not counting “Joy to the World,” since as I noted earlier, it’s not really a Christmas song). There’s no hope of undoing George Whitfield’s edits to Charles Wesley’s text, since they’re embedded even in the common title—but we would still do well to include the verses he cut.
Hark! the Herald Angels Sing
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King,
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!
Joyful all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies;
With th’ angelic host proclaim,
“Christ is born in Bethlehem!”
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King.
Christ, by highest heaven adored,
Christ, the everlasting Lord,
Late in time behold him come,
Offspring of the virgin’s womb!
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see:
Hail th’ incarnate Deity,
Pleased as man with men to dwell,
Jesus, our Immanuel!
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King.
Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Risen with healing in his wings.
Mild, he lays his glory by,
Born that man no more may die,
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King.
Come, desire of nations, come,
Fix in us thy humble home;
Rise, the woman’s conquering seed,
Bruise in us the serpent’s head.
Now display thy saving power,
Ruin’d nature now restore;
Now in mystic union join
Thine to ours, and ours to thine.
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King.
Adam’s likeness, Lord, efface,
Stamp thy image in its place.
Second Adam from above,
Reinstate us in thy love.
Let us thee, though lost, regain,
Thee, the life, the inner man:
O, to all thyself impart,
Form’d in each believing heart.
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King.
Words: Charles Wesley; alt. George Whitfield, Martin Madan, and William Hayman Cummings Music: Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, adapted and arranged by William Hayman Cummings MENDELSSOHN, 7.7.7.7.7.7.7.7.7.7.
This great hymn by Isaac Watts is commonly miscast as a Christmas hymn, when Watts didn’t write it for Christmas and it really has nothing particularly to do with the birth of Jesus; it’s actually a better fit for this season of Advent, since what it’s really about is the Second Coming.
Joy to the World
Joy to the world! the Lord is come;
Let earth receive her King.
Let every heart prepare him room,
And heaven and nature sing.Joy to the world! the Savior reigns;
Let men their songs employ,
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains,
Repeat the sounding joy.No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make his blessings flow
Far as the curse is found.He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of his righteousness,
And wonders of his love.
Words: Isaac Watts
Music: Lowell Mason, from a theme by George Frederick Handel ANTIOCH, 8.6.8.6.6.6.
For all the saints who from their labors rest,
Who thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Thou wast their rock, their fortress and their might;
Thou, Lord, their captain in the well-fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true light.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
For the apostles’ glorious company,
Who, bearing forth the cross o’er land and sea,
Shook all the mighty world, we sing to Thee:
Alleluia, Alleluia!
For the Evangelists, by whose blest word,
Like fourfold streams, the garden of the Lord
Is fair and fruitful, be thy Name adored.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
For martyrs who, with rapture-kindled eye,
Saw the bright crown descending from the sky,
And seeing, grasped it, thee we glorify.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
O may thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win with them the victor’s crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
Yet all are one in Thee, for all are Thine.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;
Sweet is the calm of Paradise the blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on his way.
Alleluia, Alleluia!
From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
Singing to Father, Son and Holy Ghost:
Alleluia, Alleluia!
Words: William Walsham How
Music: Ralph Vaughan Williams SINE NOMINE, 10.10.10.4.4.