Mercy, Now

I’m sure I haven’t seen a video of Boy George performing, or a news clip or even a picture of him, in many years. But there he was on the second day of Lent when I clicked the link at the end of an online Lenten devotional from the Northumbria community that I’ve been reading most mornings since Ash Wednesday. He wore a flashy red hat, a black shirt, and generous swipes of gray eyeshadow and black eyeliner. Welcome to my morning, Boy George. Sing me a song.

“Mercy, Now” is the song he sang. I’d never heard the song before. The first stanza is about a father who is having a hard time. He’s lived his life and death is near. “I love my father, and he could use some mercy now.” In the second stanza, a brother is struggling and in pain. Mercy, now. The song turns its attention to church and country, to every living thing, to each of us, all of us. “Every single one of us could use some mercy now.”

The song kept playing in my head, along with the image of Boy George, singing and smiling and dancing on stage. A couple weeks later, on day 16 of Lent, another entry in a second Lenten series I’ve been reading, this one by Tamara Hill Murphy, again included a link to another version of “Mercy, Now.” This time it opened to the song sung by Mary Gauthier and in a slower, more somber style. I later read that Gauthier wrote the song, both the words and music. In her book, Saved by a Song: The Art and Healing Power of Songwriting, Gauthier wrote of visiting her father as he was dying and in the days that followed she wrote the song. She has sung it at every concert since. (Here’s a link to the lyrics.)

“People sometimes cry when they hear it, but if tears come, I think they are tears of resonance; the words provide listeners a witness to their struggle. ‘Mercy Now’ started out as a personal song, then it deepened. It became universal.”


Then the next day, Lent day 17, the Northumbria series presented yet another link to “Mercy, Now,” this version by Alana Levandoski from her album, Hymns From the Icons.

“Mercy, Now,” three times in my inbox. I’m grateful.

~~~

[Photo: These aren’t the palms from a Palm Sunday morning but from a trip to Florida several years ago. How lovely today, after getting 14 inches of snow Friday night, is the remembrance of them, reflected in the pool.]

Benjamin Tucker: Don't Lose Hope

Benjamin Tucker, a musician here in the Twin Cities (and good friend), released a new album this past May, Such Is Love. One of the songs is titled, "Don't Lose Hope."

These three words are repeated again and again, leaving no doubt that whoever listens to and engages with the song should receive the message, clear and strong: Don't lose hope.

The lyrics extend beyond that trio of words but those are what you'll carry with you. Don't lose hope.

You can listen to "Don't Lose Hope" here and watch videos of that and all the other songs on the album here.

Listening to the music

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Sunday, at church, after the service was over, we sat again, as has become customary, while our extraordinary organist played the postlude.  Instruction to stay seated is not given in the bulletin; it just started happening. Not everyone stays and listens. Many get up and move to greet the minister, chat with a friend or visitor, or go find the coffee and treats. Those of us who do stay usually keep seated where we are but some switch to a pew closer to the front, where the pipe organ lives. Sunday's postlude was the most beautiful Bach's Prelude and Fugue in C Major. I love this quiet moment, this spontaneous and organic practice of leisure, this corporate dwelling in beauty.

In my work as a medical writer I've written a little about "consolidation therapy" - for some kinds of cancer, once the main treatment is finished another course of something is given to "consolidate" the main treatment's effect and to help finish the work it started. I sometimes think of walks after a session of creative writing as a period of consolidation. The thoughts and images that had earlier rushed in at the writing desk are given a chance to gel and find their place.

It struck me on Sunday, sitting quietly in that pew with Bach ringing, that this post-service listening is a kind of "consolidation therapy." The Word that has already moved through the hymns, the prayers, the readings, the sermon, the communion table now sinks in deeper, finishing the morning's inner work in ways unseen.

~~~

[Photo: taken on a Memorial Day hike.]

Christmas is coming: ready?

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One week until Christmas Eve. Are you ready? That’s the question I was asked twice by clients yesterday and numerous times by friends over the last week. No, I’m not ready if by ready you mean all gifts purchased and wrapped, tree up and decorated, house decorated, cards sent, cookies made, menus planned, and stockings hung. In fact, the only way you’d know Christmas is coming by looking at my house is by the single string of lights (only half of which are working) hung on a 3-foot Norfolk Island Pine we bought last weekend and a 10-inch tall flat wooden tree from IKEA that we’ve had for several years. I see that my husband has brought up from the basement our Christmas coffee mugs but they’re still in a box on the kitchen floor. As of last night I’ve bought most of our gifts but some won’t have arrived by Christmas. Cards will likely not get sent.

I’m behind.

I’m telling you this not to underscore my failure to be ready, whether by lack of planning or simply because of busy-ness, but to come alongside you if you’re not ready also. A couple days ago I noticed there was a “home tour” happening online where bloggers were posting pictures of their decorated homes, room by room displays of swagged greenery and glittered trees. Lovely, all lovely, but honestly, it made me feel like there was a competition going that we all were in, even if we hadn’t signed up. No, I’m not in that competition.

You know that song by Alanis Morrisette, “That I Would be Good”? I’ve embedded the video below (if you’re reading via email you may need to click through to website version). The pattern of the song is that she identifies all kinds of “failures” and for each counters that she’d be good in spite of it. Here’s the first verse, but you can read the rest of the lyrics here:

that I would be good even if I did nothing
that I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
that I would be good if I got and stayed sick
that I would be good even if I gained ten pounds

 

I’ve been dreaming up my own lyrics related to Christmas:

that I would be good even if I baked no cookies
that I would be good even if I sent no cards
that I would be good if some presents were mailed late
that I would be good…

You get the idea. Maybe you’d like to sing along also with lyrics of your own.

The good news is that Christmas comes anyway to those of us not ready. I’m redefining ready. Jesus was born; God is with us; love is all around, even in my sparsely decorated home (and yes, even in “these” days). I’m here to celebrate. Bring it on.

~~~

[Photo: taken of the wooden tree from IKEA. Merry Christmas!]

Thanks be to Thee: Handel for Thanksgiving

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Last Sunday at church, our choir sang Handel's "Thanks be to Thee." When the last note ended, I wished all could be silent for the rest of the day to prolong that beauty, to prolong the surge of gratitude.

In the spirit of thanksgiving and for your Thanksgiving pleasure, here's the piece sung in the original German ("Dank Sei Dir, Herr") by Werner Hollweg with the Vienna Philharmonic. Just click the link below to listen. In my opinion it's a good use of 3 minutes 12 seconds. If you're reading this via email, I hope the link is clickable, but if not, you may need to click through to the post online.

Enjoy! I'm thankful for you, dear reader.

#HateWon'tWin: "Charleston," a song and video by my friends Benjamin Tucker and David Vessel

My friends Benjamin Tucker and David Vessel made this video in honor of the Charleston Nine and their families. Ben wrote the song and David put the video together.

Both of these guys have day jobs but do creative work in after hours. They each have a deep love for God and people and creative juices that flow beautiful and bright.

You can find Ben's music on his website: http://benjamintuckermusic.com. We have a number of his CDs and have been known to play them on repeat. David's photography is here: http://davidvesselphotography.com/

#HateWon'tWin. Please listen and consider sharing. (If you're reading this via email subscription, you may need to click through to play the video.)

Writing to a new song – the start of a project playlist

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Finding Livelihood is launched, and I'm doing my best to help it fly high and strong. But I'm also, in the cracks of time between that and client work (a new deck of PowerPoint slides on MS landed on my desk yesterday), I'm also tending to a next creative writing project. Another project that will someday launch, I hope. For now, though, I'm writing a sentence here and a paragraph there, anticipating they will someday lock together like pieces of a puzzle whose picture I can't yet imagine.

Along the way with this new creative project, I'm experimenting with music as a help. I almost always write without background music, but there have been a handful of pieces that bonded themselves to a song or a couple of songs in the rewrite and editing stages.

Following the model of Carolyn See in her book Making A Literary Life, I'm experimenting with proactively assembling a playlist for this new project. Somewhere I read the suggestion, and I'm sorry I can't remember where, to play music subliminally for an evocative yet unobtrusive effect. As I said, I'm experimenting.

So far only one piece is on the list. Would you like to listen?

 (If you're reading this post via email, you may have to click through to the website for this audio to work.)

~~~

[Photo: taken of a gargoyle on a wall of the American Swedish Institute here in Minneapolis.]