Monday Morning Music Ministry

11-19-18

This will be a very personal message – sharing some feelings (more, that is, than only thoughts) and inviting you to feel, and think, with me.

I have had some intense spiritual experiences in my Christian life, and I pray that you have too; many. There are “mountaintop” experiences, and God truly wants to lift us from mountaintop to mountaintop. Valleys there will be, but even then He promises to walk with us and comfort us, never leave us.

For some reason I have been looking back on my Christian “walk” this week. I recall many moments: my mother and my grandmother praying with me; my godmother telling me, when I doubted, that her prayers and the prayers of many would see me through, though I did not know what she meant at first. When I was aware of salvation; when I was baptized in the Holy Spirit with the evidence of speaking in other tongues; challenges and breakthroughs, crises and spiritual resolutions; when I was parched and thirsty for the Word; when, in ministry, I was able to “pray people through,” finally understanding.

When I first practiced (still learning) to share the Gospel; when I learned the power of answering, “I don’t know!” when seekers cried out to me, “WHY?” (prayer and the Word takes over). When I was gifted to pray in the Spirit, the language of angels.

But having been in uncountable exuberant worship experiences; people dancing in the Spirit; mega-churches with organized programs; ultra-informal small groups… my memory kept returning to the opposite, at least in forms.

– Traditional hymns, ancient settings. Surrounded by stained glass, Christian symbols telling Biblical stories, and by quiet. Silence; quietness; modest singing; patient waiting.

– Days spent in mission chapels in California, almost four centuries old. Contemplation, solitude, feeling God’s presence.

– A week at an abbey where silence is required, except in worship; but even when eating and studying. No electronics; sparse bedrooms; a vast library and beautiful grounds with the Stations of the Cross to walk through, and think through.

– Other profound moments and sites. In Italy, at the Basilica of St-Paul “Outside the Wall” in Rome, where the Apostle is believed to be buried, I was deep in prayer one afternoon until I became aware of children singing… there was no service… I recognized the song… but it was not in English… angels?? I looked up, and discovered it was a small student group visiting from South America, and the song they sang in Spanish was a familiar praise-and-worship song from back in America. I had an intense realization of the “family of God” that day.

– A friend took me to a convent in rural France one evening. The public was allowed into the sisters’ Vespers service – an ancient rite of pure and extended chanting. Four hours long! A darkened church, nothing spoken, just sung, Latin words occasionally familiar to me as parts of liturgy. Nothing to do but listen, take it in, meditate, pray, reflect… and, not inevitable for everyone or even me, but I found myself sobbing. No sins rushed back to mind, but an ethereal awareness of the presence of God.

As in that old Mission, and precious few other times, for me, I came face to face with the glory of God. My insignificance, yet overwhelming gratitude for how He loves me and what Jesus did for me. Burdens for unsaved loved ones. The “scarlet thread of redemption” – that heritage of Christians who have gone before us, what they sacrificed, how precious are the things of God.

The… mystery of God. We can know Him, and surely know His will for our lives. But ultimately His attributes, His glory, can scarce be comprehended. Observed, but hardly understood, even to the angels. Well, He is God.

Too often our contemporary world, our churches, paint God as a Holy Pal. I suppose He can be that, but how often do we put ourselves in places where we can be in stricken awe – lovely, frightening, sweet-smelling, mysterious – of His powerful glory?

Not often. Not my experience. Thank God, often enough to have been touched, and to desire more. Some groups feel the lack of things like this, and construct services with guitars and candles. To me, they often seem to worship guitars and candles more than the Savior, when all is said and done.

We are the same Church, the same Bride of Christ, that He instituted when He ascended. … or we should be. Half the churches and denominations in America seem obsessed with being “inclusive,” yet they seldom include the holy traditions of the holy church. They want to be “open” to “others” – but “others” never seem to include the saints and martyrs and faithful of the ages who have gone before us. Modern theologians seem more interested in connecting with sociologists and political activists than with the writers of the Gospels and Epistles.

These are indictments of a religion that is committing spiritual suicide. A faithless faith.

I am heartened by a movement in Europe, spread to America, known as Taizé, after the French border town where the ecumenical seed bloomed in the 1940s. Founded by Brother Roger, a German Reformed pastor, the movement eventually attracted clergy, workers, and worshipers from Catholic and many Protestant traditions. Their services are meant to supplement, not substitute for, the churches of pilgrims. There is mystery, contemplation, chants, and communal worship.

Pilgrims. One visits a Taizé service, but only for a visit, to return home refreshed and renewed for the other 51 weeks of the year. The quietude, and the trappings of 2000 years of Christian signs and symbols, sounds and songs, bring one closer to God.

They have brought this one – me – closer to God. I invite you search a little, and find a similar worship environment, via a getaway or at a regular sacred spot. Rediscover reverence. It is not on the endangered species list, not quite yet.

And rediscover that precious verse, Psalm 46:10: Be still and know that I am God.

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Click: Mon âme se Repose – My Soul Is At Rest

8-27-11

Life happens. As they say. So does death, which merely is to repeat oneself: “Both life and death are parts of the same Great Adventure,” Theodore Roosevelt said, after his son Quentin was shot down over France.

How do we respond to death? Or to the mystery of life? Ironically: how to cope with death’s certainty and to life’s fragility? Sometimes we “lose it.” Sometimes we see through a glass darkly. Sometimes those of us left behind proceed headlong into the business of life. Sometimes we pray to discern God’s will. Sometimes we meditate upon His Word.

My idea is that God does not always hand us multiple-choice quizzes. Sometimes we can do all these things together. They are not mutually exclusive responses.

But always we should trust in His mercy. This is HARD sometimes, fighting the tendency to lean to our own understanding. “His wisdom, yes,” we want to cry; “but where is the mercy?”

Almost exactly a year ago our family was saddened by a miscarriage my daughter Emily suffered, and I wrote a message that attempted to collect my thoughts. This week my other daughter, Heather, lost her baby. Emily and Norman’s came early in her pregnancy; Heather and Patrick’s daughter Sarah, however, was born and died after nine days. The challenges of a 24-week-term birth eventually overwhelmed Sarah’s wracked little body. And I am thinking of a friend this week whose nephew drowned, was recovered but was unconscious, and died after several days .

Our natural minds tend to take over when we try to understand the ways of God.

It is a natural idea that, say, God wants the little baby in Heaven more than He wants her down here. But if that were the entire story, we should wonder why a few days of life, which ultimately adds grief to parents’ joy, can be part of His plan. Yet it is. That we cannot understand it all means, basically, that we are not God, and His mysteries are just that: mysteries. There is sin in the world, so there is death in the world. But after our questions and cries and withdrawal, the mysterious ways of God are to be accepted, embraced, and trusted.

One thing is certain. We shall be united with the living God, and re-united with the healed Sarah, in Heaven some day. We will look around for her, and when we see her, we will have to wait one more brief moment to embrace her, because she will be in Jesus’ lap and in His arms, and then He will pass her to us.

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Some of my meditations on these subjects are well reflected in the lyrics of a gospel song from a few years ago. It is not a line-for-line representation of anyone’s actual thoughts over a baby’s death; not anyone I know. But surely many people, from casual Christians to devoted believers, entertain some of these thoughts. Please listen to the moving performance, and watch the tender pictures. And meditate.

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Click: The Mystery Of the Wonders You Perform

8-15-11

By Cheryl Hults Meakins

Recently it was reported that an online pedophile pornography community was shut down by the federal government, which also confiscated 123 terabytes of video, roughly equivalent to 16,000 DVDs of atrocities against children. The cancer of pornography has grown for decades and this giant seems much more powerful than Goliath ever was.

1 Samuel 17:4 “A champion named Goliath, who was from Gath, came out of the Philistine camp. He was over nine feet tall.”

I have a hard time watching the news every day. There are so many choices we have made in America that grieve my heart, even overwhelm me and paralyze me with fear.

It seems while I was growing up, so was sin on the increase in our culture. I stopped at 5’5” but our sins have grown like a cancer and loom before us like Goliath, mocking us, until we tend to live in fear. Will our children be swiped from our streets? Will a picture snapped on a passing cell phone be plastered on the internet? Must I help my children lose their innocence when warning them of the real “stranger danger?” Is this living in freedom?

Hollywood used to condemn movies with bare bottoms and curse words with R ratings. Now those are rewarded with PG-13 ratings. I remember in the ‘80s being disgusted at the mainline magazines that were boys’ rites of passage to manhood. Even worse is the rise of human trafficking in our own nation that is swiftly becoming more lucrative than drug sales for organized crime.

The giants that seemed so big in the ‘80s are dwarfs compared to the monsters confronting us today. The battles we once had to fight we now see were just the opening skirmishes in wars much bigger, and more deadly.

I look in the face of the giants that believers must fight… and I struggle to keep standing. I am overwhelmed with thoughts, even of children who survive sexual assaults, who grow up with pain their souls have recorded and their minds can barely contain.

I confess: often I become paralyzed; by the size of this giant but even more at the depth of healing needed for those who were forced to become victims.

You see, as long as I look at the face of the giant, I will fear, I will give up fighting, I will lay aside my weapons so my hands can cover my ears and dampen the noise of the helpless souls being ravaged by sin. I grieve that the sin we tolerated in the ‘60s, enjoyed in the ‘70s, humored in the ‘80s, and applauded in the ‘90s, has taken up residence in our midst; and now we know its full dangers.

The Church in America needs to know that there are giants in our land! And facing these giants builds a conflict in our focus. We need to attend to our personal godliness and obedience, but we must also tend to those who cannot fight for themselves.

Lift up your eyes, Church! Look to the hills! Where does our help and hope come from? He is our hope and our help (Psalm 121). His arms outreach the growth of any cancer in our nation. His blood will heal any wound and cover any sin.

Louie Giglio found himself afraid to go to sleep. Night after night he suffered as a cloud of panic or anxiety moved in to his mind. He spent months undergoing medical testing to diagnose his struggle but the turning point towards healing began with a decision he made in the face of his attacking giant. One night, as he was awakened again by this cloud he decided to praise the Lord.

Then he remembered Psalm 63:4 NIV – “I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands.” And in verse 8 “My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.”

Out of this desperate meditation came these words:

“Be still, there is a healer
His love is deeper than the sea
His mercy, it is unfailing
His arms a fortress for the weak”

Louie later shared these words with Chris Tomlin and a song of healing was born out of desperate obedience. Meditate on “I lift my hands.” And after you have found your peace, let your faith arise, pick up your swords and find a battleground to fight.

I have found mine!

Today’s Guest Writer:
Cheryl Meakins is an author and speaker who is passionate about women stepping into their callings as healers and warriors. More of her thoughts can be found at: www.MeakinsSpeak.wordpress.com.

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Click: I Lift My Hands

8-8-11

Life happens. As they say. How do we respond? Sometimes we see through a glass darkly. Sometimes we proceed in blind faith. Sometimes we pray to discern God’s will. Sometimes we meditate upon His Word.

My idea is that God does not always hand us multiple-choice quizzes. Sometimes we can do all these things together. They are not mutually exclusive.

Some of my recent meditations are perfectly reflected in the lyrics of a country song from a few years ago:

The Mystery of the Wonders You Perform

Oh Lord, you know that I’m not one to bother you with little things,
And you and I have never been too close.
But we’ve always been on speaking terms, I’ve watched your way of doing things,
And tried to understand you more than most.

No, I haven’t gone to church the way I ought to,
But I always thought you knew in my own way I worshipped you.
While even your own children doubt, and fail to understand
The simple way you go about the things you do.

I’ve seen the doubt upon the face
Of loved ones, as they sadly placed a wreath of flowers on a tiny grave,
And wondered why a child is brought into the world
To only live a little while and die, you could have saved.

But I believe that in your eyes this little child was something special
And you wanted it to be with you, no doubt;
So with outstretched arms you beckoned, so simple, that I reckoned
They can’t understand the way you worked it out.

Once I saw a young man growing till he neared the age of knowing,
Then I watched as something happened to his mind.
No doctor could correct it, it was just as I suspected,
And I marveled at your way of being kind.

They tried everything in vain, and I was there when they explained
To the family, how he slipped into a trance.
I guess you looked into the future, watched him turn his back upon you,
Loving him so much you couldn’t take the chance!

It took a lot of love to die for sinners such as I,
And I guess that’s why you’ve never given up on me.
You understood when some denied you, even when they crucified you,
Knowing all these things were meant to be.

The stable’s such a simple thing, no wonder there were few who came
To see a king the night that you were born.
And I’d ask one favor if I can, help me to better understand
The mystery of the wonders You perform,

The mystery of the wonders You perform.

Writer: Jerry Chesnut, copyright 1970.

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Please listen to the moving performance, and watch the tender pictures. And meditate.

Click: The Mystery of the Wonders You Perform