Rote memorization has fallen out of fashion as an educational method, for good reason most of the time, but I do wonder if we shouldn’t do more of it when it comes to poetry, scripture, and beautiful language. While I love the language of scripture and draw on it frequently when writing my own prayers, liturgy, and sermons, I don’t have much of it memorized. What I do know quite well are the hymns, and it is rare day that at least one hymn doesn’t pop into my mind. Perhaps it’s because I spend quite a bit of time these days looking for hymn videos that we can use in worship, but I think it’s always been this way.
Often, the hymn is either one we’ve sung the past week or one that we will sing in an upcoming week. But just as frequently, I will find myself humming a hymn that seemingly has no connection to anything. It’s in these moments that I wonder if I’m trying to tell myself something, though usually it is early enough in the morning that the best I can do is wonder.
What about you? Do you find songs or hymns stuck in your head for no reason you can discern?
something Worth reading
by Julie Vick and Sue D. Gelber
- Going out to dinner is completely out of the question.
- Pants are optional.
something worth hearing
Renee & Jeremy
We love Renee & Jeremy music at our house. And this is by far the song we all know the best (probably because it’s so repetitive). It is often one of the songs Adam will sing to Hannah to try and get her to sleep. Also, watching this video makes me feel less alone in the world (it’s not just us!).
something worth watching
I could watch Maya Angelou talk all day long. Here’s a short but powerful video about faith and love and life.
something worth praying
by Brian Doyle
I cannot explain adequately or articulately how much it matters to me
That the elderberry bush by the back porch came back to life this year.
Somehow I just didn’t think it would. I know this is my problem, lack
Of faith, a kind of expectation that things will dissolve, a dry certainty
Of entropy, and believe me I have lectured myself about it, and ranted
And raved to everyone else, and published and performed on the topic,
I have been relentlessly and incredibly boring about hope and suchlike,
But there I am, in the halting stammering sunlight on equinox morning,
Hammered by savage green elderberry tongues all ravenous for the sun.
You couldn’t stop them if you tried. You could chop down every spine,
Hack up the roots, roast it all to pale and shameful ash, and up it comes
Again desperate and thirsty and caring not at all who you think you are.
I cannot explain adequately or articulately how much this matters to me.
I didn’t think it would happen. The times are dark. Hope is in full flight.
Hope is a refugee always on the road with no shoes or milk for the baby.
You can’t trust that a love will keep sending up these mad green arrows.
But there is the bush all defiant and careless on the morning of equinox.
Equinox, from the Latin aequus and nox, equal and night. Isn’t that apt,
That whenever you think the dark has won the day leaps out rebellious?
Thanks to Connie Eberly for sharing this poem/prayer.