The Wounded Healer, a song

Another song from inversions.  It was inspired by a pastor I heard about who was "tweeting" his way through the whole Bible-- providing short, 140 character summaries of each book as he finished them.  His "tweet" summarizing the book of Psalms?

When my heart broke in two, I taught both halves to sing.



They say the bones always heal
Stronger at the break
It’s what they say, what they say

Some joys come stealing in
Through the backdoor of the ache
Then they steal away, they steal away

But somewhere at the bottom of a deep dark well
I thought I saw your face
And somehow when the silence got the best of me
That’s when I found you

When my heart broke in two, you taught both halves to sing
When I couldn’t mouth the words,
and I could hold the tune together in these clumsy hands
But you showed me the beauty that shines in broken things
In the rhythm of the hurt and laughter, I heard the cadence
When my heart broke in two, you taught both halves to sing

After the tree’s been pruned
You get the sweetest yield
You have to cut it away, cut it away

Only the deepest wound
Can teach us how to heal
There’s no other way, no other way

But somewhere in the middle of an emptied hell
I was tidying up the place
And I hoped you wouldn’t notice all the messiness
But that’s when you found me

When my heart broke in two, you taught both halves to sing
When I couldn’t mouth the words,
and I could hold the tune together in these clumsy hands
But you showed me the beauty that shines in broken things
In the rhythm of the hurt and laughter, I heard the cadence
When my heart broke in two, you taught both halves to sing

Musical Mondays (VIII)

nadir



By the banks of Babylon, that's where we hung our song

Cursed if we forget the tune, cursed if we sing along

     They said: when you reach the nadir of the heart, will he be there?

      There at the apex of the hurt and the despair?

Trying to write the final page of this tale of emptied hells

Vacant masks and leering laughs, this lie I know so well

     And when I reach the nadir of the heart, will you be there?

     There at the apex of the hurt and the despair?

Nothing left to hold on to, nothing left to say

Staring down the barrel of night, praying for the day

     He said:  When you reach the nadir of the heart, I'll be there

      There at the apex of the hurt and the despair



Commentaries on the Book of Lamentations

Like I usually do after a preaching series at the FreeWay, I thought I'd post some information and/or reviews of some of the secondary resources I consulted in preparing my series on the Book of Lamentations.  It is a very telling thing, that, while scholarly commentaries on Lamentations were readily available, I found almost no commentaries that focused specifically on preaching Lamentations, like, perhaps, Sydney Gredainus did with Ecclesiastes (telling in so far as it illustrates some of the things I said in this series about our hesitancy to make real space for lament in our corporate worship).  That said, here are two of the main resources I worked with:

Paul R. House, Lamentations (Word Biblical Commentary Series, Thomas Nelson)

I have always appreciated the WBC series for its thorough work with the original languages and the historical provenance of the text, and for its ability to engage a wide range of critical perspectives while maintaining a clearly Evangelical hermeneutic.  Paul House's work with Lamentations in this series, it turns out, is no exception to the rule; I found his analysis insightfu and helpful.  He draws out a number of critical isues over things like authorship, genre/form, historical dating and so on.  What I didn't quite expect, having sloughed through some pretty technical stuff in the WBC in the past, was the profound pastoral sensibility with which he handled this difficult book, a sensitivity that shone especially in his thoughts on "why study Lamentations" and in his handling of the theodicy questions that echo in the background of the most difficult passages of Lamentations.

Robin Parry, Lamentations (Two Horizons Series, Eerdmans)

Robin Parry's commentary on Lamentations reflects a genuine sensitivity to the poetic form of the book (much of his translations, for instance, try to convey the acrostic "feel" of the original), and his insightful readings often draw out subtleties of the text that might otherwise have been missed. (That the word translated "The man" in 3:1 is actually ha gibor (the valiant one/warrior). Stuff like that.) His work was especially helpful for sermon prep. because, where the House commentary presented each chapter as a whole, Parry broke each chapter down into smaller units of thought that lent themselves more readily to "sermonization," and helped to parse out the inner logic of each chapter more clearly.

Learning to Lament (4)

Here's our final sermon in our series on Lamentations. It has been a challenging but rewarding job this Lent season, preparing this material.  In a few days, I hope to post some more summative thoughts on lament, it's role in the Christian life, and the Book of Lamentations specifically, but in the meantime, here's Learning to Lament #4:

Lamentations 3:40-51 "Coming Back"



Learning to Lament (3)

Lamentations 3:1-24 "Remembering the Gall"

Learning to Lament (2)

Here's the second sermon in our lenten journey with the Book of Lamentations.  I'm still working on some more extended thoughts on this beautiful, sad, haunting book, but for now, here's sermon 2:

Lamentations 2:11-22  "Poured Out"

The Book of How?!

This Sunday we started a new series in the Book of Lamentations.  In the days to come, I will post some more extended thoughts on lessons I'm learning as I spend time in this, the "Wailing Wall" of the Bible; but for now, here's sermon number one.

 Lamentations 1:1-12.  How?

N. T. Wright on Terror, Joy and Easter

"In our fear of terror and joy we have forgotten the purpose of tears. We have become embarrassed by them-- and with good reason, since they are a God-given reminder of the truth which our culture, as much as any communist propaganda, has done its best to make us forget: that we are neither naked apes nor trainee angels, but humans, made in the image of God. Which God? The God who stood and wept at the tomb of his friend; the God who fell down and sobbed in the garden of Gethsemane. We have deemed tears to be childish when in fact they are childlike; and Jesus told us to be childlike. We have allowed or proper dislike of emotionalism to deceive us into trying to ignore our emotions. But if Good Friday and Easter don't stir our emotions, then the tyrant has indeed enslaved us. We have become like a garden paved over with stone slabs. Many people live like that; God help us, many of us choose it, rather than face the terror and the joy of our own hearts, let alone of Calvary and Easter."

N. T. Wright, Following Jesus: Biblical Reflections on Discipleship (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994): 58.

The Unsung Songs in Church

Besides my list of songs written in 7/4 time, I've also been working on a list of the saddest songs I know. So far my list (in no particular order) includes:

1. "Mothers of the Disappeared," U2.
A haunting lament giving voice to the heartbreak of the Argentinian Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, whose sons and daughters opposed the Videla and Galtieri coup d'etat in 1976, and were kidnapped, never to be seen again.
In the trees our sons stand naked
Through the walls our daughters cry
See their tears in the rainfall

2. "Bonny Portmore," Traditional (Lorena McKennitt).
A traditional Celtic lament mourning the loss of the ancient oak forests of Ireland, which were clear-cut to provide lumber for English ship-building projects.
All the birds in the forest, they bitterly weep
Sighing, "Where shall we shelter, where shall we sleep?"
For the Oak and the Ash tree are all cutten down,
And the walls of bonny Portmore are all down to the ground.

3. "Strange Fruit," Billie Holiday.A vivid and arresting song decrying the lynching of two black men in in the southern US in the 1930s.
Southern trees bear strange fruit
Blood on the leaves, blood on the root

4. "Hallelujah," Leonard Cohen.
A song about love and failure and the gapping space that yawns between human hearts.
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

5. "Siúil a Rúin," Traditional.
The lament of an Irish girl whose darling has left to fight in the continental wars.
I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel
I'll sell my only spinning wheel
For to by my love a sword of steel
And safe forever may my darling be

And as I make this list, I'm thinking about church music, worship music, the whole praise-chorus shebang, and wondering about how little lament it allows. We don't often hear songs in church with the pathos of a "Mothers of the Disappeared," the honesty of a "Hallelujah," the ache for Shalom of a "Strange Fruit," or the sensitivity of a "Bonny Portmore." (Though after writing these sentences, I remember that we sang "All I Can Say" last Sunday at our church, which certainly gets a vote for real pathos and honesty and ache for Shalom.)

But maybe we're missing something when we don't. We are, after all, called to weep with those who weep; and music that gives voice to the ache, I think, is also one of the good and perfect gifts of the Creator.
The Psalmists knew this.

You wouldn't necessarily guess it from the way their heart-cries have trickled down into the peppy hymnody of the church, but there is some pretty raw stuff in there. I remember the day I read Psalm 43, of "As the Deer" fame, and suddenly realized that this is not the melodic, somewhat soporific song we sing in church. Whatever else this"Maskil for the Sons of Korah" is for, it's not for crooning devotion. It's for crying desperation.

Desperation for justice, for deliverance, for vindication, for restoration, for any food other than the tears that have been his sole nourishment day and night without count.

This is lament, not love-song.

A while ago, I was preparing to lead worship in my church, and asking about the missing laments in contemporary church music, and wondering what to do about it. I sat down and tried to work out an arrangement for "As the Deer" that might give a bit more room for the original ache of the Psalm to speak. Still thinking about the unsung laments of the people of God, I offer it here.