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Ancient Songs Sung Anew, blessings, creation, Genesis, joy, praise God, The Sophia Center for Spirituality
This morning’s lectionary psalm (104) walks in tandem with the Genesis creation reading that precedes it. Having, however, a different purpose, it offers us a reason to pause and reflect—as if looking back on how we’ve appreciated what God has made. Immediately, as the psalmist opens his mouth, praise and purpose come forth: Rise up. my soul, and speak this blessing to your God...What follows is a reminder of the greatness of God’s generosity and how we have or have not appreciated the gift.
Today would be a good day to look up the totality of this song of praise or simply to see and consider how we have appreciated its content in how we have used and/or abused the creation. Look around. (I say this as the sun peeks out from behind the hills to wash us and to melt the snow.) Think more about the creation and how we have helped it manifest (like plantings and the vegetables that are in season) rather than how we have used—and sometimes abused—these natural resources. Make whatever offering of prayer comes to you while thinking on these things and conclude with the final verses of the psalm that speak our praise:
So while I live and have my breath, all this shall be my song. And may the poetry of heart and word I speak rise up as joy to bless the Lord…for we would ever bless you, God, our hearts remembering all you are to us, both now and ever more…Amen and Hallelujah. (Ancient Songs Sung Anew, p. 262-3)
I love to visit churches where the services are punctuated by vibrant singing. I learned the beauty and joy of music most likely because my mother crooned us to sleep when we were babies and sang virtually every day for some reason, at home, at church, in parish shows (some of which she produced) and into her last days on earth. She had a lovely voice and used it to praise God in every situation. Irish to the core, my father loved to sing as well and my earliest memories of adult gatherings at our house included “sing-alongs” that were as important as food and friends.
Today our Church remembers Simon and Jude, both apostles who are only known by their names or titles. Jude (not to be confused with Judas Iscariot) is mentioned in the gospel with the others chosen by Jesus as his close followers. Simon, known as the Zealot, was one of a sect of extreme Jewish nationalists who believed in the Old Testament concept that God alone was their king so that they were not to be subject to the Romans. Simon was converted by Jesus to a new and gentler way of living, it seems, but that is all we know of him. I didn’t know of him at all in my youth. As far as I knew October 28th was the feast of St. Jude alone, and I knew that much because it was – is – my sister’s birthday. By custom (way back then) she might have been named Judith but circumstances and the fact that we already had a close cousin with that name resulted in the fact that she is Paula.
Although I know that Sunday is considered the first day of the week, it is Monday that usually calls me to take stock and ready myself for the work that this week will see done or undone when next Sunday rolls around. Today, after two weeks of many full and fruitful days, I am grateful for the opportunity to have this day not only to make a measured plan but also to begin to plod mindfully along, hoping for some level of achievement by the end of the week. I am not naïve enough to think that all will go as planned – that is not the nature of “real life” in my “neck of the woods” – but just making the plan is a good enough start for me right now. Thomas Merton gives me impetus to put my mind and heart into that task this morning with the following reflection.
This morning I am thinking of the notion of “Sabbath” and how the busyness of our lives has squeezed the practice that originated in the book of Genesis (God resting on “the seventh day” from all the work of creation) into a religious service that may last an hour at most. I speak of Catholic practice, which is what I know best, and am pushing aside any sense of commitment and feeling of the difference that accompanies this most important day of the week for many people, in order to shine a spotlight on how things “used to be.” I would wager that “no unnecessary servile work on Sunday” is a concept unknown to most Catholics under the age of 40 years.
There are many reasons to celebrate St. Francis of Assisi, a man whose life took what we would probably call a 180-degree turn after a serious illness and became one of Christianity’s most beloved saints. We who live in this neighborhood of the USA cannot help thinking of Francis as we watch the splendid transformation of the trees – not unlike the life and conversion of Francis himself. From the greening of spring when they seem to be born again to the maturing in summer, reflecting the grandeur of God, to the flaming out in vivid color that seems to lead to death, they are a metaphor for his 44 years on the earth. We know that after the next few weeks of spectacular color – already manifesting in New Hampshire and Vermont – the trees will join the bears in hibernation only to return again after the long sleep of winter. Francis knew all these seasons in his life and praised God for all of it in the wonderful prayer that we know as the Canticle of Creation. As we pray it today, let us be mindful of our earth and the challenges faced by climate change, asking St. Francis (and Pope Francis!) to increase our mindfulness of the need to care more consciously for this, our home.
The Sophia Center for Spirituality 