Sing a song of grace surprising

 I was looking for a hymn about grace, but none encompassed the breadth of grace, or, so it seemed to me, its surprising nature. So I had a go at writing one. Well known tune. I hope others might find it useful. Please feel free to offer feedback.

the possibility of surprise

The readings for this New Year's day are challenging. The Gospel in particular faces us with the reality of the cruelty of the human race and our capacity for fear and violence. Yet in the midst of that there is the promise of a Divine presence that persists and will not go away. 

The New Year season teaches us to be prepared for unexpected results – to be open to the possibility of surprise. The new year is always a mystery. But in an odd way, this new year thing is really important to us, so that we can have punctuation points in time for us to forgive and make new. We want and need new beginnings. In fact that is why I believe we celebrate it. We want new beginnings; a new start. Each year we discover that a song or prayer, long ignored, could touch us in unexpected ways; a long lost friend may turn up in the next row, and a wound that we have been carrying throughout the year, may just start to heal.  We should be prepared to face a different world, and that we must look at this world, and all her people with new and different eyes.

Rabbi Harold Kushner was stumped once when asked a question about the Torah.  He was asked, “What command is repeated more than any other in the Torah?”  Kushner thought and responded that it was the command to help the poor.  I would have thought that the answer was to remember the stranger.  We both were wrong.  The answer is: “Fear not – do not be afraid.”  God said it to Abraham, to Isaac, to Jacob, to Moses, to the Israelites at the Red Sea and when they prepared for battle. Jesus repeated it endlessly to his followers. The message of New Year is: Fear not – do not be afraid.  God is here, and we are not alone, but surrounded by God’s people.  One of the lessons of the past year, is despite what so many try to tell us is that we cannot live our lives being afraid.  

Whitsunday

In high-modern times
the church in which I was nurtured
and searched for faith,
neatly packaged Pentecost
and placed her in a box
labelled Whitsunday.


Whitsunday was bleached crisp white,
ordered and safe;
free of surprises,
like the era through which we moved.
By the time Whitsunday arrived
the wonder of Easter
had long passed.
Whitsunday was orderly, polite, tidy,
and waited patiently
for her annual fifteen minutes;
some years we forgot her.


One day, unannounced,
Pentecost, gale-like, roaring;
burst from her quiet carton,
crimson, wild
and burning with divine indignation.
She sent Whitsunday packing.


We’re still not sure about Pentecost
and what she might do next;
we tremble a little
each time that we pray:
Come, Holy Spirit!


© Ken Rookes

Peace be with you.

The resurrection greeting

on the lips of the risen one,

brings, at best, a disturbing reassurance

to a lost people.

These confused ones thought

that they had known where they were headed.

They had been followers of one

destined for greatness;

accepted wisdom held that they would

share in at least a small corner

of his glorious destiny.

It was not to be;

the master’s great journey

was cruelly cut short,

after having been diverted

down a Jerusalem cul-de-sac..

His followers had been left to find

their own sad way home

to pick up what remained of their lives.

They had not got far.

Fear and bewilderment

had achieved what hope could not

and held them together grieving;

long enough, at least, for the surprise

reappearance of their master

who outrageously suggested

that the journey must continue.

Peace be with you.

An older poem that might be of interest

© Ken Rookes