Song Lyrics

I'm not a huge fan of the Christian music industry. A lot of the music played on Christian stations strikes me as insipid or manipulative jargon aimed at winning people into the Kingdom, or keeping them there, by means of an emotional high or, worse, an emotional low, when being faithful really has very little to do with how we feel. (Just as an aside, I know a lot of people who enjoy Christian music as a genre. I can completely respect that. I just don't tend to enjoy it myself.)

There have been songs over the years, though, that immediately struck a deep, deep chord of truth in me, despite my very strong bias against the genre. They may or may not have appealed to my emotions as they proclaimed, loud and clear, a truth which was not only valid, but vital. The lyrics below come from a song by a band called Tree 63. And perhaps the reason it strikes so profoundly every time I hear it is that they didn't try to say anything new or bend the Message to be "relevant". The song is scriptural, almost straight from the Psalms, and it acknowledges joy and grief, while praising all the while the God who works in all circumstances.

I heard it in the car on my way home from having a cup of coffee with friends after celebrating a liturgy with them this morning. I haven't heard this song since the Divorce Years, and while the trials in my life have morphed and eased dramatically since that time, it still brought tears to my eyes. Blessed be the name of the Lord--when I'm celebrating triumphs and redemption, or when I'm struggling with the results of my sin--blessed be the name of the Lord.

Blessed Be Your Name--by Tree 63

Blessed be Your name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name

Blessed be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be Your name

Every blessing You pour out,
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say...
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name

Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's all as it should be
Blessed be Your name

Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name

Every blessing You pour out,
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say...
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, Blessed be your name

The Candles

2 October 2008, 11:00 AM

The candles always meant so much,
lining the walls and lit by my hand
before the others arrived, one for every icon,
pieces of sanity amid chaos--Life Givers.

The icons, the incense, and from day one,
the faces and their unlikely
welcome of one who should have been a thorn
by definition. The people were Christ to me,
have always been, will always be. They welcome

now another thorn. I lit a candle one last time,
prayed they'll love him well, remain
who they've been for me.

Stranger in a Foreign Land

28 September 2008, 6:05 PM

Worship is, or should be,
a familiar experience. That's how
the Sacred makes her way into
a heart- through the vein of gentle,
meaningful repetition of Truth.
Faces, as much as words, convey
the gravity, and the joy,
of understanding the Story is bigger
than we are, and yet it is very much
Who We Are. Something is missing,

out of place when the faces we know
are miles away, and the melodies
of the Holy Place are not our own.
Of course, every Home was once
a Foreign Land, and some things alien
may, with time, become ourselves.

They may.

Bridegroom Matins

I've been struggling through Lent and Holy Week this year, not entirely present. I'm not sure to what I can attribute my restlessness, but it ended a couple of nights ago at Bridegroom Matins, when I suddenly remembered, amidst readings about Judas, Mary Magdalene, Jonah, the three youths in the fiery furnace, and the parable of the ten virgins etc, what Holy Week, at least, is about. Which of the virgins am I like- have I come to this Paschal season ready to receive it? I realized suddenly that the Lord has found me unprepared this year, so distracted with the struggles and the joys this year has brought. I feel as if I've come to him at the 11th hour this Lenten season.

Yet I remember also that we recently heard a reading that included the parable of the workers who were hired in the morning, the ones hired in the afternoon, and the ones hired in the evening, and how they were all received, and how they all were paid by the Master at the end of the day. Perhaps I take it a bit out of context, but I will trust that I'm not too late to receive the joy of Pascha this year.

The Bridegroom comes.

Bridegroom Matins
April 26, 2005

I.

Early evening sunlight
danced on incense,
floated weightless
on the scent which fills all senses...

Long awaited joy
drifted into the Nave,
soundlessly permeating
the longing of the vigil keepers...

The Holy Spirit
filtered through the window,
inhabiting the prayers of the Betrothed,
eagerly awaiting fulfillment of hope;

the coming of the Bridegroom.

II.

Early evening sunlight
filtered through the window;
played on incense,
densely floating, obscuring
wood and wax and oil
until all I saw was Heaven.

I imagined your hand,
reaching in to touch our hearts,
rewarding our
mustard-seed faithfulness,
loving those who know not
how You love,
nor how to love,
nor how one ever receives such love.

You graced our feeble prayers
with Your presence;
You always do.

Yet tonight,
I saw You steal into the Nave
on silken rays,
as the sun was westering,
gilding all around us
with golden radiance,
foreshadowing a sunless day,
a bright yet moonless night
of midnight cerulean skies
and stars which shine
for beauty’s sake,
rather than for light.

III.

Tonight,
we were virgins,
trimming our lamps,
preparing for
the Bridegroom.

Together,
we felt
the joy of things to come;
our Lord
walked among us
in the Nave.

We heard
faint whisperings,
teasing our souls’ longings
for songs
we have yet to sing..

Can you hear it?

"Christ is risen from the dead,
trampling down death by death,
and upon those in the tombs bestowing life.."

Our Lord, he is coming..
Our Love, he is making ready
the banquet of our wedding day.
Our Lord, He will come for us
as He promised..

May these lamps
not be found
wanting.

Memory Eternal

My grandmother passed away early Wednesday morning. It seemed particularly appropriate, though it would have been even more appropriate on Thanksgiving. She always made a fantastic meal. I'll miss her dretful. On Monday she'll be laid to rest beside Granddad beneath a liveoak tree in a small cemetery behind Friendship Methodist Church in south-central Texas.

Bernice
Magnolia
Mistress of Meals
Eulogy
Red

Bernice Imogene Pope, 20 November 2007
Maria Vesper Cavalcanche Lyra Butler, 21 October 1999
Rodney Butler, 21 April 1999
Marvin Ellis Pope, 9 March 2005
Lynette Hoppe, 27 August 2006
Marcus Fiesel, 3 years old, August 2006
Abigail Beatrix Yandell, 13 February 2007
Margie Winzinger, 7 April 2007 (Great & Holy Saturday)

Chiaroscuro

5 August 2007, 3 PM

I went home today- was free
to be devoutly who I am, to love
the place I’ve come to call my own.
I was free, of a sudden, to see light
playing with the dark.

Chiaroscuro

reminds me no person, no place,
no interpretation of God is infallible.
Every distillation of truth will capture
this or that aspect of His essence,
yet every purely human rendering
will fall short of the Original.

A sobering reminder

that I hold with open handed integrity
what I know to be the most complete
and worthy rendering of Him I’ve found,
only as I keep sight of the darkness
inherent in all earthly visions.

Holy Friday

22 April 2006, 8:13 AM

I wonder if this is death
following the crucified Christ
having gone to His voluntary death
(O great heavens, have mercy—He is dead!)
now carried to His voluntary entombment

And we follow singing
alone
knowing whither we go
knowing there is no return
to the life we knew before
knowing also there is life truer
more beautiful and alive
than we have ever known
but not until we have followed Him
followed Him
followed Him to death and burial

I wonder if this is death
as I follow the corpse of the Living God
through the doorway of the Temple
through the Narthex to pass beneath Him
to the Nave

On this side of Him
Darkness

Passing underneath I cross myself
preparing to die
preparing for anguish
preparing for dark despair

On the other side of Him
(that which cannot be conquered by darkness)
light and beauty and faces of loved ones
Gold and fine vestments
beeswax burning, incense rising
olive oil aglow with light
recalling the Light that will come
again

I wonder if this is death
body, mind, spirit
overflowing with brightness
which cannot be contained
within a purely human frame
for the Spirit of Peace
will flow forth from us
having collected in these clay basins
the Faithful, filling us
to so much more than capacity

II.

Today the earth is robed in white
Trees and men walk in shadows
as clouds descend to venerate the Living God
Laid in a tomb by purely human hands
grieved by purely human tears
lamented by purely human tongues
He makes our purely human lives
desires
pursuits
accomplishments as nothing
compared with the surpassing beauty
the endless faithfulness
the wellspring of tenderness and love
even as He lies dead in our midst

III.

Yet only for a moment
does the Son of Man descend
for it takes but a word from His lips
to conquer the gates of the Hell of hells
to reclaim the keys
nay, to wrench those gates from their hinges
to tear them bar from bar
and hurl them into the Abyss
that no created being may retrieve
the full recompense owed humanity

Good Gifts

19 February 2006, 11:55 PM

It was just what I hoped it would be

My family came
blessed my home
ate my food
drank my wine
brought me poetry

Half a dozen voices
ringing through the halls of this
my home
Twice that number
sharing food and air and wine
and couch-space
laughing uncontrollably
appropriately and not
and capturing every bit
of mirth and gaiety on camera
and in my memory

I want for naught tonight
I cannot need anything but You
after the good gifts You have given
tonight

Learn to Feel

14 February 2006, 7:41 PM

Learn to feel the pain of solitude
without the posthaste rush for mindless
or mindful company which dulls the sense
which otherwise might draw one
into something
deeper
truer
greater than self

Learn to feel the sting of betrayal
without knee-jerk's desire
to return ill for ill
for retribution numbs compassion
which otherwise might draw one
into greater understanding of other

Learn that affect
does not always require effect

contrarily

most often
reaction negates the gleanings
the good which might
redeem what was lost

Thank You

9 February 2006, 10:20 PM

Thank you for a place of healing
of broken things made whole again
though scarred
imperfect
a place where time has little meaning
where every little part of me runs
free within a realm of relativity
contained within
the concept of Truth
the notion of Absolute

One Coin

30 January 2006, 10:30 PM

Discontent is no longer
an appropriate description

Utter humiliation is closer to reality

Other times
I couldn't be more proud
of where I've come from where I've been

Both
I think
are folly

opposite sides of the same coin

This flagellant self-deprecation betrays
a hubris not worthy of the glory
of the image innate within my person
whose beauty my artistry could never have attained

There is a place
far more deeply interfused with wisdom
than a happy medium

It is a different existence altogether

less preoccupied with blame and credit
more concerned with personhood

I Hope There Will Be Poetry

30 January 2006, 10:50 PM

There will come a day of light
which has no source in sun
star
flame
or even firefly

though I hope there will be fireflies

candles
starlight
even sunshine warm upon my face

There will come a day when laughter will replace
the grief which hangs so heavy on my brow

a day when tears of sadness finally will bow
to tears of joy

I do hope there will be tears of joy

There can be such a sweetness in weeping
for loss of what was good
for hope of the incomparable better
for gain of the incorruptible best

There will come a day when all these words
will be superfluous
perhaps even obsolete

though I do hope there will always be poetry

There is such beauty in striving through futility
to proclaim the wonder
delight
majesty of Paradise

Prevalent

30 January 2006, 10:39 PM

The darkness
cannot be as prevalent as it seems

I live by this truth

for if it be not truth
then life and breath must fail me
for mercy’s sake

Yet the darkness
creeps within my home
before my eyes
hiding in places none should ever dare to go

But I must

else the darkness
ever deeper
threaten to undo redemption
before it even
takes
hold

Inside-Out

30 January 2006, 2:10 PM

If it takes a lifetime
I will turn this grief inside out

I will pray for the violators
love those who do not love
forgive the unpardonable
release when I am desolate

By God’s grace
I will turn this grief inside out

Strange Nave

14 January 2006, 11:08 PM

I stood there in the midst of a strange Nave
wondering if those back home were missing us

as we stood there in the midst of a strange Nave
Sights and sounds and smells were
simultaneously familiar and foreign
Incense may not change from House to House
though voices do
and I longed for just a moment to be back
in the House of my father
with those who have graced my life with their love

Tears welled up behind my eyes
Truth suddenly dawned that I have a Home
a House I call my own
and fathers
mothers
sisters
brothers who form the heart
of a place which houses my heart

And as light filled the darkness in my mind
a familiar voice rang out across the Nave:

“Blessed is our God always
now and ever and unto ages of ages”

It was the voice of my father
It was the sound of my Home

Passionless

22 November 2005

I thought I was supposed to feel
A great deal more than what I do

The sun has set
The rosy glow receded long ago
Slate replaced the passionate
Array of heather-cloud embers

Moon and stars gently grace
The night sky
Dark as pitch and blacker yet

Still
Your grace abounds

Passionate or passionless
You remain
The same

Softening Epiphanies

21 November 2005, 9:43 PM

Clouds are draped like glowing
Heather set ablaze by light of setting
Suns retreating swiftly toward Horizon

Slate advances
Rose recedes

I grieve this softening reprieve

Yet praise ascent of Moon and Stars
Keeping watch o’er all we are
All we’ve been
All we’ll be as wax and wane the suns
Of years to come


© 2005 Maria Stuart

On Suffering

It seems almost that we were born to die, so that we could rise again to Life that is fuller, freer, more alive than ever we have known- so alive, in fact, that the life we lived before seems death, in the shadow of Resurrection.

I don't know why it should strike so foreign in my heart. The seed was born to be buried in the ground, that the Sycamore might live. The acorn's life seems brief- yet it bears within its finitude the potential to live on in the Oak for centuries.

So in all these struggles, purpose can be found. That's not necessarily to say they were set in motion by God- who knows His mind? I am persuaded that He never desired we should suffer so. Yet there's a strange, unknowable paradox in the Fall; that its redemption so far outshines the original as to make their respective beauties incomparable.

Thoughts spurred by a letter to a friend.

Dew Drops at Morning Prayers

14 October 2005

At the land on Chrisman Mill Road

Clouds hung like heather upon
Golden misty-morning breezes

The Faithful gathered amidst the
Trees and vineyards of Kentucky

We stood among the Dead
Sang with them
Praises of Eternity

And through Eternity
Light met its mark

A dew drop upon the iron fence
Shot through with a ray which
Travelled the distance
From the sun to that finite point

So much depends
upon

The black iron
fence

Glazed with early morning
dew

Beside the white stone
pillar*

That gate keeps vigil
Stands to proclaim to all

The Faithful are becoming

Collects the early morning dew
Whence light has bent upon my eye

Reminds me of Eternity

This moment is the blink of an eye
The twinkle of a ray
Within a dew drop

Which no longer exists


*Reference made to William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheel Barrow."

The Parlor

12 October 2005

I beg your pardon

I’ve never
Worked so hard to live
Hurt so much to heal
Railed so defiantly against the Machine to find
Something better
Something greater
Something bigger than the daily
Hack and
Grinding of my axe against

The fantasies I had allowed to overtake me

All the things I once held true
In the midst of white-washed
Walls bearing crosses
Baptisteries intended to save
My soul from the devil if
I only stepped in and got wet

The god you rage against
I disbelieve as passionately as
Maybe more so
Than you

He is not the crucified God I now know
To be True

Beaten
Broken
Beautiful

The only Reality
In the midst of white-washed
Self-made something-less-than-persons
Bearing crosses around our necks

Nooses

For we could be condemned by our
Actions speaking louder than the
Wood
Metal
Resin hanging from chains which only
Bind our hearts in darkness

If the only cross we bear
Is a coordinating accessory
Dangling light and free upon the chest
Behind a very fashionable shirt
Sitting obediently in the pew
For Sunday morning’s massage

He is waiting outside
Do not seek Him in the Parlor