My church had a parking-lot Christmas-eve carol-sing tonight.

 

Tonight we came together, spread apart, to sing hymns to our savior, because it's Christmas eve, and as the song says... since Christ is lord of heaven and earth, how can I keep from singing?

It's not been an easy year. Many among us have fallen sick. Some of these are still struggling with the aftermath of illness, some have died. Many of us have lost jobs and don't know how we'll keep a roof over our heads or food on our table, or many of us must still go to work on the front lines, terrified of becoming ill or bringing illness home to our families. Many of us are struggling with physical or mental ailments for which we can't seek treatment due to medical offices being closed or overwhelmed. Many of us are caught in lockdown with an abusive family member. Many of us are afraid of losing someone we love who is high-risk. Many of us are trying to juggle work with schooling children at home.

It's been nearly a year of what felt like walking in darkness... in fear, insecurity, and uncertainty, in a world we may sometimes feel we no longer recognize. "It doesn't seem like Christmas," a friend told me tonight.

But we gathered anyway. Amid a dark (and cold!) night, we brought our candles and flashlights and headlights; in a dark (and too-often cold) world, we sang of the Light of the World. Because no matter what happens, he is there, and we are his, always, and nothing can change that. Paul wrote to the Romans (Rom. 8:35, 37-39):

Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

No matter what happens, this is an important thing to remember. Every year, when we light our candles to sing Silent Night, it is a reminder for us that we can be his light and his love. We can show kindness and understanding for people around us navigating through hardships that go far beyond missed vacations or shaggy hair. We can act in ways that may be inconvenient but keep us and our neighbors safe. If we are lucky enough to still be blessed with health or employment, we can try to help those who are not. And we can believe, through the darkness, that there is still light-- in God, in us, in each other.

My favorite of the gospels is John, which reminds us nearly first thing: The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. Did not, will not, cannot, because he is Lord of heaven and earth. May we all carry with us his peace and light, come what may, and may we keep singing.

My life flows on in endless song,
above earth’s lamentation.
I catch the sweet, though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation.

No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since Love is lord of heav’n and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

2hrough all the tumult and the strife,
I hear that music ringing.
It finds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

What though my joys and comforts die,
I know my Savior liveth.
What though the darkness gather round?
Songs in the night he giveth.

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
a fountain ever springing!
All things are mine since I am his!
How can I keep from singing? 

--R.W. Lowry

One of my music friends at church has played an instrumental version of Enya's Pilgrim at services; I liked the music, so we decided to collaborate, and I wrote new words for the music.

Most recently, we performed it for the prelude of our (currently virtual) church service, trading recordings back and forth to combine her keyboarding and our vocals.

These are my notes to go along with it:


Pilgrim, as you wander, what are you searching for?
What answers are you seeking upon the distant shore?
You wonder, is God listening, and does he hear your prayer?
And sometimes you wonder if he is even there...

We are all like pilgrims, looking for the light--
We journey on together, and hope we're doing right.   
But while we've been seeking, God's been there all along;
And if we would just listen, we'd hear his loving song

If we could live in love, and with the Spirit's fire,
We would find all that we desire...

Pilgrim, cease your wandering; there's nothing you must find;
Endless are your journeys, but they're all in your mind.
You'll come to discover, for all the paths you've trod:
He has already found you; you're never lost to God.


.................

I thought the title could be rather fitting for our church, so I decided to see if I could create new words for the music to make it more of a church song.

There are so many ways one could take a theme of pilgrimage... this one happened to work out in this way, the idea of searching for God even though we don't actually need to go anywhere to do so.  I think it's probably easy to believe we need to make some sort of effort to find him, when in reality he hasn't gone anywhere.  Being in his presence is so much easier than we think it is; we don't need to do anything to "earn" it, or his love.  Really, all we need to do is show up... right where we are.  Where we are, he is.  The last line of the song bears repeating: He has already found you; you're never lost to God.

Our pilgrim in the song— us— is uncertain about where and how to find God, about whether he is out there, looking high and low and far and near... when in truth if we just hold still and listen, we will see he's always been there waiting.

This is a good message for now, when so many of us are cut off from each other or indeed other people at all.  During Holy Week, I saw so many people who were broken up or distressed about not being able to attend church.  Part of me wondered if some of them were afraid to meet God alone... and some maybe didn't know they could.  It's true that Jesus said that "where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them" (Matt. 18:20).  But, I've never believed that means he is present only when we are in groups; exactly ten chapters later, he reminds the disciples, "And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age." (Matt. 28:20) 

A pastor I know posted an article on Facebook a while back about whether closing churches during the pandemic shows a lack of faith.  This was my reply to his post: I might argue that the closing of a church IS an act of faith.  Faith that God is here, everywhere, with us, even though we're not in church (it's not the only place to find him.  It's just *a* place we chose to consecrete.  Yet every place can be sacred if we choose for it to be).  Faith that church will still be there when we come back.  Faith that we'll all be together again.  Lack of faith would actually be fearing to close those doors, because we don't believe they'll ever open again.


We're apart right now, unable to gather in one space for worship.  That won't last forever.  Even if it did, we would be no more distant from God than we have ever been.  He doesn't keep to only one place.  My God isn't that limited.  He is in every place and in every thing, with every person.  We don't need to search for him— he's already there.  And we can worship him anywhere and everywhere we find him.  And we can do it by ourselves, yet together with everyone across the world, in every time zone, raising all of our voices in prayer and praise.  And we can do it by being his light in the world, bringing his love to others... even if we do it behind masks from six feet away, or through the phone, or over the computer screen.

We may be apart from church, but we're not apart from God.

God is not in church.  God is in us.