Songs that Shaped Me: "Make Mea a Channel of Your Peace"

Probably my greatest hero is St. Francis of Assisi.  The son of a welthy merchant, he abandoned his privilege to embrace the underprivileged of society.  He embraced the preople that others believed were the most untouchable, and loved those deemed the most unloveable.  The little friar of Assisi has been called the most Jesus-like of all the Catholic saints.  The famous Prayer of St. Francis (which may have been written by a follower instead of by Frandis himself) illustrates the gentle and humble spirit of the man:

Lord make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

And where there is sadness, joy.

O divine master grant that I may

Not so much seek to be consoled as to console;

To be understood as to understand;

To be loved as to love

For it is in giving that we receive-

And it's in pardoning that we are pardoned.

And it's in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Amen.

This prayer has been a go-to for me when I find myself in emotionally trying times.  I've found it particularly helpful when I've dealt with people who are unloveable or difficult, or those who tend to bring out the worst in my own personality.  Sometimes (gasp!) I can be impatient and self-centered, prone to anger when challenging people knock me off my emotional balance.   When I'm in a situation like this, I'll step aside and quietly pray this prayer.  Or I'll pray it when I know I'm about to deal with a difficult person.  

This prayer is unique because instead of praying FOR peace, it asks the pray-er to BECOME peace, or at least to become an intrument of peace.  It takes the focus off of me and helps me to put the focus on the other person, so that I'm more interested in them than I am in myself.  

In Martin Buber's book I Thou, the Jewish philosopher and theologian talks about treating people as people, rather than treating them as objects like we so often do.  Instead of engaging people in "I-It" relationships, Buber recommends treating people "I-Thou."  To me, the Prayer of St. Francis inspires this kind of interaction.

One of my favorite songs, "Make Me a Channel of Your Peace,"  was written by Sebastien Temple in 1967.  Based on the Prayer of St. Francis, it inspires me to not just hope for peace, or even to work for peae, but to literally become a channel of God's peace.  I offer it to you today, and hope you'll be a channel of peace, too.

Songs that Shaped Me: "The Summons"

So the story goes, no sooner had my parents arrived home from their honeymoon, than the draft notice was on the door.  Dad was going to Vietnam.  When he received his summons, he had to go.  Acccording to History.com, conscription of soldiers goes back thousands of years, and provisions for the draft were made under the Code of Hammurabi, in ancient Babylon.  When you receive the summons, you have to go.

On the first day of seminary, students went around the room, telling the story of their call to ministry.  Most pastors have a "call story," about how they felt that God summoned them into church work.  Some told about being the children or grandchildren of pastors, and how ministry "ran in the family."  Others said that the idea of being a pastor completely blindsided them--that they felt like their were drafted against their will.  However we came to ministry, all of us felt called--summoned by God.  When I went to seminary in 1994, The Summons was still a new song (by church standards, anyway).  Its words made a huge difference in my understanding of calling.  The lyrics seem to come from the heart of Jesus himself. 

As a pastor, I received these words as my charter for ministry.  So much that I made the song a key feature of more than one installation service at churches that I served.  The summons remains--to go where I don't know, to let Christ's love be shown, and to grow in Him.  To leave my self (ego) behind in order to care for both cruel and kind people, to risk the hostile stare for the sake of love.  I received the summons, like my hero St. Francis, to kiss the leper clean--along with everyone who's on the fringe of society for one reason or another.  Since Jesus said to "love your neighbor as yourself," this also means loving who I am.  So self-exploration, self-knowledge, and self-love are important in order to do ministry.  Not a love of ego--but the kind of self-assurance that allows me to reach out to others for their good, even when I risk getting my hand smacked for it.  The summons of Christ calls me to use the faith I've found to reshape the world around.  This is the essence of ministry--to not leave the world the way I found it, but to make it better.  This applied to church ministry, and to the social work that I do today.

This summons is not just for me, or for pastors in general--it's a draft notice for all believers.  You've been chosen, selected especially to be who you are--to show love to a broken world and re-form it by the power of love.  If you're a Christian, I pray that the words of The Summons will resonate in your heart, and become your charter as well.  If you're not a Christian, then you could hear these words from the voice of Love, as if Love were specifcally calling you to follow (because I believe Love does).

 

Will you come and follow me

If I but call your name?

Will you go where you don't know

And never be the same?

Will you let my love be shown,

Will you let my name be known,

Will you let my life be grown

In you and you in me?

Will you leave yourself behind

If I but call your name?

Will you care for cruel and kind

And never be the same?

Will you risk the hostile stare

Should your life attract or scare?

Will you let me answer prayer

In you and you in me?

Will you let the blinded see

If I but call your name?

Will you set the prisoners free

And never be the same?

Will you kiss the leper clean,

And do such as this unseen,

And admit to what I mean

In you and you in me?

Will you love the 'you' you hide

If I but call your name?

Will you quell the fear inside

And never be the same?

Will you use the faith you've found

To reshape the world around,

Through my sight and touch and sound

In you and you in me?

Lord, your summons echoes true

When you but call my name.

Let me turn and follow you

And never be the same.

In your company I'll go

Where your love and footsteps show.

Thus I'll move and live and grow

In you and you in me.

Copyright: 

Words: 1987 WGRG, Iona Community, Glasgow, Scotland, G2 3DH (Admin. by Wild Goose Resource Group), Music: David Peacock - The Jubilate Group (Admin. by Hope Publishing Company)

Songs that Shaped Me - "Who Killed Davey Moore?"

I was pretty young when I realized that I had blood on my hands.  I learned that lesson from listening to Pete Seeger's version of Bob Dylan's song, "Who Killed Davey Moore?"  The song is about an American boxer named Davey Moore, aka "The Little Giant" because he was only five feet, two inches tall.  On March 21, 1963, Moore fought cuban boxer Sugar Ramos.  After losing the bout, he conducted post-fight interviews.  Later that evening, he complained of headaches, passed out, and died four days later.  (Click here to learn more).

You can watch the fight footage, hear the song, and read the lyrics in the following video.  At 2:36, you can see where Moore falls after hitting the base of his skull on the rope.

In Dylan's song, the referee says he's not to blame for Moore's death.  If he'd stopped the fight before its end, the crowd would have booed.  The crowd says it's not their fault--they just came to see a good fight.  The manager denies blame, stating that if Moore was sick, he should have said.  One by one, the gambling man, the sports writer, and Moore's opponent Ramos deny culpability.  Dylan ends the song with the question, "Who killed Davey Moore?  How come he died, and what's the reason for?"  

By ending with a question, Dylan leaves us, the listeners, to ponder the answer.  When we listen closely, we hear the singer's message: Yes, we all killed Davey Moore.  Not one of us is innocent--we all have blood on our hands.  We're part of a system that glorifies violence, and pays a premium to promote people's pain.  The referees among us who might stop the fight, think instead about the disapproval of the bloodthirsty crowd.  Those whose job it is to promote the violence seem to thrive off its proliferation.  The media benefits from sensational stories.  And we the people--we just came to see some sweat.  Yes, we are the crowd. We are the manager.  We are the writer.  We are the opponent.  So when Dylan asks his question, he leaves us to say, "Maybe it's me?"  This song shaped me at a young age, because it made me realize that my hands aren't as clean as I think they are.

When Jesus told his disciples that one of them was going to betray him to death, they asked the same question.  "Lord, is it I?  Maybe it's me--am I the one?"  Instead of pointing fingers to find someone else who's more to blame, they each had the wisdom to ask what part they might have to play in such violence.  Maybe it's time for us to do the same.

In this violent world we're a part of, it's easy to say, "It's not my fault--it must be yours."  We point to unjust lawmakers, crooked cops, biased media, or politicians who try to use conflict to their own advantage.  And maybe they share some of the blame.  But what if we did the harder thing and asked, "Lord, is it I?"  What if, instead of trying to take the splinter out of our brother's eye, we pried the log out of our own eye first?  What if we realized we're all part of a system, a society, that's sick, and that we all have blood on our hands?  What if we all were honest and said, "I killed Davey Moore."  And then what if we had the courage to change--ourselves and the system--so nobody like him would need to die again?

Songs that Shaped Me - "We Shall Overcome"

In times like these, we need a song.  A song to unite those who believe in equity, justice, liberation, and freedom for all people.  But not just any song.  We need a song that unites not only those who labor today, but a song that reminds us that we stand arm in arm with co-laborers from every generation that has spoken out against oppression.  So, the song we need isn't today's song, but one from generations past.

In this series, "Songs that Shaped Me," I'm sharing music that not only made a difference in my life, but songs that might shape you, too.  Let's hear Pete Seeger as he sings:

"We Shall Overcome" is a song for all who are peacefully protesting against police brutality and against systemic racism on all levels.  It is a song for Pride Month, inspiring people to join hands be proud of themselves, their friends, their family members who no longer need to remain in closets in order to be safe.  "We Shall Overcome" is a song for all who hope for a more loving, more welcome, more affirming world.  It's a song that shaped me.  If you're younger, maybe this song is new to you.  If you're older, it might take you back to different times, when we were passionate about equality.  It's a song of peaceful protest, not a song of violence.  It's a song that recognizes history's hurts and today's trouble, and looks forward to the promise of peace.