Sunday Morning Singing


Sunday morning singing after six days of work:
Holy, Holy, Holy; What a Friend We Have in Jesus;
We stand and chorus words we only halfway comprehend
with folks we may or may not know, admire, or ignore.

Side by side with them singing His Mercy is More 
Praying some believe it and receive it with us.
All of us half-finished, trusting A Mighty Fortress,
in practice for the days we live outside these doors.

Monday's back to work: six days of deadlines late,
of vexing correspondence and forms that give headache.
Six days of headlines that make our blood run cold.
Murder on the subway. Order unrestored. 

Come Sunday morning singing after six days of grief.
O God Our Help in Ages Past are you the God of now?
Will this Blessed Assurance accept a psalm of doubt?
We'll ride upon the faith of those who sing far louder.

Into another week we go, this one is sheer delight:
projects done, a bonus check and birthday celebrations,
Bible reading before bed for six days straight 
and the discipline to exercise, petition, and give thanks.

Come Sunday morning, we sit up front and sing loud
hoping our volume credits our God's contribution.
Or was it our own doing? Great Are You Lord
Our neighbor refrains, Yet Not I But Christ in Me.

Back to Monday. Six days shake us upside down.
Illness follows words unkind we wish we could unsay.
We binge watch seedy shows. Our faces from God turned.
Accusing, blaming, shaming mind and passions all awry. 

Come Sunday morning singing, we hide in the back,
head bowed, heart contrite. Amazing Grace they sing.
We mouth the words in silence as members' melody ministers
to us that Jesus Paid It All and Great is Thy Faithfulness.

We practice speaking gospel to each other each week
like Bedouins in the desert passing 'round the water pail
for songs quench parched souls where speech and deeds cannot
by dousing God's rhythms into our protesting hearts.

There is no magic in rhymes or melodies per se, 
but in the repetition, and our obedience to sing
I Surrender All, Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing,
God tunes our hearts to sing aloud the other six days.


Comments

Hiromi Takahashi said…
I"m so happy to get to read your poem here, Abby! It resonates with my heart this morning, when my daily Psalm reading routine brought me to Psalm 47, in which the psalmist says, "Sing praises" five times!! What a perfect timing! It's so clear that God wants me to take a break from all the last-minute packing for the US and SING PRAISES to Him! Yay! Thanks for sharing this poem, Abby. See you soon and sing praises together at Granada!! Love - Hiromi