Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is Calling.
Softly and Tenderly, Jesus is Calling. I am working on an arrangement of that song for a class I am taking from Berklee’s online School of Music. I like arranging music. It’s a lot of fun. I especially like to take old hymns that I grew up with, those beautiful melodies and stunning lyrics, and update them to a more modern setting so that a new group of young church goers can experience the theology and the beauty of those old hymns.
I think, most young people today are turned off by big organ sounds on old style hymns. “Boooorrrrrrinnnng”, I can picture them saying with a perfectly timed eye roll. They are probably right. And we need to accept that and deal with it. Unless we want them to leave and find something that feels more relevant. And leave they will. I left. I walked away from the church for a long time. The cracks in the system started in late high school and church became less and less relevant to me, until when I graduated from college and moved out on my own, I finally had a whole bunch of other things to do that were fun and interesting (though not all together good for me) and I only went to church when I was home – and couldn’t get out of it – and on Christmas Eve (because it got me in the mood for what had become a mostly secular experience).
I’m not going to lie to you (after all this is supposed to be spirit in truth). I had a lot of fun. I had some hard times and paid for some of that fun, but a lifestyle of: single, young, independent, with a sense of adventure and a lack of rules (besides the ones I decided to adopt because they fit me) seemed to work pretty well a lot of the time.
I studied eastern religions (Taoism, Zen, Hinduism). I partied. I traveled almost every weekend to go have fun somewhere with someone. I moved what seemed like twice a year. I was free, free falling. Not like last week’s free falling, the letting go of false pretenses and artificial constructs that hold us apart from God, but free falling like spinning wildly and without purpose.
I was free, but I was falling. I didn’t know it. I really only noticed the free part. But somewhere inside was a small emptiness that wouldn’t go away. A longing. A small, but gnawing hunger. Somewhere inside of me there was a feeling that I needed something more. So I searched and I tried. I experimented. I partied. But the searching and the hunger never really went away. I went down some good roads and some bad ones. On some of the roads, at times, it would feel like I was on a path to filling the emptiness. But always, eventually, the road would narrow to a small path and then dead end and the hunger would be all the more apparent. All the while, though, I knew there was something more -- somewhere. I just couldn’t find it.
I am on the right path, now, but I am still traveling, still on the journey. This path narrows and climbs. Sometimes it dips and rolls, but I can see where it is going. I realize more and more that to get to the end, I have to keep shedding more of me: more preconceptions, more disconnections, more opinions. The road is too steep to carry much with you, especially the baggage of what I am and what I think of other people. But it feels like the road home. Yea, sometimes I have to sit down and rest. Sometimes I veer off the path, but up ahead there is a sound, a voice that guides me gently back.
Some places there are others walking with me, some places I am alone, but moving always, I am. There are also tricky bends in the road, where people with good intentions but bad advice try to pull me off onto another path that looks like it is headed to the same place. But it’s not. Those are bad roads. It’s getting easier to recognize them, though. They usually start with words like: “You can’t.”, “You’re not.”, “We don’t.” and there isn’t much joy in the eyes or in the voices that call you off on to those paths.
But whatever comes my way, despite what gets in my way (especially my own selfishness and pride) there is a sound like a beacon off in the distance. And today, I think I know what it is.
Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling. Calling for you and for me. Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling. Ye who are weary, come home.
I think, most young people today are turned off by big organ sounds on old style hymns. “Boooorrrrrrinnnng”, I can picture them saying with a perfectly timed eye roll. They are probably right. And we need to accept that and deal with it. Unless we want them to leave and find something that feels more relevant. And leave they will. I left. I walked away from the church for a long time. The cracks in the system started in late high school and church became less and less relevant to me, until when I graduated from college and moved out on my own, I finally had a whole bunch of other things to do that were fun and interesting (though not all together good for me) and I only went to church when I was home – and couldn’t get out of it – and on Christmas Eve (because it got me in the mood for what had become a mostly secular experience).
I’m not going to lie to you (after all this is supposed to be spirit in truth). I had a lot of fun. I had some hard times and paid for some of that fun, but a lifestyle of: single, young, independent, with a sense of adventure and a lack of rules (besides the ones I decided to adopt because they fit me) seemed to work pretty well a lot of the time.
I studied eastern religions (Taoism, Zen, Hinduism). I partied. I traveled almost every weekend to go have fun somewhere with someone. I moved what seemed like twice a year. I was free, free falling. Not like last week’s free falling, the letting go of false pretenses and artificial constructs that hold us apart from God, but free falling like spinning wildly and without purpose.
I was free, but I was falling. I didn’t know it. I really only noticed the free part. But somewhere inside was a small emptiness that wouldn’t go away. A longing. A small, but gnawing hunger. Somewhere inside of me there was a feeling that I needed something more. So I searched and I tried. I experimented. I partied. But the searching and the hunger never really went away. I went down some good roads and some bad ones. On some of the roads, at times, it would feel like I was on a path to filling the emptiness. But always, eventually, the road would narrow to a small path and then dead end and the hunger would be all the more apparent. All the while, though, I knew there was something more -- somewhere. I just couldn’t find it.
I am on the right path, now, but I am still traveling, still on the journey. This path narrows and climbs. Sometimes it dips and rolls, but I can see where it is going. I realize more and more that to get to the end, I have to keep shedding more of me: more preconceptions, more disconnections, more opinions. The road is too steep to carry much with you, especially the baggage of what I am and what I think of other people. But it feels like the road home. Yea, sometimes I have to sit down and rest. Sometimes I veer off the path, but up ahead there is a sound, a voice that guides me gently back.
Some places there are others walking with me, some places I am alone, but moving always, I am. There are also tricky bends in the road, where people with good intentions but bad advice try to pull me off onto another path that looks like it is headed to the same place. But it’s not. Those are bad roads. It’s getting easier to recognize them, though. They usually start with words like: “You can’t.”, “You’re not.”, “We don’t.” and there isn’t much joy in the eyes or in the voices that call you off on to those paths.
But whatever comes my way, despite what gets in my way (especially my own selfishness and pride) there is a sound like a beacon off in the distance. And today, I think I know what it is.
Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling. Calling for you and for me. Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling. Ye who are weary, come home.
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” Matthew 11:8-29
posted by MickyMcB | 12:16 PM
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