Call to Worship: Mourning>Singing


Too many days of late
the Psalms have ceased to sing.
It’s a dead poetic,
lofty verses hurled
up at YAWEH, plucked
from the muck and mire.

The harp unstrung,
the lyre snapped.
The words are tasteless
paste, ashes in my mouth.
How am I to worship
when every song tastes sour,
vinegar on my parched lips?
There is a stone in my throat
that cannot be rolled away.
All is tomb and silence.

It is then, in the emptiness,
I hear the soft singing
that is not my own.
Beneath the pulse and echo
in my head, under the mangled clang
of my heart is the constant thrum
I’ve drowned out,
the love-language of three-in-one
voices chanting, groaning,
reciting, singing, bringing life
out of the Nothing.

It is then I know:
The Song is always sung;
it is I who became deaf
to what was being rung
in my heart: the bell
that rings victory,
rings peace, rings a love vow
never broken.

Imago Dei, our songs are broken, our lips silent, the bells of our hearts are clamorous.

But the Song is ever-sung for us, so that we may learn to sing it back. From many tongues of faint praise, we return the Love we are given as one uneven yet certain voice, singing out a Song we could never have conceived on our own.

Imago Dei—image of God—let us sing today the cantus Dei—the song of God. Let us praise the Three-in-One with our many voices and clanging hearts; let us, this morning, make a joyful noise unto the LORD.

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