It Was the Singing


There is a poem by Ian Crichton Smith


It neither was the words nor yet the tune

Any tune would have done and any words.

Any listener at all.

As nightingales in rocks or a child crooning

in its own world of strange awakening

or larks for no reason but themselves.

So on the bus through late November running

by yellow lights tormented, darkness falling,

the two girls sang for miles and miles together

and it wasn’t the words or the tune. It was the singing.

It was the human sweetness in that yellow,

the unpredicted voices of our kind.

Source: Scottish Poem Book

May you find yourself, this day, together with another – singing.

Singing with raucous voice released by darkness and adventure and the courage that comes with company,

In the human sweetness, with the unpredicted voices of shared struggle and shared hope.



Where God Lives



A Morning Prayer-


To the God worthy of our praise, we pray:


Some of us worship in cathedrals and chapels; some in stadiums and store fronts

so that the songs of the ages wrap around us; the prayers of the saints encourage.

Young man reading small Bible

There are those among us who worship alone.

A holy book lies open but is not being read.

It is reading us.  Page by page it is opening us.


Others worship under stars or skies of blue;

they find the God who gives life where creation thrives and sings and calls;

Where rivers run in a race with the wind; and the earth is full of chatter

like children laughing in a park.


We know You are with us. 



You are with us now.




Though we worship differently,

today we are in one place, a people who honor You in many ways,

You are the God who inhabits the praises of your people.

Every kind of praise.

As Jesus walked among us, seeing the crowds, his heart was ruptured by their need.

And so he made blind eyes see and ears to hear and legs to walk again.

And by this we learned that if God comes near, ever present, leaning in to hear the resounding praise,

then God sees us; sees the crowd.

And has compassion on us.


And maybe that is all that is needed:

To praise the God worthy of our praise.

To trust that when God comes near, Holy Love will flow

like a river running from the broken heart of the One who loves us best.

And we, too, will be made whole.

May it be so.