Less Like Scars

by Sara Groves

It's been a hard year
But I'm climbing out of the rubble
These lessons are hard
Healing changes are subtle

But every day it's
Less like tearing, more like building
Less like captive, more like willing
Less like breakdown, more like surrender
Less like haunting, more like remember

And I feel you here
And you're picking up the pieces
Forever faithful
It seemed out of my hands, a bad situation
But you are able
And in your hands the pain and hurt
Look less like scars and more like character

Less like a prison, more like my room
It's less like a casket, more like a womb
Less like dying, more like transcending
Less like fear, less like an ending

Just a little while ago
I couldn't feel the power or the hope
I couldn't cope, I couldn't feel a thing
Just a little while back
I was desperate, broken, laid out
Hoping you would come

And I need you
And I want you here
And I feel you

And I know you're here
And you're picking up the pieces
Forever faithful
It seemed out of my hands, a bad situation
But you are able
And in your hands the pain and hurt
Look less like scars
And more like character

Ein deutsches Requiem

Excerpts from Holy Scripture
Compiled by Johannes Brahams

I.
Selig sind, die da Leid tragen,
denn sie sollen getröstet werden.

Die mit Tränen säen,
werden mit Freuden ernten.
Sie gehen hin und weinen
und tragen edlen Samen,
und kommen mit Freuden
und bringen ihre Garben.

II.
Denn alles Fleisch, es ist wie Gras
und alle Herrlichkeit des Menschen
wie des Grases Blumen.
Das Gras ist verdorret
und die Blume abgefallen.

So seid nun geduldig, liebe Brüder,
bis auf die Zukunft des Herrn.
Siehe, ein Ackermann wartet
auf die köstliche Frucht der Erde
und ist geduldig darüber,
bis er empfahe den Morgenregen und Abendregen.
So seid geduldig.

Aber des Herren Wort bleibet in Ewigkeit.

Die Erlöseten des Herrn werden wiederkommen,
und gen Zion kommen mit Jauchzen;
Freude, ewige Freude,
wird über ihrem Haupte sein;
Freude und Wonne werden sie ergreifen,
und Schmerz und Seufzen wird weg müssen.

III.
Herr, lehre doch mich,
daß ein Ende mit mir haben muß.
und mein Leben ein Ziel hat,
und ich davon muß.
Siehe, meine Tage sind
einer Hand breit vor Dir,
und mein Leben ist wie nichts vor Dir.

Ach wie gar nichts sind alle Menschen,
die doch so sicher leben.
Sie gehen daher wie ein Schemen
und machen ihnen viel vergebliche Unruhe;
sie sammeln und wissen nicht,
wer es kriegen wird.
Nun Herr, wes soll ich mich trösten?

Ich hoffe auf Dich.

Der Gerechten Seelen sind in Gottes Hand
und keine Qual rühret sie an.

IV.
Wie lieblich sind Deine Wohnungen,
Herr Zebaoth!
Meine Seele verlanget und sehnet sich
nach den Vorhöfen des Herrn;
Mein Leib und Seele freuen sich
in dem lebendigen Gott.
Wohl denen, die in Deinem Hause wohnen,
die loben Dich immerdar.

V.
Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit;
aber ich will euch wiedersehen,
und euer Herz soll sich freuen,
und eure Freude soll niemand von euch nehmen.

Ich will euch trösten,
wie einen seine Mutter tröstet.

Sehet mich an: Ich habe eine kleine Zeit
Mühe und Arbeit gehabt
und habe großen Trost gefunden.

VI.
Denn wir haben hie keine bleibende Statt,
sondern die zukünftige suchen wir.

Siehe, ich sage Euch ein Geheimnis:
Wir werden nicht alle entschlafen,
wir werden aber alle verwandelt werden;
und dasselbige plötzlich in einem Augenblick,
zu der Zeit der letzten Posaune.

Denn es wird die Posaune schallen
und die Toten werden auferstehen unverweslich;
und wir werden verwandelt werden.
Dann wird erfüllet werden das Wort,
das geschrieben steht.
Der Tod ist verschlungen in den Sieg.
Tod, wo ist dein Stachel?
Hölle, wo ist dein Sieg?

Herr, Du bist würdig
zu nehmen Preis und Ehre und Kraft,
denn Du hast alle Dinge erschaffen,
und durch Deinen Willen haben sie das Wesen
und sind geschaffen.

VII.
Selig sind die Toten,
die in dem Herrn sterben,
von nun an.
Ja, der Geist spricht,
daß sie ruhen von ihrer Arbeit;
denn ihre Werke folgen ihnen nach.

In Christ Alone

by Stuart Townend

In Christ alone my hope is found;
He is my light, my strength, my song;
This cornerstone, this solid ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My comforter, my all in all—
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones he came to save.
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied;
For ev'ry sin on him was laid—
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground his body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain;
Then bursting forth in glorious day,
Up from the grave he rose again!
And as he stands in victory,
Sin's curse has lost its grip on me;
For I am his and he is mine—
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death—
This is the pow'r of Christ in me;
From life's first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.
No pow'r of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from his hand;
Till he returns or calls me home—
Here in the pow'r of Christ I'll stand.

P2 Vatican Blues

by George Harrison

Gazed at the ceiling from below
A splendid Michelangelo
Filled my heart with delight
Last Saturday night

Arrived believing from home
Climbed every step inside St. Peter's Dome
Claustrophobic and ex-Catholic
Last Saturday night

Now how come nobody really noticed
Puff of white smoke knocked me out?
The truth is hiding, lurking, banking
Things I do at night

It's quite suspicious to say the least
Even mentioned it to my local priest
One 'Our Father', three 'Hail Mary's
Each Saturday Night

I wish somebody would tell me
That it's only a show
I'll confess, own up, let's face it
In my concrete tuxedo

It's quite suspicious to say the least
While mentioning it to my priest
One 'Our Father', three 'Hail Mary's
Each Saturday night

Epilogue from On Fairy-Stories

by J.R.R. Tolkien

The Gospels contain a fairy-story, or a story of a larger kind which embraces all the essence of fairy-stories. They contain many marvels—peculiarly artistic, beautiful, and moving: 'mythical' in their perfect, self-contained significance; and among the marvels is the greatest and most complete conceivable eucatastrophe. But this story has entered History and the primary world; the desire and aspiration of sub-creation has been raised to the fulfillment of Creation. The Birth of Christ is the eucatastrophe of Man's history. The Resurrection is the eucatastrophe of the story of the Incarnation. This story begins and ends in joy. It has pre-eminently the 'inner consistency of reality.' There is no tale ever told that men would rather find was true, and none which so many sceptical men have accepted as true on its own merits. For the Art of it has the supremely convincing tone of Primary Art, that is, of Creation. To reject it leads either to sadness or to wrath.

It is not difficult to imagine the peculiar excitement and joy that one would feel, if any specially beautiful fairy-story were found to be 'primarily' true, its narrative to be history, without thereby necessarily losing the mythical or allegorical significance that it had possessed. It is not difficult, for one is not called upon to try and conceive anything of a quality unknown. The joy would have exactly the same quality, if not the same degree, as the joy which the 'turn' in a fairy-story gives: such joy has the very taste of primary truth. (Otherwise its name would not be joy.) It looks forward (or backward: the direction in this regard is unimportant) to the Great Eucatastrophe. The Christian joy, the Gloria, is of the same kind; but it is preeminently (infinitely, if our capacity were not finite) high and joyous. But this story is supreme; and it is true. Art has been verified. God is the Lord, of angels, and of men—and of elves. Legend and History have met and fused.

But in God's kingdom the presence of the greatest does not depress the small. Redeemed Man is still man. Story, fantasy, still go on, and should go on. The Evangelium has not abrogated legends; it has hallowed them, especially the 'happy ending.' The Christian has still to work, with mind as well as body, to suffer, hope, and die; but he may now perceive that all his bents and faculties have a purpose, which can be redeemed. So great is the bounty with which he has been treated that he may now, perhaps, fairly dare to guess that in Fantasy he may actually assist in the effoliation and multiple enrichment of creation. All tales may come true; and yet, at the last, redeemed, they may be as like and as unlike the forms that we give them as Man, finally redeemed, will be like and unlike the fallen that we know.

The Right Must Win

by Frederick William Faber

Oh, it is hard to work for God,
  To rise and take his part
Upon this battle-field of earth,
  And not sometimes lose heart!

He hides himself so wondrously,
  As though there were no God;
He is least seen when all the powers
  Of ill are most abroad.

Or he deserts us at the hour
  The fight is all but lost;
And seems to leave us to ourselves
  Just when we need him most.

Ill masters good; good seems to change
  To ill with greatest ease;
And, worst of all, the good with good
  Is at cross-purposes.

Ah! God is other than we think;
  His ways are far above,
Far beyond reason's height, and reach'd
  Only by childlike love.

Workman of God! Oh, lose not heart,
  But learn what God is like;
And in the darkest battle-field
  Thou shalt know where to strike.

Thrice bless'd is he to whom is given
  The instinct that can tell
That God is on the field when he
  Is most invisible.

Bless'd, too, is he who can divine
  Where real right doth lie,
And dares to take the side that seems
  Wrong to man's blindfold eye.

For right is right, since God is God;
  And right the day must win;
To doubt would be disloyalty,
  To falter would be sin.

Take to the World

by Aaron Tate

Go in peace
To love and to serve
Let your ears ring long
With what you have heard

And may the bread on your tongue
Leave a trail of crumbs
To lead the hungry back
To the place that you are from

And take to the world this love, hope, and faith
Take to the world this rare, relentless grace
And like the three-in-one
Know you must become
What you want to save
'Cause that's still the way
He takes to the world

Go and go far
Take light deep in the dark
Believe what's true
He uses all, even you

I Repent

by Derek Webb

I repent of my pursuit of America's dream
I repent of living like I deserve anything
Of my house, my fence, my kids, my wife
In our suburb where we're safe and white
I am wrong, and of these things I repent

I repent of parading my liberty
I repent of paying for what I get for free
For the way I believe that I am living right
By trading sins for others that are easier to hide
I am wrong, and of these things I repent

I repent of judging by a law
That even I can't keep
Of wearing righteousness like a disguise
To see through the planks in my own eyes

I repent of trading truth for false unity
I repent of confusing peace and idolatry
By caring more of what they think than what I know of what we need
By domesticating you until you look just like me
I am wrong, and of these things I repent

T-Shirts (What We Should Be Known For)

by Derek Webb

They'll know us by the T-shirts that we wear
They'll know us by the way we point and stare
At anyone whose sin looks worse than ours
Who cannot hide the scars
Of this curse that we all bear

They'll know us by our picket lines and signs
They'll know us by the pride we hide behind
Like anyone on earth is living right
And that isn't why Jesus died
Not to make us think we're right

When love, love, love
Is what we should be known for
Love, love, love
It's the how, and it's the why
We live and breathe and we die

They'll know us by reasons we divide
And how we can't seem to unify
Because we've gotta sing songs a certain style
Or we'll walk right down that aisle
And just leave them all behind

They'll know us by the billboards that we make
Just turning God's words to cheap clichés
Says, 'What part of murder don't you understand?'
But we hate our fellow man
And point a finger at his grave

They'll know us by the T-shirts that we wear
They'll know us by the way we point and stare
Telling them their sins are worse than ours
Thinking we can hide our scars
Beneath these T-shirts that we wear