Thought's Captive, part three

Becoming Thought's Captor

Lady Macbeth - Elisabeth Ney
image via popartmachine.com  

Macbeth:  How does your patient, doctor?


Doctor:  Not so sick, my lord, as she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, that keep her from her rest.

Macbeth:  Cure [her] of that. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, raze out the written troubles of the brain, cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff which weighs upon the heart?

Doctor:  Therein the patient must minister to himself.

But Lady Macbeth could not, or perhaps would not minister to herself.  For in order to be healed it would be necessary for her to face the terror of the fanged serpent within.  She would have to admit her guilt and face the shame and consequences her actions deserved. Finding herself trapped between two intolerables, she went mad.  Refusing to contemplate her wicked acts while awake, she suffered the somnambulant madness of a conscience at war with her monster-self.  

Shakespeare's clairvoyance of human nature has kept his work alive and relevant through the ages, but this is only so because human nature has not changed. His tragedies reveal to us the furthest ends to which unrestrained evil will go, and the toll it takes on sinner and victim alike.  So, for the sake of the tragedy, Shakespeare did not offer his characters redemption, or when he did, he deepened the tragedy by not permitting them to accept it.  

"Try what repentance can. What can it not?

Yet what can it, when one cannot repent? 

O wretched state! O bosom black as death!

O limed soul, that struggling to be free 

Art more engag'd!  Help, angels!  Make assay, 

Bow, stubborn knees, and heart, with strings of steel, 

Be soft as sinews of the new born babe!  

All may be well.....

"My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:

Words without thoughts never to heaven go."

Claudius, King of Denmark, Hamlet

My thanks fly to highest heaven that Shakespeare is not the author of my life, because mine is not a tale of tragedy or comedy (though it contains plenty of both).  Mine is a story of redemption and peace.  Though I was no Lady Macbeth, I lived with my own dark character, deeds, and fears and had my own shame and consequences to avoid.  But perhaps even more daunting than those was the embarrassing lack of desire to be the kind of person I knew I should be.  Why should I do good when others do not? Why should I forgive others when they don't forgive me, or when they refuse to change or even be sorry?  Why should I deny myself the pleasures of  my undisciplined ways?  Why should I commit myself to the hard, hard work and oft-denied pleasures that are part and parcel of a virtuous life?

Hence came the temptation from within and the encouragement from others to medicate my condition.

For a time the sin nature's hissing would be quieted.  I was always, on some level, aware that it lived there still, but as it more silently went about its business, its ways of undermining my life and peace only became more secretive.  That subtle creature remained my captor. Taking the medication away did not set me free from my depression.  I did not expect it to.  Pain, you see, has its purpose.  It's an alarm to alert us that something is wrong.  It is not meant to be ignored.  I knew when I gave it up that living unmedicated would be a challenge, but hoped that the arduous ordeal of  grief and withdrawal, once survived, would make any depression I suffered later seem insignificant.  It didn't.

Dark, bitter, and hopeless ways of thinking had spent many years making their home with me.  Our relationship was both passionate and abusive.  As in an abusive marriage, the patterns of life we'd settled into together were intricately woven.  My thoughts, on the one hand, charmed me.  They loved me and would defend me ferociously.  They would take my side against others, make excuses for me, absolve me of guilt, and soothe my self-image.  They would encourage me to build cases against people who'd hurt or offended me, or people whose excellence made me feel inferior.  They would judge them to find them lacking.  Sometimes they would goad me into acting against them in subtle or not-so-subtle ways, trying to make them feel sorry for me, or to lay guilt on them for their behaviors.  Once things had gone too far in this direction, they would take the other hand, team up with my troubled conscience and turn on me, telling me how everybody hates me and will never forgive me (even God....even though they should forgive me because they're no better than me...see how fickle the thoughts are!), how I'm a monster who should never have been born, and how I'd be better off dead.

Though this deceptive cycle characterized of years of my life, I was none the wiser. I continued to fall for it.  When my head is clear, I can see that it is little different than the relationship I had with alcohol. I would welcome, nurture, and trust in it until it turned on me, which eventually and inevitably it would.  I was no match for the forces that were destroying me.  I was truly my thoughts' captive.

But the day I first trusted Christ, a new life truly was born in this worn out old body of mine. This life was characterized by an all-consuming love for Christ and desire to be like Him.  For the first time I saw Him and His words, even His commands as beautiful and right.  This had never happened before.  This new life in me cried out to be lived, wanting to be fed, and like a new mother with her first baby, I had to learn, listen, and respond appropriately to these new cries, letting them pull me out of the deep ruts of a life devoted to myself.  I had to put off that old "body of death", that clung so tightly and felt heavy enough to drag me back to darkness.  Like the apostle I would find myself crying, "Who will deliver me?" and I would find my answer in the words, "Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!"  

This excruciating struggle which continues to this day as the life of God in me grows and finds itself at war with my lingering old self is what the Scripture refers as "spiritual warfare."  

"For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ..."  2 Cor. 10: 3-5

"and take... the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." Eph. 6:17

Our minds are the spiritual battleground.  Our thoughts are the weapons which either defend or destroy us. The intent of the enemy is to steal, to kill, and to destroy.  Christ came to give us abundant life (John 10: 9-11).  According to the Scripture, my part in this battle is to take a captive the very thought life that once made a prisoner of me.  The only way to win the battle is to take responsibility for my thoughts and make them obedient to Christ. In order to do so, it is essential that I set my mind on the things of Christ.

"Those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit.  For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God's law indeed, it cannot.  Those who are in the flesh cannot please God."  Romans 8:5-8

A mind set on the Spirit means a mind deeply rooted in the Scriptures, which are God's words given to us  by the Holy Spirit through his apostles and prophets. In His words we will find all we need. In them God reveals Himself to us. Through them that we can know Him and learn of His great power and His promises to us.  And through this knowledge the unimaginable takes place - we become partakers of the divine nature:

"His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence, by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire." 2 Peter 1:3-4

And all this transformation occurs not through magic, or osmosis. It is not an automatic result of exposure to Scripture - though God's Word is essential. It is the product of a mind determined to be changed by the knowledge of God.  Spiritual worship, the Scripture tells us, is a very practical and intentional matter:

"I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.  Do not be conformed to this world,  but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." Romans 12:1-2

I would say that the first step for the Christian struggling with battles of the mind is to become devoted to knowing God through the Scriptures and to believing what you learn of Him there.  This will become the heart of your transformation.  The first step for a non-Christian is to trust Jesus Christ, as He is presented in the Scriptures, and find peace with God through Him.  This peace with God, made available to us through the loving sacrifice of Christ, is the purpose of redemption and it is the fountain of all peace.

In my next posts I will discuss some of the nuts and bolts that have helped me survive various battles for my mind.  My prayer is that in whatever place you find yourself in your struggles, you will find some encouragement and some more weapons for your fight.

Thought's Captive, part two

(You may read Part One in this series here.)

During those first tragic and glorious October days in 2004, my devastated heart, overwhelmed by grief, finally trusted Christ and embraced hope.  At first, in some ways, my hope was misdirected.  I thought that because I trusted Him, He would erase the tragedy, undo all the pain, and make everything just like it was before, only better.  It would take some time before I would understand that hoping in Him did not mean things would turn out the way I wished they would, and more time still before I learned that hoping in Him will, eventually, change the things I wish for.

In the meantime, hope was the tiny candle I huddled against in the vast, gaping cavern of grief.  Upon learning the first details of the loss I'd suffered, my stomach heaved and I began to wretch.  It would be a week before I could keep down food, much longer before I would feel hunger again.  For the first time in my life I found I couldn't sleep, or if I did, I would awake at the same dark hour of the morning at which I had first woken to learn of my great loss and get up to drive aimlessly through the dusk-lit streets of our town. Another week or so left me looking so thin and haggard that a friend urged me to get to the doctor.  I did.  He sent me home with more medication: an antibiotic cocktail to rid me of H-Pylori, and Klonapin (which I was told would help me sleep).  The grief and the antibiotic regimen made such a mess of me that in three months I lost 30 lbs. and looked like an anorexic.

Through this dark time, as I grew weaker and weaker, my faith in Christ grew stronger. Blaming alcohol in large part for my troubles, I'd given up drinking that very first October day.  But I found that my appetite for food had also dried up.  The only hunger I had left was a desperate craving for God's Word.  I spent hours a day reading Scriptures and examining the first 40 years of my life in the light of them. Body fasting, heart filling, I was unwittingly preparing for the challenge that lay at the next fork in my road.

In December, three months into this new life, a friend from bygone days contacted me. Our friendship had crumbled years before under the weight of his drug addiction, but he had since gotten into recovery and had been clean for a few years.  He'd heard of my troubles and wanted know if there was any way he could help.  As a new Christian, I wanted to tell him - an unbeliever - about how I'd gotten saved and how great it was to trust in Christ.  I don't recall how the subject of depression came up, or how he found out that I had been taking anti-depressants.  What I do remember was feeling my credibility as a follower of Christ crumbling in his eyes.

He told me many things I didn't really want to hear.  I was shocked and hurt, but I heard him out because he spoke with the voice of experience, and with the genuine concern of a friend. As a recovering drug addict, he'd spent several years in programs with many other recovering substance abusers. Many of these people, as you might imagine, wind up taking anti-depressants.  He related story after story of friends who, after taking one such psychoactive drug for a while would be switched to another, and then another, and another still, as each once either failed or else ceased to be effective.  Often these people ended up dependent upon a veritable cocktail of prescribed medications which were not all that effective, which they were unable to function without, and which they were unable to give up due to the hazards withdrawal presented to their fragile mental states.  In short, what he'd seen were addicts becoming...well...addicts.  He urged me to get off of the anti-depressants as quickly as possible.

Shaken, I assured him I would think about what he said.  I hung up and sat there, stunned. I had expected to tell him all about what God had done in my life - how, in spite of my grief, I was so much better than I had ever been.  But here was this man who didn't share my faith in Christ worried sick about the path I was taking. He did not see me as a Christian whose life was being radically transformed by faith, but as a person who needed to  be rescued from the road to addiction. As far as he was concerned, I was worse off than when he knew me years before.  If what he was telling me about anti-depressants was true, not only was I traveling the same old chemical-dependence road I thought I had left behind, but I was also putting the lie to my testimony of the power and sufficiency of Christ.

Troubled, I prayed for wisdom and went to the internet to see if there was any truth to what he had said.  I was sobered by what I found: first by how many of the users of these medications, even those who were happy with them, were also taking this, that, or the other pill to address their sundry psychiatric needs; second, and most disturbingly, by what I learned about the specific anti-depressant I had been prescribed.  Apparently it was about as bad as an anti-depressant can be when it comes to discontinuation. At that time I could not find a single account of a person who had successfully discontinued its use.  This is not to say that no such people existed, only that in my poking around I could not find one.  It was distressing to find so much failure everywhere I looked.  Still, I really shouldn't have been so surprised.  I'd experienced on more than one occasion the terrifying emotional melt-down that inevitably followed the second missed dose. Though the drug produced none of the highs or cravings associated with drug addiction, coming off of it felt like hell.

I learned that discontinuation of the medication would require months of gradual reduction in dosage, with each reduction renewing the dreadful symptoms of withdrawal.  This whole process would have to be overseen by a physician.  I tried to imagine going through this for a year or more and was terrified. I tried to imagine getting my doctor to go along with such a program and realized that would likely be impossible.  What had I gotten myself into?

The thing is, I knew then what I had always known, whether I was willing to admit it to myself or not - that  my depression was a matter of my soul, rooted in my mind and thought life. My experience with cognitive therapy had proven to me that my depression could be reversed, at least temporarily, by changing my thoughts.  Though my therapy had reached a dead end, the exercise was valuable for having pointed me to the source of my disorder.  I knew that my depression was the symptom of a deeper problem, but I was tired of trying and failing to overcome it. I just wanted the pain to go away.  The anti-depressants didn't cure me or even take away the pain.  I was still depressed, but they took the edge off, and that seemed better than nothing.

Until I received that phone call from my friend.

I had wanted to tell him about Christ, about how He had carried me through three months of unimaginable grief, during which time I had not turned once to alcohol for comfort, about how He had been my comforter. I'd hoped my friend would see God's love and power at work in my life and put his hope in Christ too. But I realized that my dependence on anti-depressants had invalidated my testimony in his eyes.  I realized that if I wanted anyone else to believe in God's power and love and faithfulness, I must believe in it myself and that my belief must prove itself in every aspect of my life. 

Did I really believe that God could be trusted with my deepest emotional pain, with my anger, and with my fears?  Could I count on Him to bring me safely through all of life's dangers, disappointments, and losses?  I pulled up my life and inspected it and became even more convinced that God had been there providing for me every step of the way, even when I didn't trust Him, even when I was certain He was out to destroy me, and that it was my failure to trust Him and recognize His loving care that had been the source of so much of my sin, pain, and depression in the first place. If only I would have trusted in Him years before my life would have been so, so different.   

My friend's counsel, my internet research, my honest self-examination, my reflection on God's steadfast love and kindness, when combined with my earnest prayers hardened into that determined resolve known as faith. I was convinced that it was essential that I trust God with my emotional pain and all my fears, and that the time had come for me to do it. Yes, I could trust Him, and I would. 

Gripped by faith, I embarked on a course that I would never recommend to another person, but one that I will never, ever regret.  I went against all medical advice and gave up my depression and "sleeping" pills cold turkey.  I knew my doctor would not understand or support me in my decision, and I knew time was of the essence. I was unemployed and would need to find work before long. I knew I would not be able to work while going through withdrawals.  I did not have a year to spend "coming down".  I told my then teenage children what I was doing, and why, what they might expect regarding my behavior, and what to do if things started going sideways. Then I began a months-long trek through what felt like the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  

The withdrawals began, predictably, on the third day. My mind felt disconnected, as if I'd taken a whole bottle of cold medication, a terrifying feeling which lasted for several months.  I had both manic and depressive episodes, and insomnia the likes of which I'd never experienced before or since.  As the weeks crept by, I began to wonder if my mind would ever be normal again.  After all, how can a chemically altered brain know how to right itself?  But I was determined to trust God no matter what.  In the meantime, I devoted myself to the Scriptures, to prayer, to taking my crazy self to church whenever the doors were open, and to walking my dog (because I thought the exercise might help my brain re-wire itself).  I forced myself to begin doing the things I had neglected doing because of my depression and alcohol abuse: cleaning the house, cooking meals, working on little household projects.  

The days and weeks inched slowly into the past, more slowly than I could have imagined possible, but my faith in Christ grew.  Eventually, almost imperceptibly, sanity began seeping in.  In time I would be blinking the eyes of my soul as I began to awake from a strange, dark, disconnected nightmare, which also happened to be my real life. I would look back on those dark months and remember that through it all I had been guided, carried even, by the gentle hand of God.  I'd been the prisoner of my dark and sinful thoughts and the chemicals I used to numb myself to the pain of my captivity,  My escape had been harrowing. Looking back, just over my shoulder loomed the towering gates of the prison I had just escaped.  I had emerged from the darkness still clinging to the hand of the Savior who had rescued me, and in the brightness of freedom I was filled with hope. So long as I had Christ I had all I needed to face this life and its heartaches. 

I would love to be able to say, that I left that dark prison far behind and that life ever since has been a sunshiny day.  But the truth is the darkness stalks me.  It was the ruler of my life for forty years and will not give me up without a fight.  Previously, I had tried to fight this spiritual battle with weapons of the flesh -  drugs, alcohol, and worldly wisdom - but now I knew my methods would have to change:

"For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ..."  2 Cor. 10: 3-5

Until Christ set me free, my thoughts were my cruel captors. Now, in order to remain free, I must capture them, make them my captives, and teach them to obey Christ.  This very practical process will be the subject of my next posts.

Thought's Captive, part one

A dozen or so years ago I was diagnosed with depression. Out of respect for those with whom I was closely involved at the time, I will spare the details.  Suffice it to say that I realized that some of my critical life-decisions had been dreadful mistakes.  Some of them were very foolish; some were very sinful; some were made by others, but whichever the case, my life was never going to be what I had dreamed it might be.  When the diagnosis came, I had very recently made a huge life-change that I hoped would finally bring me happiness, stability, and security.  Instead, it became quickly evident that it had only made things worse and there was no turning back.  With my last hope dead, I began to wish myself dead.

Some days were better than others.  Sometimes there would be small things to look forward to, to keep me going. Sometimes I could function as if everything was okay.  Sometimes  there were fun plans, or fun purchases. But when things would get difficult again the deeper disappointment and hopelessness was always there, lurking just below my consciousness, waiting, whispering, beckoning me toward despair.  My happiness, like the crust of the earth over its heated mantle, floated thinly over the surface of the great pressurized, seething mass of my discontent.  The slightest crack could lead to an eruption.  I would explode in anger, sometimes inwardly, sometimes outwardly, often both; but in any case once the temper subsided I was left feeling like a failure, or a monster, often both. Again my thoughts would turn to suicide.  (I have to admit that were it not for the rumors of eternal hell, I would likely not be alive today.)

By this time anti-depressants had become wildly popular. Everybody had heard of Prozac and the people I knew who took it sang its praises.  I was miserable and making those closest to me miserable as well. Weary of living in the shadow of my dark cloud, they encouraged me to go to a doctor and get medicated.  By that time I was so desperate  for any glimmer of happiness and emotional stability that I would accept it even in the form of a pill. I went to the doctor.  He handed me a questionnaire, one page, double-spaced as I recall.  Easy, a dozen questions or less.  I went home with a prescription for Paxil, the latest, greatest thing at the time.  It made me feel foggy at first, but after a time that passed.

Along with the pills, I was also given a referral to a counselor.

I think my counselor was a good one, so far as that sort of thing goes.  She was calm and understanding. Her recommendations were always reasonable and sensible and never involved anything my then nominal Christianity would have labeled "New Age".  My treatment plan was to begin with me working through a book called Feeling Good: The New Mood Therapy, by David D. Burns, M.D.  Eager to taste happiness, I dove headlong into the homework and just as the book description on Amazon says, I was amazed to experience the results of "the remarkable, scientifically proven techniques that will immediately lift your spirits and help you develop a positive outlook on life."  I felt like I had been given new life and was seeing the whole world through new eyes.  This lasted for several happy months.

According to the National Association of Cognitive-Behavioral Therapists' website:

"Cognitive-behavioral therapy is based on the idea that our thoughts cause our feelings and behaviors, not external things, like people, situations, and events.  The benefit of this  fact is that we can change the way we think to feel/act better even if the situation does not change...

Simply put: Cognitive behavioral therapy taught me to re-think things, and this re-thinking really did work.  For a time, I was able to look at the behaviors of the people around me differently, with more understanding and patience.  For a while I wasn't angry.  For a time I could love people and be patient with them in the way I had always wished I could.  But only for a time.

The problem I found, at least with the particular program I was using, was that it eventually became clear to me that many of the ways it was telling me to look at things were simply not true.  For instance, one of the tricks was to alter the way you think of another person's behavior by reminding yourself that they are doing the best they can - just like you are.  There was a lot of mental energy expended in making excuses for other people's bad behavior.  It worked well for a while, but eventually the evidence piled up and I just couldn't buy it any more.  In truth there was a lot of truly unkind, unloving, and insensitive behavior going on around me for which there was no good excuse, and for which no apologies were ever made.  The truth was, nobody was trying their best, and, so far as I saw it at the time, I was the only one trying at all.  I lost faith in the program, because, though it was well-meaning and based on some premises I still believe to be solid, once I became aware that I was telling myself lies, I could no longer believe them. Bitterness began to set in and the hopelessness settled into despair.  Therapy failed.

Only the pills remained.  I had a new doctor by this time, and he switched me to a new pill - Effexor.  It would be some years before I would learn the hard way that this is a drug from which some can never turn back: 

"For many people Effexor XR has the absolute worst discontinuation syndrome of an antidepressant. Effexor (venlafaxine hydrochloride) is a medication people utterly loathe to have taken. It is not uncommon for someone to fire doctors during or immediately after they quit taking Effexor XR(venlafaxine hydrochloride)." - Crazy Meds

Which is exactly what happened to me.  I should never have been given a medication without being informed of the devastating side-effects of giving it up, or that missing just one or two doses (like when you forget to call your refill in before the weekend) is enough to trigger the terrifying symptoms, or that giving it up in the manner recommended would require the doctor's willingness, cooperation, and assistance - and many months of misery.  But I've gotten ahead of myself.

As I said, only the pills remained, and they were no cure. What they succeeded in doing was to rub the edges off my feelings, but this they did indiscriminately.  For every hard, angry, dark, or despairing emotion they dulled, they also dulled a joyous or pleasurable one.  My soul was quenched and life became little more than existence.  I upped the ante of my behaviors in an effort to feel alive.  My reading material became more sensational and graphic; my talk-radio became more shocking; my alcohol intake increased.  I smoked like a chimney. These behaviors had become my life-line, but they were destroying me.

And this was the condition in which Christ found me, on the first morning of October, 2004, the day I suffered a devastating personal loss.  Sitting in my smoking chair in the back yard alone, desperate for an ally, I bowed my head to pray to God.  Eyes closed, I saw an image of a human heart, blackened, rotting and crawling with maggots. It was my heart, and this is what sin had done to it. My life flashed before my eyes and I realized that all the while I had been blaming God for the pain in my life, He had been caring for me, even answering my prayers. The pain in my life, I realized, was not a result of His vengeance.  Some of it was the fault of others, but much of it was a result of my own sin.  All of a sudden I knew it: God is good and He loves me.  I began to seek Him, hoping for a new heart in exchange for the rotted one, and a new life.  In a few months my faith and hope in Him would lead me to tackle my depression head-on.

In my next post I will write about that experience seven years ago, and the ongoing fight to maintain my hold on the peace, hope, and joy I have found in Christ.

(You may read Part Two of this series here.)

Why Do You Call Him Lord?

This morning I awoke without the usual midweek pressure of needing to get up and get ready for work. Remembering that I had the day off, I was able to relax and sink into my prayers with a more leisurely attitude. I thought, "I should ask the Lord what to do with this rare, unstructured day," or words to that effect.  And so I began, "Lord, how would You have me use this day?"

The first word of my prayer echoed in my head. "Lord....lord".  What an odd word.  In this "land of the free and home of the brave" there are no lords.  We are a nation born of rebellion - spawned by the rejection of outside authority.  We, The People, have the authority.  We are created equal, and so doff our hats to no man. Do we even know what we are saying when we address Christ as "Lord"?  What do I mean?

This is a challenging thought and one which Christ Himself implores me to consider: “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and not do what I tell you?" His implication is clear - if I call Him "Lord" and yet do not obey His words I am a hypocrite, fooling myself that I am actually His disciple. In the parable that follows He paints the picture of a man building his house on a foundation of sand, a house doomed to destruction. The apostle James echoes the words of Christ:

"But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing." James 1:22-25

So often, I've read the words of Christ as good suggestions.  I've chosen the ones that suit me and left others aside for possible review at a more convenient time, or worse, I've listened and enjoyed them all then closed my Bible and gone about my day in the usual way - unchanged - thinking to myself that the act of reading the Scripture will bring about my transformation - as if by magic.  But this is not what Jesus taught.  

"Everyone who comes to me and hears my words and does them, I will show you what he is like: he is like a man building a house, who dug deep and laid the foundation on the rock. And when a flood arose, the stream broke against that house and could not shake it, because it had been well built." Luke 6:47-48 (emphasis mine)

As the old Sunday school song taught us, "The wise man builds his house upon the rock!"  The wise man understands authority, and, believing the Scriptures which proclaim Christ to be "Lord of lords", pays close attention and does what He tells him to do. Certainly Christ is the "rock of our salvation", the foundation of our faith, but the only way to build a life on that rock is through a faith so alert, that it seeks to obey His every word. This is the foundation of the Christian life.  

No other foundation will support it.

"And by this we know that we have come to know him, if we keep his commandments. Whoever says “I know him” but does not keep his commandments is a liar, and the truth is not in him, but whoever keeps his word, in him truly the love of God is perfected. By this we may know that we are in him: whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked." 1 John 2: 3-6

It does not matter how loudly we proclaim our faith, how much we know about the Bible, or how high and fine our doctrinal statements are if we are not doing the words of Christ and His apostles.  It matters little how much we know about Jesus and His teachings, or how much time we spend reading the Scriptures if we are not living as they tell us to.  I've heard it said that the devil doesn't mind what we do so long as He can keep us from the Scriptures.  I agree, to a point, but want to take it a step farther: the devil doesn't mind us hearing the word of God nearly so much as he does us obeying it.  

Americanism says that we are the masters of our own destiny. We can pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps, stand on our own feet, and accomplish whatever we dream. We, for the most part, so long as we are not caught breaking any laws (laws, by the way, which we play a role in enacting or repealing), answer to no one.  We have rights on which no one has the right to tread. We have employers (hopefully), but no masters. We have advisers, but no commanders. Our lives are rich with options, opportunities, and every freedom necessary to pursue them. Beyond death and taxes, we have few mandates...and we resent even those.  By and large we are free to say and do as we please, answering to no one.

I was born an American.  I was re-born a Christian, a citizen of an entirely different kind of country, with an entirely different form of government.  The words of Christ call on me constantly to decide between Americanism and Christianity - between independence and submission to the authority of Christ. I am not the supreme authority in my life; I have a Lord to whom I am accountable. If this Christian life of mine is not built on obedience to His authority, it is no better than a house of cards.

2011 has, for me, turned into a year spent inspecting my foundation and rebuilding my spiritual house, of learning what it means to have a Lord -someone whose will is my command, whose words are not empty, who I am accountable to for all I think and do. It has been a time of making His priorities mine, and His kingdom my own. I suppose I could call it The Year of Taking Christ Seriously. May God grant that this New Year, and every year to follow be even more worthy of that title.

"Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it." Mt. 7:24-27

I forgave you a long time ago...

"I forgave you a long time ago..."

I pray that I never forget those words as long as I live.  They were a gift spoken by a friend I had hurt, unintentionally, by my words many months before.  It had taken me some time to recognize the offense I had caused, some more time to accept that she had a reason to feel offended, some more time to stop building arguments in my defense, and some more time still before love won out and I worked up the courage to seek forgiveness.  I dreaded her rejection.  I feared this treasured relationship would be lost forever.

But instead of the rejection I feared, she gave me this gift. She not only forgave me, she loved me, and continued on as though the whole episode was barely worth mention, nothing but a little bump on the road to the continued sweet fellowship and mutual encouragement we had always shared.  There are many things I may before have considered to be marks of true godliness, but I none can hold a candle to this:


"I forgave you a long time ago..."

The fear of being unforgiven looms large in my life. It is at the root of all the depression and fear I've ever experienced.  I've lived much of my life in the sometimes-paralyzing dread that I will offend, and with the ultimate dread that I won't be forgiven when I do.  Experience has given me good reason for this fear.  I never set out to be offensive.  On the contrary, I try my best to be kind.  But no matter how hard I try to do right by my friends, I still manage to sin against them and cause them pain.  I've proven myself very good at offending, and though at times I've pleaded with tears, have had forgiveness withheld and relationships lost.

As a result, over the decades I developed ways of coping with this fear - ungodly ways.  One of the first instincts of my mind is to get busy building a case against the one who feels offended, and a case in defense of myself.  It is easy to make excuses for myself - I'm naturally inclined to be on my side. It is easy to blame my friend for taking offense when none was intended.  It is always easy to divert blame, because we are all sinners. Since that ancient day when mankind fell, there has been as much blame to go around as there has been sin.  As a fallen woman I've certainly spread my share of both sin and blame,   but I've found that none of my blame-shifting can keep me from shuddering when I am reminded of the words of Christ: 

"...if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." Mt. 6:14-15

God's rejection is the deepest of all my fears; His forgiveness is my deepest need.  My heart's greatest desire and hope for joy is to be loved and accepted by Him.  This gets to the heart of why I finally became a Christian, and now that I am, I find in myself this impossible yearning to be like Christ, to be loved by Him and to love like He does.  But I also find that this soft and still-growing heart He has given me is at loggerheads with the survival instincts of my old, cold, defensive, hardhearted, and unforgiving self.

As I take this struggle to prayer, His Holy Spirit reminds me of the words of Scripture:

"For You, Lord, are good, and ready to forgive,
And abundant in lovingkindness to all who call upon You." Ps. 86:5

"Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you." Eph. 4:32

 "I forgave you a long time ago..."

God forgave me in Christ long, long ago....long before I had ever sinned...long before I even considered repenting...long before I was even born.  God's forgiveness is in Christ ready and waiting for me. 

"...as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive." Col. 3:13b

And just how has the Lord forgiven me?  I sinned against Him in countless ways.  He absorbed my many offenses along with all the hurt and insult of them - the ones I've repented of, and all the rest: the ones I don't even remember, or recognize, or realize I've committed - and carried them to the cross, where they died with Him.  All this He did to open the door of reconciliation with God, and there He stands waiting, even calling to me to come to Him...


"I forgave you a long time ago..."

So much like Christ, my friend had forgiveness ready and waiting for me when I came looking for it!  In bold living strokes she painted for me a portrait of God's love, more powerful than sin, tenderly welcoming the sinner who comes sorrowfully to Him.  My friend gave me love; she gave me forgiveness; she gave me hope, she gave me the Gospel.

She held open for me the door of reconciliation. No realization has ever has such a profound effect on me.  God wants us to forgive others as He forgives us.  Only when we do, can we truly get at the heart of what it means, really means, to be a Christian.

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.  All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." 2 Cor. 5:17-21

God is not counting our trespasses against us! He is holding open the door for reconciliation, and He is calling us to do the same.  This is the person God is calling me to be. This is God's will for my life.  By His grace I want nothing more than for now and evermore to be ready and eager to forgive, to admit when I've offended and be quick to apologize; to build no more cases and no more defenses; to rehearse no more wrongs and to hold no more grudges; to let nothing in my heart stand in the way of forgiveness; to put no stumbling block in the way of God's grace; to allow no root of bitterness to spring up; to forgive in advance those who cannot or will not forgive me; to be ready for relationship if ever they are; and to always share and never, ever, lose the freedom, joy, and peace with God that the gift of forgiveness has given me.

May I always be ready to say from the depth of my heart, "I forgave you a long time ago."

A Song of Thanksgiving

Enter his gates with thanksgiving,
   and his courts with praise!
   Give thanks to him; bless his name!

  For the LORD is good;
   his steadfast love endures forever,
   and his faithfulness to all generations.

Ps. 100:4-5

Melancholy, my friend

I don't think I will or should ever like it, but I'm learning to be thankful for my depressions. It is for me as C.S. Lewis so famously put it in The Problem of Pain,  "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world."
 
When I look back I see many times during my years as a Christian when a deep depression has led to a renewal of faith in my heart. Jesus Christ is the source of whatever peace and joy I am capable of, so when I drift away from Him these begin to slip away, along with my hope for the future.  I slip into despair.  The pain grows louder. Eventually none of my usual distractions can drown it out, and in desperation I remember Christ and cry to Him for rescue.

Through my sorrow He gently guides me back to His word and His promises, and through them (along with much prayer) renews my faith and restores my hope in His goodness and my future with Him. I'm so thankful to Him that He won't let me wander happily away.  I'm learning and praying to be sensitive to the first wispy dark clouds, to recognize that trouble is brewing, and instead of looking for various ways to take the edge off the pain to run quickly to Him for solace.  He is the only help that is genuine, the only help that gets to the heart of the problem, the only comfort that is strong enough, and the only hope that is eternal.

Before I was afflicted I went astray,
   but now I keep your word.

You are good and do good;

    teach me your statutes.

It is good for me that I was afflicted,
   that I might learn your statutes.

The law of your mouth is better to me
   than thousands of gold and silver pieces.

Psalm 119: 67-68,71-72

I never thought, or really ever wanted, to echo David's words, "It is good for me that I was afflicted."  But today those were the very words I found pouring out of my heart.  I'm thankful that God uses my afflictions for my good and that, in Christ, even melancholy has purpose.  My new hope and prayer is that I will learn once and for all to keep clinging to Him even when I begin to feel better, to remember I'm still in desperate need even when I feel just fine, to never stop looking to Him as my source of life, joy, peace, hope, purpose, and blessing.

"Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD,
    whose trust is the LORD.
He is like a tree planted by water,
   that sends out its roots by the stream,
and does not fear when heat comes,
   for its leaves remain green,
and is not anxious in the year of drought,
   for it does not cease to bear fruit."

Jeremiah 17:7-8

Translation Tidbits

This Saturday past I posted a little article about translating hymns, so imagine my surprise at lunchtime today when NPR's Talk of the Nation aired an interview with the author of Is That a Fish in Your Ear? Translation and the Meaning of Everything.  A fascinating discussion! I bet you can guess what just got added to my Christmas wish list.  If you're curious, you can listen to the segment or read a transcript here. 

Also related to my last post, a friend of mine informed me in the comments that Bach had composed a cantata of Ein Feste Burg ist unser Gott (A Mighty Fortress is Our God/Our God He Is a Castle Strong).  I went straight to find a recording of it.  I thought this one was very lovely:






Finally, I thought you might enjoy hearing Ein Feste Burg sung in German.  I certainly did!

Our God He Is a Castle Strong: on translations of hymns, among other things

"Our God He Is a Castle Strong"

Our God he is a castle strong,

A good mail-coat and weapon;

He sets us free from ev'ry wrong

That wickedness would heap on.

The old knavish foe 
He means earnest now;

force and cunning sly
His horrid policy,

On earth there's nothing like him.*

Perhaps you recognized this first stanza from a very famous hymn.  Or perhaps, like me, you didn't.  I happened upon it one evening as I was searching through our copy of Luther's Works: Liturgy and Hymns checking to see if a certain hymn I like happened to have been written by Martin Luther. It did not, but while I had the book open I noticed that it provided commentary on each of the hymns.  Excited, I decided to look up my Lutheran favorite: A Mighty Fortress is Our God.  It was nowhere to be found.  I knew that was impossible, so I kept looking until the light-bulb came on.... A "mighty fortress".... a "castle strong"...

A mighty fortress is our God,

a bulwark never failing;

our helper he amid the flood

of mortal ills prevailing.

For still our ancient foe
doth seek to work us woe;

his craft and power are great,
and armed with cruel hate, 

on earth is not his equal.

Comparing all the verses carefully, it gradually became clear that I was indeed looking at the same song.  And so I became very curious as to why a modern (1965) collection of Luther's works and hymns would have selected such an obscure and, well, clunky translation.  So I began to investigate. 

The popular translation, A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, I learned, was rendered by the Unitarian minister, Transcendentalist, and teacher of German literature, Frederick Hedge.   As happens, though, all of the hymns in my volume were translated by a near contemporary of Hedge's, George MacDonald (yes that George MacDonald).  Thankfully, the collection's editor, Ulrich S. Leupold, explained his choice:

"Unfortunately little of the original ruggedness of Luther's poetic style survived in the translations of his hymns that have found their way into modern English and American hymnals.  With the mighty resurgence of English hymnody during the nineteenth century, many poets tried their hand at rendering Luther's verse into English.  But most of them took considerable liberties with the originals.  Frequently they changed irregular verse forms into more accepted meters.  Usually they aimed at a more polished and elegant style than was really justified in view of Luther's angularity.  They tried to make him speak in the mellifluent accents of a Victorian churchman, with the result that both the literal sense and the original style often were lost.

"...In this edition faithfulness to the original wording, style, and meter seemed more important than a completely idiomatic English rendition.  Perhaps the most felicitous attempt to translate Luther's hymns without loss of their original ruggedness was made by the Scottish theologian and writer George MacDonald (1824-1905).  MacDonald's translation, used in this edition, has been completely passed by in common use, presumably because he consciously, and often successfully, tried to express Luther's robust lines in an English idiom of similar character.  Obviously he took for a pattern the older English verse.  He sought to preserve the vivid metaphors, metrical irregularity, and folk-song quality of Luther's hymns.  He imitated Luther's preference for monosyllables by using mostly Anglo-Saxon words. Due to the prevalence of feminine rimes in German poetry and their scarcity in English with its lack of suffixes, many hymn translations from the German suffer from a tedious repetition of rimes on "-ation." such as creation, salvation, foundation, and justification.  These words tend to make the English style more academic and pompous than the German.  MacDonald almost completely avoided them." **

Additionally, referring specifically to Our God He Is a Castle Strong, Leupold adds:

 "He did not write it to express his own feelings, but to interpret and apply the 46th Psalm to the church of his own time and its struggles...."

Suddenly I found I'd gained profound respect for that clunky rendition!  Now I read it fondly, and yet, truth be told, I don't think I would like singing it. Which led me to begin puzzling, "What are the characteristics of good translation?"  After much consideration, I'll say, "It depends on what you mean by "good".  

In undertaking the translation of a document, whether it be a hymn, a work of literature, or even the Scriptures, any serious translator begins with a set of principles by which he or she operates, and a set of priorities and goals for what he or she is hoping to accomplish. In short - a philosophy.  Whether this philosophy is carefully delineated, or merely intuited, it is there like a conscience, guiding decisions, providing a sense of direction.  It, along with the skill of the translator, determines the nature of the finished product, not only whether it is "good" or "bad" but how those terms are defined.  It will also dictate what, as is almost inevitable, will get lost in translation. 

A Mighty Fortress is Our God, our case in point, is considered an excellant translation according to one philosophy, and yet is found lacking by another.  One standard values its poetic beauty, rich language, and melodic flow.  Another appreciates these qualities and is yet disappointed that some of Luther's original attitude, style, simplicity, and scriptural parallels were sacrificed on the altar of euphoniousness.  The fact that we find A Mighty Fortress is our God and not Our God He Is a Castle Strong in most of today's hymnals testifies to a certain set of values which prevail in modern hymnody.  This is not, I would argue, a necessarily bad thing. Hymns, after all, are meant to be sung.  It would be a greater loss, in my opinion, to produce an awkward translation - one that is difficult to sing or understand - and see it lost to history or fade into obscurity simply because nobody liked to sing it, than to produce a lovely one but without a bit of its original oomph.

I think MacDonald's translation stands beautifully as poetry, and provides a priceless glimpse into the heart and soul of Luther - that rough-hewn tool forged by God to hammer a message of reform into the doors of the medieval church.  In this sense I and the editor of Luther's Works, Vol. 53, wholeheartedly affirm it is a good translation. I am glad it exists and delighted that I own a copy of it.

A good translation, I think most would agree, captures not only words but feeling.  If the original is  gentle, or harsh, or graceful, or boisterous, that should not be lost.  If  it is clumsy but full of heart, then it would be best to preserve that special charm. If it is intended to be educational factual, specific, and precise, then it is best rendered so. Imagery, allegory, and metaphor should be clung to for dear life. 

So then, translation is both a skill and an art, which is guided by a philosophy which may differ from person to person based upon a number of factors, one of which is the nature of the work being translated.  A hymn, we've seen, may be translated in different ways based upon various priorities, and the same is true for just about any other written work.  It is true for literature, which can be rendered sublime or soporific by translation. Perhaps most significantly, it is true of the Holy Bible.  One might think the belief that the scriptures are the inspired Word of God would simplify matters, but in fact it only complicates them, as the hundreds of translations and versions currently available in English will testify.

The background and goals of the translator are also considerations.  Leupold, for instance, compiled his edition with an eye toward students of the works of Luther whose limited abilities in German and/or Latin would prevent them from reading his work in the languages in which they were written.  Since his focus was on Luther, the man and his message, it makes perfect sense that selected the MacDonald translations.  The editors of the Trinity Hymnal, on the other hand, were looking to edify the church at large.  In order to accomplish this, the hymns they chose had to be not only meaningful, but  embraced.  Similarly a translator cannot help but be influenced by his or her own intellectual or spiritual biases, goals, natural tendencies, areas of expertise or enjoyment, etc.  Whether a translator is a musician, a historian, a poet, a theologian,  or a linguist, his translations will undoubtedly be colored by the strokes of his particular art.

So my word of encouragement for today is to take notice of translations.  Remember that for most foreign works there are more than one. Surround yourself with them when you can. Compare them. Appreciate them as art and critique them as well.  When you find a work difficult, there is hope.  Look for another translation!  Learn about the translators of your favorite editions, and your least favorite ones as well. Discern their motivations, passions, and philosophies.  Occasionally this may illuminate some unexpected motivation.  Certainly it will enrich your understanding and appreciation of their work.

* For the piqued curiosity I've included the full text of MacDonald's translation below:

"Our God He Is a Castle Strong"

Our God he is a castle strong,

A good mail-coat and weapon;

He sets us free from ev'ry wrong

That wickedness would heap on.

The old knavish foe 
He means earnest now;

force and cunning sly
His horrid policy,

On earth there's nothing like him.

                                                                                      

Tis all in vain, do what we can,

Our strength is soon dejected.

but He fights for us, the right man,

By God himself elected.

Ask'st thou who is this?

Jesus Christ it is,

Lord of Hosts alone,

And God but him is none,

So he must win the battle.

And did the world with devils swarm,

All gaping to devour us,

We fear not the smallest harm,

Success is yet before us.

This world's prince accurst,

Let him rage his worst,

No hurt brings about;

His doom it is gone out,

One word can overturn him.

The word they shall allow to stand,

Nor any thanks have for it; 

He is with us, at our right hand,

With the gifts of his spirit.

If they take our life,

Wealth, name, child and wife - 

Let everything go:

They have no profit so;

The kingdom ours remaineth.

** Leupold explains at greater length:

"To the modern ear Luther's verses sound awkward, if not uncouth. They lack the rich emotional overtones, the mellow flow of words, and the metric regularity that we commonly associate with poetry.  Some of them sound more like prose than poetry....The hymns of the nineteenth century that form the bulk of today's hymnals were written according to the artistic canons of Romanticism.  They use beautifully polished phrases and dance or march rhythms to create a certain mood and to give an ornate expression to personal religious feelings.  But Luther's hymns were meant not to create a mood, but to convey a message. They were a confession of faith, not of personal feelings.  That is why, in the manner of folk songs, they present their subject vividly and dramatically, but without the benefit of ornate language and other poetic refinements.  They were written not to be read but to be sung by a whole congregation....

"The language and vocabulary are therefore simple and direct.  Like the ancient Hebrew poets he knew so well, Luther used few adjectives and formed brief pungent lines consisting almost exclusively of verbs and nouns. Most of the words are monosyllables.  The thought is condensed and concentrated. Frequently every line forms a sentence of its own....A crowd sings a verse at a time, and so each verse must make sense as a unit.

"Again, our modern hymns are iambic, trochaic, or dactylic, i.e., they observe a regular succession of metrical feet.  The rhythmic structure, i.e., the succession of accented and unaccented syllables, is the same from stanza to stanza and often from verse to verse....But this tramping or tripping of metrical feet was foreign to Luther and was not in fact made a law of poetry until one hundred years later....Luther counted syllables, but the accents vary from line to line....Instead of fitting sentences into the rigid mold of metrical feet, Luther was able to stress certain words irrespective of the tyranny of 'light' and 'heavy' accents....Also in the matter of rime, Luther's hymns are much freer than those of later centuries.  Often there is more of an assonance than a proper rime. On the other hand, there are many alliterations."

On Singing Hymns

"Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God."  Col. 3:16

"And do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery, but be filled with the Spirit, addressing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with your heart..." Eph. 5:18,19

Have you ever noticed the parallel between these separate passages from two of Paul's letters?  Years ago a favorite pastor called it to my attention when I asked what being filled with the Holy Spirit meant, or looked like.  He showed me the connection between the statements, "Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly..." and "...be filled with the Spirit..."  Aha! Paul equates being filled with the Spirit with letting "the word of Christ dwell in you richly".  This is helpful!

More recently my current pastor followed the parallels a bit further. In the Ephesians passage Paul begins by explicitly commanding the church to abandon drunkenness and to instead be filled with the Spirit.  (His use of the imperative tells me that this "being filled" is something we can determine to do,  that being filled with the Spirit is an intensely practical matter and not merely a passive experience.)  He goes on immediately to tell us how to do it: through speaking and singing.  To be filled with the Holy Spirit is to be full of the word of Christ, which comes to us through teaching and admonishment, which come through both the spoken word and music. 

There are a couple of the clear implications here.  The first is that the indwelling of the Spirit of God is not merely an individual matter; it is a corporate one.  The second is that the music we are to sing with and to one another is to be full of God's Word and wisdom.  It's purpose is to teach and admonish us - to fill us with sound doctrine. God intends for music to play a key role in both the education and corporate life of His people.  Music, it would seem, is essential to the building up of God's church.

This is why the greatest and most timeless hymns are full of teaching.  Much like sermons, hymns are often meditations based directly upon a particular passage of Scripture, and sometimes upon the applications of key teachings of Scriptures to our lives.  This makes a hymn a unique gift to the church. It is sermon put to music, but in a way it is better than a sermon.  How many sermons, after all, do you know by heart?  How many can you fall asleep singing and wake up humming? Songs have a way of burrowing permanently into our souls.  What better way to embed the Word of Christ into our hearts?

For this reason, I believe the church should be fighting to maintain and build upon her ancient tradition of hymnody.  The hymns that have stood the test of history tend to be those that fill exactly this purpose.  They teach us, they admonish us, they fill our hearts and minds with wisdom from God and with thanksgiving for Him.  With them we worship Him with our lips.  With them we strengthen His body, the church, educating her, warning her, encouraging her.  All of this glorifies Him. God is not only glorified by sounds coming from our lips.  He is glorified in the true strength and beauty of His church as His Spirit indwells her.

These past several decades, the church in America seems to have lost much of her interest in hymnody.  Following the musical tastes and popular music of the day she has focused nearly exclusively on what I would characterize as "spiritual songs".  While such music also plays a vital role in the church, it should never do so to the exclusion of psalms and hymns. I have two big hopes: one is that the musicians of this and upcoming generations of the church will embrace the church's greatest historical hymns, perhaps creating new and innovative arrangements for some of them; the other is that new hymns will be written - hymns that will continue to build a foundation of faith, that will fill the church with wisdom and the word of Christ so that she may filled with the Holy Spirit of God.

"Oh sing to the LORD a new song,
   for he has done marvelous things!
His right hand and his holy arm
   have worked salvation for him." Ps. 98:1

I'm not a musician, but overwhelmed in contemplating the great doctrine known as the hypostatic union, even I was once moved to attempt words for a hymn.  Perhaps one of you, one more talented than I, will consider doing the same.

So let me leave you with a beautiful modern rendition of one of my favorite hymns.  It is over two hundred years old and rich with scriptural truth - a meditation on the faithfulness of God to uphold His people through the most difficult times.  It is everything a Christian hymn should be, full of reminders of the character of God and the strength He is and gives to all who hope in Him. 

How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,

Is laid for your faith in His excellent word!

What more can He say than to you He hath said—

To you who for refuge to Jesus have fled?

“Fear not, I am with thee, oh, be not dismayed,

For I am thy God, and will still give thee aid;

I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,

Upheld by My gracious, omnipotent hand.

“When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;

For I will be with thee thy trouble to bless,

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

“When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,

My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply;

The flame shall not harm thee; I only design

Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.

“The soul that on Jesus doth lean for repose,

I will not, I will not, desert to his foes;

That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,

I’ll never, no never, no never forsake.”