Songs of Hope
It’s been one month since Rebekah and I returned home from Costa Rica where we facilitated a retreat called “Time of Delight” for local pastors, ministry leaders and global workers. We remain grateful for the opportunity to come alongside those who are giving their best efforts to the never-ending work of ministry in very hard places.
The invitation to rest and receive, if only for a few days, proved to be a renewing and restoring gift for those who participated.
One of my favorite parts of the retreat was witnessing unrestrained joy as expressed through singing songs of hope together. I wish you could’ve been there. Maybe next time?!
That experience took me back to my first trip to Central America, a region that continues to hold a special place in my heart.
While in Guatemala in 2013 for a two-week Intensive with Spring Arbor University, I had two very different experiences of church on the same day.
After several days of intense encounters with the harsh realities of injustice, I was excited to join God’s people in worship on Sunday morning. My spirit was in need of a “release” of praise through song. Whether I knew the songs or not, I sensed a desire in my spirit to sing out words of trust and confidence in a God who sees, hears, knows and deeply loves.
Our professors drove us up and out of the city to what appeared to be a city on a hill called Casa de Dios. I couldn’t believe my eyes! It seemed so out of place, as if we were walking into an extravagant church building in a wealthy suburb of Chicago or Dallas.
One of the songs I recognized and resonated with was a long-time favorite entitled “Here I Am to Worship,” which proclaims that God, in the person of Jesus, humbly came to earth and became poor for the sake of love. It’s very similar to the Apostle Paul’s quotation of an early Christian hymn: “And being found in human form, (Jesus) humbled himself and became obedient to death - even death on a cross.” (Phil. 2.7-8 NRSV)
Christ became poor as he emptied himself of his rights as God. As if that weren’t enough, Christ became poor by allowing himself to be born into obscurity and poverty.
Christ's "downward mobility" hit me head on as I stood among so many people who were daily experiencing darkness, injustice, poverty, and affliction beyond what anyone should ever have to bear. Yet the massive new building where we worshiped - safely nestled in the hills , far removed from the struggle of the city - seemed to contradict everything we had experienced earlier in the week.
It was rather unsettling to stand in such an expensive building and sing about a God who became poor. Even more unsettling, it reminded me of the prevailing melodies of success in the culture I call home.
I wrestled with confusion, even a sense of despair, as we drove down the hills and back into the sprawling inner-city.
After returning to our hotel from Casa de Dios, I took a slow walk through Zone 10 in Guatemala City. Deep in thought, I wandered past another church (see above) where simple melodies were pouring into the street from behind an unassuming facade.
Giving into my curiosity, I crossed the street and entered the building. I tried to casually observe the service from the back, but one of the ushers handed me a bulletin and led me to a seat in the third row. I didn’t have a choice; I was in it for the duration.
The small room was filled with people singing with passion and conviction. It was overwhelming. I wept as they sang these words in Spanish: “Tu eres mi protector / Llenas mi corazon / Con catico de liberacion / De aungustia me libreras / Confiare en Ti.” (You are my hiding place. You always fill my heart with songs of deliverance. Whenever I am afraid I will trust in you.")
I felt gratitude to be among people who have been singing songs of deliverance for a long, long time. As I stood singing with tears streaming down my face, an elderly woman to my right put her hand on my shoulder and started praying for me. Even though I didn't know what she was saying, I sensed God was speaking something my soul needed to receive.
Next she put her hand on my forehead, then my heart. Finally, she grabbed my hand and lifted it up as the congregation exclaimed the chorus of another song of hope - "Alleluia! For the Lord God Almighty Reigns. Worthy is the Lamb. You are Holy."
How can I ever wonder what God is like without remembering God’s hopeful presence that day in Guatemala?
If God’s grace, like water, “flows downhill and pools up in the lowest places,” as Kris Rocke and Joel Van Dyke surmise in Geography of Grace, then I will gladly spend my life singing God’s song of hope from below.
We don’t have to travel long distances to hear the song. It’s being sung today in our communities. “You are my hiding place…whenever I am afraid I will trust in you.”
The hard part isn’t recognizing the melody. It’s choosing to remain in the moment, open to God’s presence and activity. Not to judge, but to bear witness. Not to be the object of hope, but to recognize and receive the hope of the risen Christ - together.
While it’s tempting to remain at a safe distance, we hope in a God who fully embraced and embraces the messiness and the frailty of our human experience. We’re called to enter the story, too. Not with answers and easy fixes, but with beautiful questions: “Where have you been?” “Where are you going?” (Genesis 16 account of Hagar)
I wonder…Can we remain in the tension long enough to hear the answer? To see the God who sees? To proclaim, with Mary Magdalene on Easter morning, “I have seen the Lord”?
Songs of hope are all around. Let’s sing along. Alleluia!