I have always thought that the gospel accounts that point to the identity of Jesus as Christ, God’s anointed person, God with us, lay down three markers. As Jesus comes with the crowds of people to the River Jordan, to identify with them in Baptism by John, he is saying by his action that he is son of a man, human like us. In unison with this the writers gospel record God’s words, this is my Son, my beloved. Finally, Resurrection and Ascension confirm all that has gone before. Midway in the whole narrative of Jesus life, between these other events, is placed an account of the Transfiguration. Jesus has gone up a mountain with some of his disciples. Matthew 17: 2 says, ‘he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white’. This hymn starts at this point:
1 Much brighter than a thousand suns,
the source of life, eternal grace;
light of the cosmos and this world
now shining from a saviour's face.
Upon the mountain's towering height
they saw transfiguration's light.
2 This man, this Jesus, they had known,
who called them once by Galilee,
now stood upon the mountaintop,
he seemed exalted, shining, free.
Disciples caught in stark surprise
had shielded dazzled, blinded eyes.
3 Free of the bonds of human life
and distanced by some greater power,
a strange yet mystic harmony
joined earth and heaven in this hour.
It seemed that God was very near,
inspiring awe, dispelling fear.
4 The height of love, the depth of grace,
the dazzling birth of something new,
a supernova magnified,
a stunning, startling, shining view,
for God affirmed Christ's human worth
illuminating all the earth.
Andrew E Pratt (born 1948)
Words © 2012 Stainer & Bell Ltd, London, England copyright@stainer.co.uk . Please include any reproduction for local church use on your CCL Licence returns. All wider and any commercial use requires prior application to Stainer & Bell Ltd
Metre: 8 8 8 8 8 8
Tunes: ABINGDON; SAGINA
An old hymn, that many may know: ‘Stay, Master, stay upon this heavenly hill’, concludes the event, for the story goes on and after this height of exaltation as we return to what was normal. A message for us all perhaps…
No, saith the Lord, the hour is past, we go;
Our home, our life, our duties lie below.
While here we kneel upon the mount of prayer,
The plough lies waiting in the furrow there.
Here we sought God that we might know his will;
There we must do it, serve him, seek him still.
(Samuel Greg, 1804-1876)
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Sheep may safely graze
Sheep may safely graze – beside the Mere Andrew Pratt
A hymn for this time…Ukraine, Russia, NATO, the world…and its people…
As we move towards Shrove Tuesday, Ash Wednesday and Lent, a moment to pause. By the time you read this the tension in Ukraine may have eased or increased. Let this be a moment to remember that our faith has a worldwide perspective as we share words written in Poland while listening to a lecture by Joachim Waloszek on Polish hymns. 1 The words we sing are wrung from broken hearts, are formed within the soil of time and place, are rooted in our history and this time, yet ring with changeless mystery and grace. 2 Our treasure is the very grace of God, the pearl that we would lose our lives to hold, this gift we guard with frail yet gentle hands, to share among God's people young or old. 3 We sing with others met along the way who speak our language or another tongue, who walk beside us on the road to heaven, who stumble, fly or fall till life is won. 4 The words we sing now whisper sighs of joy, transcending all we fear within this place, they ring with endless, everlasting hope, they celebrate the freedom of God's grace. Andrew Pratt (born 1948) Words © 2009 Stainer & Bell Ltd, London, England copyright@stainer.co.uk . Please include any reproduction for local church use on your CCL Licence returns. All wider and any commercial use requires prior application to Stainer & Bell Ltd
Rich and poor – So sad that this poem is still pertinent after 174 years?
"How little can the rich man know Of what the poor man feels, When Want, like some dark dæmon foe, Nearer and nearer steals! He never tramp'd the weary round, A stroke of work to gain, And sicken'd at the dreaded sound Telling him 'twas in vain. Foot-sore, heart-sore, he never came Back through the winter's wind, To a dark cellar, there no flame, No light, no food, to find. He never saw his darlings lie Shivering, the flags their bed; He never heard that maddening cry, 'Daddy, a bit of bread!'" William Gaskell (in Elizabeth Gaskell’s Mary Barton, 1848)
Beatitude hymn – In places where there is no church
The Beatitudes are enigmatic – blessings for those who seem least blessed (Luke 6: 17 – 26). I’ve often thought that part of our calling as Christians is to embody and enable those blessings by our love in action. Jesus shows us how. This hymn was inspired by this theme
1 In places where there is no church,
where hope is hard to find,
we touch the hands made rough by life
to seek a common mind.
We go where others would not go,
perhaps would fear to tread,
to go beyond our walls and ways
wherever we are led.
2 Where commerce rules we ply our trade,
our currency is grace,
and all we have to offer is
God's love to fill this place.
In prisons where we sit with those
whom justice has condemned,
we seek to mirror Jesus' love
that fear might have an end.
3 And while a person lives in pain
a quiet voice can say,
this time will pass, love holds you still,
we'll see another day.
In searing heat or arctic cold
where lives are ripped and torn,
or where a family waits in fear
we share another dawn.
4 And is it arrogant to say
we look with Jesus' eyes?
We seek to see his face in all,
to hear him in their sighs.
And so our calling is to serve,
to go where Christ has led,
go out, go all, go to the world,
God's people must be fed.
Andrew E Pratt (born 1948)
Words © 2015 Stainer & Bell Ltd, London, England copyright@stainer.co.uk . Please include any reproduction for local church use on your CCL Licence returns. All wider and any commercial use requires prior application to Stainer & Bell Ltd
Metre: CMD
Tune: WORKING FOR CHRIST (by Camilla Cederholm who I met in Finland – see More than hymns, No.70)
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