'BEE' THERE

See the bee? (It's on the bottom of
the second blossom clump down)

Oh, the sayings we borrow from the apiarian (bee) world: “busy as a bee,” “buzz-word,” “bee's knees.” “don't worry, bee happy,” “as cute as can bee,” and more. If you're really into this “bee” thing, visit this site: Bee Mottos and Slogans, Quotes and Sayings - Bee Real Honey

But a recent day, working near blueberry bushes where bees were crawling in the plants' blooms, I mused, “Thanks for BEE-ing there, little winged friends.” I knew their hovering over the bushes' tiny white blossoms could mean a crisp, tasty blueberry in a few months. Last year I didn't have many blossoms (and nearly zero berries) so I stirred some concoctions into the soil....and waited. This year the bee battalion came. Check with me the end of the summer to see if these black-and-yellow hovering insects did their magic.

I know I'm not the first human to stop and consider the bee. And probably not the first to pause a moment whenever I encounter “bee” or “honey/nectar” references in the Bible. These amazing insects and their golden, edible product have been around a long time! Probably the best known ”honey verse” comes in the conclusion of Psalm 19:7-10—that all the laws and ways of God are “more precious than gold; they are sweeter than honey, than honey from the comb.” Others:

“How sweet are your promises to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!” (Psalm 119:103)

“Eat honey, my son, for it is good; honey from the comb is sweet to your taste. Know also that wisdom is sweet to your soul.” (Proverbs 24:13-14)

Love-sick King Solomon had a different analogy for his beloved: “Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride; milk and honey are under your tongue” (Song of Songs 4:11). I don't think he was referring to the menu for the wedding reception! Or a flavored lipstick.

Oh yes, strong man Samson also ate honey from a hive he found in a lion's corpse (Judges 14). I'm sorry, but, UGH!

A negative analogy: “The lips of an adulteress drip honey, and her speech is smoother than oil, but in the end she is bitter as gall....” (Proverbs 5:3-4). In other words, “bee” careful (sorry). Flattery that seems sweet can be bitter if it comes from a cloyed heart.

Could Jesus have Jesus enjoyed some raw honey while on His earthly rounds? Why not? No doubt He saw bees swarming around a hive. Though it's not in His recorded words, those bees certainly illustrated one of His final admonitions. Through a parable of a departing landowner giving instructions to his workers, the Lord gave this poignant command: “Occupy until I come” (Luke 19:13). “Occupy”--be at diligent work. Dare I say, like bees?

JOY ON THE WAY

By the time this is published, the clumps of early-spring grape hyacinth by my front walk will be limp, their stalks shriveled to threads. But they'll be back again next year, shooting up as the weather whispers the coming of spring. Their resiliency amazes me, as some of the rock salt thrown on the icy walk next to them during winter surely contaminates their soil. But they still return, offering their brilliant purple “beads” as a springtime delight.

For whatever reason, while reading Colossians 2:7—a wonderful admonition and benediction—those little plants came to mind:

Just as you have received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in Him, rooted and built up in Him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.

The analogy isn't perfect; grape hyacinth have a very short blooming cycle. But they're true to their nature, responding in God's amazing plant growth cycle to push from their dormant roots with delicate, lovely blooms.

If grape hyacinth could talk, I wonder if they'd complain a bit about their long dormant season. I'm reminded of David's woe-is-me Psalm 13 as he kept running and hiding from those who opposed him. Psalm 13 starts out with almost a whining tone:

How long, O LORD, will you forget me forever?

How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have horror in my heart?

How long will my enemy triumph over me?

David is definitely down in the dumps. He's wondering if his foes might succeed in taking his life. But he ends on a note of hope against hope, of trusting the trustworthiness of God:

But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me. (vv. 5-6)

The Hebrew word translated “unfailing love” is chesed and used of God's steadfast, faithful love, such as seen in His covenant relationship with His people. It's a whole package of amazing qualities: loving-kindness, mercy, and loyalty that is unwavering in challenges of difficulties. In English, we just don't have an adequate synonym for God's awesome, immeasurable love.

Do we experience hardships in this life? Slumps? Discouragement? Harm and danger? Yes. Is God aware of them? Absolutely. Are we supposed to kick at them and blame God? No. It's better instead to stop, look and be in awe of how He works through our trials and hard places. He knows “how long,” and it will be just the right interval.

Possibly, on that hard-to-travel path, we'll find whispers of His goodness. Little blessings, Glimpses of joy. Like those delicate beaded hyacinth blooming by my home every spring. Reminding me that, after every winter, God will stir the earth and send them forth. True to His character as faithful—to me.

MAKE ME A BLESSING

 A monthly feature on a hymn of the faith.

His parents gave him an Old Testament name, “Ira,” meaning “watchful” in Hebrew. It was also the name carried by three of King David's warriors around 1000 B.C.. Though little more is known of them other than their tribes, no doubt these vigorous men could be labeled “blessings” to their earthly leader in that tumultuous time in Hebrew history. (1) People don't always match the character conveyed by their names, but the legacy of Ira B. Wilson (1880-1950) includes a mighty little song, “Make Me a Blessing.”

Wilson's biography isn't flashy. He was born in 1880 in Bedford, a little town in Iowa. His sister taught him to play violin and organ. Around 1902 he began studies at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago. While there, he wrote a poem about being a blessing; his roommate George Shuler reportedly added the music. Their piece was rejected by a music publisher. Later, however, someone made 1,000 copies of it. One came to the attention of George Dibble, a singer and music director for the International Sunday School convention in Cleveland, Ohio. Soon after its convention introduction, it became widely sung.

Wilson worked in Christian music publishing throughout his life, with other original pieces reaching print. Some were published under a pseudonym. He also directed a volunteer choir. Little is known about his personal life other than that his first wife probably died and he remarried. He died in his 70^th year and is buried at Forest Lawn in the Los Angeles area.

Though it seems odd, in later years Wilson didn't remember writing the lyrics. He denied authorship to his death, even though his college-years-hymn lyrics went on to be sung by millions of Christians throughout the world.

So, a take-away from the meaning of his name, “Ira,” meaning “watchful”? Perhaps a reminder that no matter our gifts (even a simple childhood acquaintance with violin and organ), being a “watchful” learner under the umbrella of gifted musicians and publishers can be part of God's plan for ministry. If the words and tune to “Make me a blessing” are easily recalled, remember that in God's economy there are no “little people.” His plan involves a whole range of abilities. David had his warriors, but Christian music also had its back-of-the-battle-line folks. Like Ira Wilson.

Enjoy singing this classic hymn again:

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1. “Ira,” a Jairite and “chief ruler about David” (2 Samuel 20:26); “Ira a Tekoite, one of David's thirty “mighty warriors (2 Samuel 23:26, 1 Chronicles 11:28, 27:9); “Ira the Ithrite,” one of David's “valiant men” (2 Samuel 23:38, 1 Chronicles 11:40)

RESTING, RESTING....

China: Hudson Taylor claimed it for Christ

An inspiring story about a hymn of the faith.

Sometimes in doing research for these blogs, I come across stories that cause me to push back from my desk and whisper, “God, You are awesome.” That happened recently when I decided to look up the story behind an old hymn, “Jesus, I Am Resting, Resting.” Like many hymns swirling in my gray matter, it had “come back” to me as I work through the emotions of losing a spouse.

I don't have all the pieces to the background of the hymn, “Jesus, I am Resting, Resting,” but here's how it goes. About 1876, a 31-year-old Irish poet, Jean Sophia Pigott, penned some verses about trusting and resting in Jesus. An English pastor added music to it. Jean Pigott would die in 1882, and her survivors would include her brothers, missionaries to China under Hudson Taylor's ministry.

Somehow, sometime, a brother had apparently shared his sister's poem-turned-hymn with Taylor. A few years later, in 1901, the Chinese “Boxer Rebellion” erupted. Many of its participants were skilled in Chinese martial arts—also called “Chinese Boxing.” Eventually, the combatants turned against foreigners, including Christian missionaries. Jean's brothers Thomas and William were among more than 75 missionaries slain during the Chinese rebellions.

Greatly burdened by the unspeakable loss of his workers, Taylor reportedly found regular comfort from Jean Pigott's hymn when he sat down at his little organ to sing and worship.

Jean had written other poems, many compiled into a book titled “A Royal Service.” She died in Ireland at age 37—nearly two decades ahead of her missionary-brothers.

Learning the background of this gentle hymn—how it met a spiritual need years later following a crushing loss—helped me appreciate all the more God's planning and presence in leading and comforting His children.

Here's a You-tube sing-along to remind you of the hymn:

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RE-TUNING

My piano hadn't been tuned in decades. When a local tuner opened the top to access strings and go to work, I cringed to hear how “off” it was. I've since learned that the pressure put on a piano's 218 strings is enormous—from 3400 pounds for my size piano, to the twenty tons in a concert grand.

I am not a great pianist. With small hands that barely reached an octave, I quit lessons in about sixth or seventh grade, when I began violin. I retained enough piano skills to play for worship services at a couple small churches I attended.

But “piano” is still a part of my heart. Thus I paid attention in reading about piano technology in Edith Schaeffer's Music: A Tribute to the Gift of Creativity (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1986). She wrote about visiting a warehouse where pianos (built for concert use) were professionally tuned. New pianos, she related, need “breaking in” and the wood treated as the strings are tuned. Depending on their construction, high-end pianos have a brilliance that will equip them for artists playing complex classical pieces by composers like Brahms, Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff. We're talking the Cadillacs and Mercedes of the piano world. But they are tuned, each string, one sensitive twist of a tuning pin, at a time.

As for mine, just regular “playing.” And for me, now, hymns and the arrangements I played when attending a church that still used preludes and offertories. Alas, my meager skills mean I “gulp!” when I open the music book to a piece that has a key signature denoting lots of sharps or flats. Let's just say that low-ability keyboard musicians (I'm in that category) prefer the simpler key signatures, not A-sharp minor, which keeps your fingers touching the black keys and your brain processing “go up, go up.”

So, is there a lesson from the “black keys' of the piano—those notes known as “sharps” or “flats” and that separate beginners from aspiring artists? Maybe it's this: that spiritual maturity is like progressing in music skills. When God forces us into the finger-twisting melodies of more difficult life experiences (the “black keys”), He has a beautiful melody in mind.

And there's another lesson from this piano-tuning image. Mrs. Schaeffer put it this way in her book:

Even as pianos need constant tuning and regulating—not only when young and raw, but all through their careers of being used for brilliant concerts—so people who are being used as “instruments of righteousness”--or, in other words, living creative, fruitful lives—need constant refreshing, “tuning.” (p. 191).

I've played on out-of-tune pianos. It is a painful experience! Though never comfortable or sought, God's sessions of “tuning” me spiritually—of twisting each “just-off” behavior or faith string to His perfection—is really the only way to go.

P.S. In 1997, while a student at Multnomah Bible College in Portland, I had the privilege of hearing Mrs. Schaeffer speak. I'd previously bought and absorbed her book Hidden Art, discovering how everyday efforts could be platforms to glorify the Creator. That day she autographed it for me. She passed away in Switzerland (where she and Francis had established “L'Abri”) in 2013 at the age of 98.

GRUMPY GRUMP....

My son's cat, "Rosebud," my grumpy model

If you have cruised through life without a grumpy moment, well, what planet did you come from? In my current “Gramma” role I am reminded that the grumpies are a common childhood malady (known to persist in adulthood). Aha, there's a verse for that. Actually, lots of verses. Exodus is riddled with rumbles and grumbles. (What, you're tired of manna? Only thing on the menu. You want to arrive at the Promised Land tomorrow? Sorry, won't happen.) Grr, grr, grr, grr, grr..... And a few hundred years later, after Jesus came and lived out the grumble-free life, one of His disciples repeated the lesson: “Don't grumble against each other, brothers, or you will be judged” (James 5:9). The word translated “grumble” is from a Hebrew word for “groan.”

You know the word, and the attitude. “It's all about ME: my agenda, my preference, my vision for MY happiness, I shouldn't have emotional pain. Everybody should cater to me.” Sorry, but that attitude isn't God-endorsed.

The answer, I think, was expressed well by author-speaker Nancy Leigh Wolgemuth in her book Choosing Forgiveness (Moody, 2006). It's a tough-love book to challenge folks who want the world to revolve around them. Her discussion starts with this reality about pain being an inevitable part of life:

Everyone will get hurt.

Jesus' take on it: “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33).

Paul's re-take on it (to Timothy): “Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted” (2 Timothy 3:12).

Everybody, she observed, endures some sort of life-pain, some worse than others. “We will all encounter situations,” she said, “that provide fertile ground for resentment and unforgiveness to take root and bloom in our hearts.” But don't stop at that; instead, embrace this principle:

The outcome of our lives is not determined by what happens to us but by how we respond to what happens to us. (Choosing Forgiveness, p. 41)

Take note of three key words: how we respond. Those who blame their unhappiness on life's unwanted circumstances or difficult relationships will slog through their years as unhappy “victims,” a mindset that will never allow them to know real, Christ-based hope or freedom.

Grumpy-grump? Or, “Thank you, Jesus,” “I trust You, Jesus,” “Help me, Jesus”? Authentically partnering with Him, and seeking His transformation of our character, will help win the war against the Grumps.

"DESCEND...."

 

Acts 2:3 describes the coming
of the Holy Spirit on the disciples
as "tongues like of fire."

A monthly feature on a hymn of the faith.

Our secular world happily embraces Christmas and Easter as times for decorated trees and gifts, eggs and chocolates in a basket, and family, work and community parties and feasts. At church, add in nativity or passion plays and special hymns. But after Easter, a significant spiritual milestone—the coming of the Holy Spirit--seems to slip by quietly. We know it as Pentecost, coming fifty days after Easter (this year on May 19) and marking when Christ returned to Heaven and the Holy Spirit came upon the waiting, praying disciples.

 But....there is a hymn for it. A brilliant 19^th century writer and minister named George Croly filled that gap with his hymn known as “Spirit of God, Descend Upon My Heart.” Its music was written by an Anglican choirmaster and organist, Frederick Atkinson.

 Born in 1780, and son of a doctor, Croly was ordained after his education at Trinity College in Dublin, At about age 30 he moved to London where he gained a reputation as a writer and literary critic, writing for journals and penning books on secular and religious topics. His poetry and prose were described as “vigorous and eloquent.” Of his half-dozen hymns, “Spirit of God, Descend upon my Heart” would become his best known, found in more than 300 hymnals. Many can recite its opening verse:

Spirit of God, descend upon my heart;

Wean it from earth, through all its pulses move.

Stoop to my weakness, mighty as thou art,

And make me love Thee as I ought to love.

 He had one unforeseen problem in gaining an Anglican appointment. A Roman Catholic man had the same name. Eventually, a distant relative of his wife (a “Lord Brougham”) helped clear his reputation as Anglican, and Croly was assigned in 1835 to revive a struggling church in the slums of London, St. Stephen Walbrook. Under his dramatic, mostly extemporaneous preaching, the almost-deserted church began to grow, with many commuting (in those horse-and-buggy days) from outside the neighborhood  to hear him.

 Croly had married a woman who contributed to a literary magazine he worked for. They would have five sons and a daughter. But one son died at 23 in a battle in India. His wife would die when he was 71, and his nine-year-old daughter just a few months later. Four sons would survive.

 In 1860, at age 80, he was still ministering at St. Stephen's when one November day he went on a walk, collapsed and died. He was buried at St. Stephens. The classic church building still is used: History - St Stephen Walbrook London

 Here is one internet video of Croly's “Spirit of God,” with printed words and choral background:

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