"My Song Is Love Unknown"

This hymn was written by Englishman Samuel Crossman (1624-1683). Upon graduation from seminary, Crossman "min­is­tered to both an An­gli­can con­gre­ga­tion at All Saints, Sud­bu­ry, and to a Puritan con­gre­ga­tion simultaneously. Cross­man sym­pa­thized with the Pur­i­tan cause, and at­tend­ed the 1661 Savoy Conference, which at­tempt­ed to up­date the Book of Common Prayer so that both Pur­i­tans and An­gli­cans could use it. The con­fer­ence failed, and the 1662 Act of Un­i­form­i­ty ex­pelled Crossman along with some 2,000 other Puritan-leaning min­is­ters from the Church of England. He renounced his Puritan affiliations short­ly af­terward, and was or­dained in 1665." (from Wikipedia)

My favorite tune for this hymn was written by John Ireland (1879-1962) which can be heard here. This low-tech video is of an organist playing the hymn in his quaint little church. It's worth watching, especially if you dream about going to a small country church. With an organ. Where you sing hymns. In parts.

I have included the text of the first and last verses below. If you wish to read all seven verses, go here.

My Song Is Love Unknown

My song is love unknown,
My Saviour’s love to me;
Love to the loveless shown,
That they might lovely be.
O who am I, that for my sake
My Lord should take frail flesh and die?

Here might I stay and sing,
No story so divine;
Never was love, dear King!
Never was grief like Thine.
This is my Friend, in Whose sweet praise
I all my days could gladly spend.

(The picture above comes from the website for Bristol Cathedral, England. This is the Chapter House, built 1150-1165, for the monks. Crossman was buried at the cathedral.)

Truths

The disciples found out on Easter morning, He is not here. Neither is He in the temple anymore. He is in us.

Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price.
1 Corinthians 6:19-20a

Here is a link to today's broadcast of Sing for Joy for some nice music on this third Sunday in Lent.

(Photo of the existing western wall of the outer court of the temple in Jerusalem, from Library of Congress prints. This photo was taken sometime between 1898 and 1914.)

Okra and Mercy

I've only eaten okra once, and that was enough to convince me that I don't like it. We ended up with a one pound bag of frozen okra that never made it to the stove top. Instead, it has been promoted to (drum roll, please): ice pack. Yes, folks. Providing far more than its potential nutritional value, it has nursed bruises, sprains, and nebulous owies for several years now. I was going to post about Haydn this evening. Well, actually...about how little I know about the stars. But here I sit at the computer with a bag of frozen okra on my knee. (I wonder how many times Haydn and okra make it into the same paragraph??)

Bedtime reading for the kids tonight was supposed to be Farmer Boy. I had only just begun the chapter about the horse thieves and the strange dog when our own dog, Lady, barked quite vehemently at the back sliding door. My son and I came to investigate what was making our usually calm dog so agitated. We spied a dog - no leash, no master - nosing around in the greenbelt area behind our house. Our daughter came downstairs, and as she is sometimes wont to do, she riled Lady up even more. Lady turned around so quickly that she banged into my knee quite hard, and gave me a big old bruise.

It hurt like the dickens, so I sent the offending "riler" up to bed, without any more Laura Ingalls Wilder. The "rilee" continued to bark at the stray, and my son went to get his pellet gun. Just in case.

I had just read this morning from Deuteronomy 32:2:

Let my teaching fall like rain
and my words descend like dew,
like showers on new grass,
like abundant rain on tender plants.

I would like to say that I consciously thought of that verse, but that would be lying. God must have brought it into my heart anyway, because I was able to sit on my daughter's bed a few minutes later and have a far different conversation than I wanted to. Playing the martyr sounded pretty good when I first went upstairs! Throbbing knee, and all.

My daughter felt pretty bad about the whole episode, and wanted me to slap her, of all things. To make it even, she said. Of course I didn't comply. Would hurting you take away my bruise? I asked her. She knew the obvious answer to that question.

We were able to have a conversation about obedience, learning from mistakes, and turning the other cheek. She was able to see that she likes to rile up Lady because it makes her feel in control of something. When she feels out of control regarding being placed for adoption, this makes her want to take control wherever she can. The wind out of her sails, she received my forgiveness, and calmed down. She was then able to come up with some really good ideas of healthy ways to take control of various parts of her life.

I am so thankful that I was able to extend mercy to her when that wasn't my first desire. And it was all because God has extended His perfect mercy to me. He made certain I was primed with patience, mercy, and wisdom from Moses. It's a verse I've read many times before. I've copied it down. Lost it. Written it in journals. This morning, I even wrote it in marker on a piece of paper and taped it where I can see it every day while I sit in the rocker by the fireplace. All, just for this evening.

Amazing when you think of it. Our God IS an awesome God!

Now, let me get this okra back into the freezer. I don't want it to start thawing and get that slime all over everything.