Cause me to hear Your lovingkindness in the morning,
For in You do I trust;
Cause me to know the way in which I should walk,
For I lift up my soul to You. Psalm 143:8
There are always those songs that we remember the exact first moment we heard them. Like the hot Tucson afternoon when Ron Veliz pulled his hot black Mustang over to the side of Speedway to make me listen to Peter Frampton’s “Do You Feel Like I Do?” Or my mom lying on the sofa with her feet up in a darkened living room listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young “Our House Is a Very Very Fine House.” I first heard “Cause Me to Hear Your Lovingkindness” in the home of Harold and Luci Shaw. Really and truly I think that was the first time I paused long enough to savor beauty. Luci is good at that. Flickering candles on the mantelpiece, a curving bit of driftwood, mismatched crockery that gloried in their differences; Luci is a poet. And for the first time I listened to the cadence of words wrapping up the love of God in beat by beat images, gleaming Beauty and Truth poured out like a fragrant tea.
Our home group met at the Shaws. We sat around the living room with fruit and cookies and someone strumming on a guitar and we sang Scripture choruses that worked their way into my heart and sustained me through many shadowed valleys.
When Alan and I first were married and living in Wheaton we went to a rather unexpected church if one were to consider it, The Plymouth Brethren. Mr. Rock and Roll going to a gathering with just a cappella hymn singing, and Mz. Hippie Chick in torn and dragging 501s mixing it up with dignified women wearing head coverings. And it’s not a church, but an assembly, who gathers. An exclusive assembly with suited men checking credentials at the front door.
But some seeds were planted, and landed deeply and have filled my life with fruit. For example, the demonstration of the responsibility for each believer to actively participate in the conversation of what the Bible is saying and what does it look like in our day-to-day lives. After the morning Sunday School class there was a fifteen-minute discussion of pointed questions and respectful disagreement with teacher, who just happened to be the Greek and Hebrew professor at Wheaton College. And each man in the assembly was expected to be ready to Preach, Pray and Die. Then there was The Gathering after the Sunday meeting for dinner and discussion. Mr. Hawthorne would circulate throughout the midmorning coffee break and invite the select to join his midday table for meaningful conversation. That certainly set a lifetime pattern for us, the newlyweds. Pretty much the after-service-lunch is still my week’s highlight. Most of all, the poignant reminder of breaking of bread together each time we met together still grips my heart every Sunday.
That does not mean that there was perfect unity. The Shaws ended up leaving because of the prodding of the Spirit in their hearts. How could Luci be so very obviously filled with the gifts of wisdom and knowledge and teaching and be relegated to the only role women had in this assembly: poking their husbands in the side and whispering the number of the hymn they wished to sing and serving donuts between services? I am quite sure that I heartily disagree with the central foundational thesis of “A circle was to be drawn just wide enough to include 'all the children of God,' and to exclude all who did not come under that category.” But those are just details, really. Because surely the LORD was present among us, with all of our fallacies and silliness and yet, belovedness. And this is an important lesson to remember as sometimes I get too distracted by differences rather than celebrating the Jesus Who is here in our midst.
One never knows what seed will take root and spring up, producing a grand and delicious harvest. It is He who produces the fruit. I do not ever, ever have to worry my pretty head about it. The thing about Mr. Sower is that he might never know the product of his faithfulness. But his job was to sow. He did what he needed to do. He had a big bag of seed so he headed out the door and dispersed it to the wind.
And yet, sometimes he does get to look back and see sprigs springing forth. Seeds that have fallen in good soil and taken root. And it is good to reflect on the backwards glance. To remember the days of old and to meditate on all of His works.
I remember the days of old;
I meditate on all Your works;
I muse on the work of Your hands.
I spread out my hands to You;
My soul longs for You like a thirsty land. Selah
As I go forth today to sow.
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