And can it be…?

It’s my responsibility to choose the songs for our Sunday sunrise service. The Easter Sunday selection often falls on me, I think, or maybe it’s just a reflection of how many years I’ve been in Spain to have the selection fall on me (or a reflection of my age and coinciding inability to remember).

There is an overwhelming number of songs to choose from. The traditional hymns that make the male voices boom, “Up. From. The grave. He. Arose!” to some of the newer songs that encompass Jesus’ life and passion. I only get to choose a few, but that doesn’t stop me from snooping through other people’s Spotify playlists.

What are some of your favorites? And why?

One of mine (one of many) is “And Can It Be, That I Should Gain?” by Charles Wesley (1738). The lyrics are powerful, the music beautiful (especially with an organ!). The hymn starts with questions, evoking shame and guilt.

And can it be that I should gain
An interest in the Savior's blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain?
For me, who Him to death pursued?

The hymn goes on to share the mystery and grit of the Savior’s death followed by the hymn writer’s own testimony of freedom and life from the living “Christ my own.” Yet, through the entire song, we are pulled back to the refrain:

Amazing love! how can it be
That Thou, my God, should die for me?

A reminder of our helplessness before God without Jesus’ death and resurrection for “Adam’s helpless race.” A reason to celebrate Resurrection Day with gratitude.

Photo by Henrique Jacob on Unsplash

From death comes life

Happy Easter to you all! I’m taking a break from logging our trip to Switzerland to wish you all a wonderful Easter weekend.

As you celebrate–maybe with communion, a sunrise service, cinnamon rolls, and candy-filled Easter eggs–celebrate the life that Jesus offers through His death and resurrection. John writes toward the end of his Gospel that he has recorded the signs of Jesus “…so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name” (Jn. 20:31).

From death comes life. From His death comes our life. Although that truth is the climax of anything I could write, this year I was reminded that our daily dying also brings life.

“We are called to die to our own righteousness and find our hope, help, and comfort in the righteousness of Jesus given over to our account. This death…is a process of daily scanning our lives to see where things still live in us that should not live, then praying for the strength to die once again. Like the death of Jesus, this death is not a defeat, but a huge and glorious victory. For everywhere you die, you will be resurrected to new life in that area.”
from Journey to the Cross by Paul David Tripp p. 36

Happy Easter, everyone!

Ireland- part 4

You may be tired of hearing about Ireland. I was only there a few days, after all. I suppose I could be succinct, but where’s the fun in that?

Friday morning we rolled out of bed at 4:45. We had packed our lunches the night before, so it didn’t take us long to get out the door and to the bus stop. Some of the grief from our place of residence had been eased by sleep. We were determined to love the day.

We had booked a day tour from Dublin (east coast) to the Cliffs of Moher and Galway (west coast). Our guide gave us a fascinating peek into Ireland’s history and culture as our coach bumbled out of Dublin. Then it was time to sit back and enjoy the scenery as the sun rose over the Irish countryside. Mists came up from the green rolling land, promising that fairies and leprechauns were real after all. It was breathtaking, but only one small part of a breathtaking day.

The weather was perfect: a mixture of sun and clouds and a constant but empty threat of rain. And the cliffs–Oh, the cliffs! No wonder the place was full of tourists with their cameras. My heart wanted to stop at the wild beauty of the place. (And having a cardiac arrest at the Cliffs of Moher would not have been so bad, really. Rather romantic.)

As we wandered up and down the marked trails, soaking it in, I couldn’t shake the sensation that I had stepped into a very beautiful photo.

We traveled through the Burren, our driver skillfully maneuvering the mammoth tour coach down skinny roads next to steep drop offs. We made a brief stop for photos in the National Park where craggy rocks dropped off into the ocean in impressive cliffs.

Our guide gave us another fascinating history lesson before we stopped at the Kilmacduagh Abbey ruins. I wanted an hour or two to roam, not 10 minutes.

Our last stop was Galway, an outstanding city on the west coast. Our guide told us just to go and enjoy the city without trying to see too much. That’s the best way to experience Galway, he said. He also gave us a list of restaurants, recommending the famous Galway fish and chips.

My friend bought us dinner at McDonagh’s for an early birthday gift–smoked fish and chips and fresh oysters. The last time I had tried oysters, I had wanted to gag. But that was in rural Illinois, about as far from the ocean as you can get. Would I gag this time? I was nervous as I squeezed lemon on my oyster. To make it worse, the place was packed even at this odd hour and we were sitting elbow to elbow with strangers.

But I didn’t gag. The smooth oyster that slipped from its shell into my mouth was fresh, clean, and sweet. I eyed the leftover oyster on the plate until my friend generously gave in.

While my friend did a little shopping in an Aran Island wool shop, I sat outside to listen to buskers who looked like brothers. They seemed to enjoy my enjoyment of their harmony, maybe especially when I dropped coins in their guitar case.

The entire evening felt enchanted. I slipped a few euros in my pocket and we wandered the streets of downtown Galway, stopping to listen to almost every street musician, even the dude singing “Galway Girl.” The way the Irish value the arts is something one can sense, even in a brief interaction with the culture, such as I had.

And, wouldn’t you know, we found another Butlers and strolled back to the bus, hot chocolates and truffles in hand. Darkness fell as we rode back across the island to Dublin. It was a day that made be believe I wanted to stay in Ireland forever.

Well, except the dirty little cottage that we had to return to.

Waiting for the store to open

I’m becoming one of them. You know, those old people who wait outside of stores until they open because they have nothing better to do.

I’m not used to getting up earlier than the rest of the world–well, the rest of the world except those old people, of course.

Now that summer has cranked up the heat, I drag myself out of bed for a before-the-sun walk. I come home to do a few exercises, start my laundry, shower, eat breakfast, and then walk up to the supermarket in the far corner of town.

But oh.

“Do you want a mint to entertain yourself while you wait?” A gentleman digs around in his plaid shirt pocket as we stand outside of Mercadona. In front of us are several other elderly citizens, leaning on the carts they collected from the parking lot. We are ready to burst through those automatic doors…as soon as they open.

“Uh, no thank you.” I turn down the mint.

I don’t even like getting up early. And I certainly don’t like to be the first customer to charge into a freshly opened store.

Yet, here I am.

How did this happen?

Room with a view

Lord willing, in a few short days, I plan to move. As excited as I am about this next step, I am sad to leave Immigrantville behind. There are lots of things I will miss. Some things are big, but I will miss the small things too… like the daily view from my bedroom window.

I have been snapping photos, trying to enjoy the view to the fullest before I start waking up to a view of my new neighbors’ windows.

So enjoy the photos with me.