Songs in the night

The flame of divine love enkindled human hearts and its intoxication overflowed into [their] senses. Wounded by love, they longed to look upon God with their bodily eyes. Yet how could our narrow human vision apprehend God, whom the whole world cannot contain? (St. Peter Chrysologus, 380-450)

I sing my songs in the night, in the morning, too. Day or night, I sing against the darkness.

For dark are the days as compassion wanes in our land, once known for its generous heart in a world of hurt, gentleness and care now dismissed as the domain of the weak.

Dark are the days as our consumeristic culture dazzles to distraction the hearts of millions, draining echoes of transcendence and mystery from the celebration of the birth of light.

Noise and spectacle, pretending significance, signifying nothing of depth, long ago filled every public space among us, lest we hear our longing for a voice that speaks peace to anxiety for which culture has no cure.

Retreating from the noise, I seek shelter in the rhymes and rhythms of poets ancient and new. The melodies of their hearts carry me into the Heart of the One I most need.

The Spirit breathes in them, through them, lifting me into the land of tears where my heart and the Heart of Love are one, my tears the sweet praise of love’s intoxication, my heart knowing the One whom no eye has seen, knowing, too, that I am known and loved.

Words are not enough to transport me into the land of this holiness. Only a song will do. Only a song can carry the desire of the everlasting hills for a dawn that will embrace all life and time, scattering every darkness.

Mary knew this. My spirit magnifies the Lord, she sang. My spirit rejoices in God my savior, for he has looked with favor upon the lowliness of his servant. The power of her song has breathed joy, strength and peace into the hearts of the poor and oppressed on every continent for 20 centuries and shows no sign of age or fading relevance.

So, too, the angelic messengers, announcing heaven’s birth in the tender frame of infant flesh. Their words took fire, igniting their hearts with melodies of joy in the dark of night. Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, they sang, and we with them, a prayer of praise that we are not forgotten, denied the grace of Love’s embrace.

And I sing, too, song after song, turning the pages of my hymnal, searching for the right marriage of text and tune to awaken my heart to the wonder of what we believe, to fan the hope beyond every hope and feel the love for which no words are capable.

‘Frozen in the snow lie roses sleeping,’ I sing in the cold night, snow having buried the red delight, once vibrant, at the corner of the garage. ‘Flowers that will echo the sunrise, my voice cracking, stumbling, my heart shattered and healed in the warmth of love’s final dawn on this weary world, the song a foretaste of heaven’s eternal hymn, tears the irrepressible praise for hope’s fulfillment.

Gentle on the ear you whisper softly, the song continues. Rumors of a dawn so embracing. With this, eternity’s dawn embraces me, my sadness, my hopes, my weariness with the world.

Hope renewed. Doubt’s darkness gone. The noise of the world silenced. The clamor of culture’s Christless Christmas put to the lie, all of it is washed away in the flood of the Love who wants us all and will have its way.

The child of our delight comes. The face of the Life and Love we praise, encompassed in word and song, brightens today’s world with his tomorrow, even as I sing.

David L. Miller

Come, Lord Jesus. Come and reign.