We hold you in our circle, hold you in our love.
It was raining yesterday when I got to the beautiful building near Fisherman’s Wharf in Victoria BC where I and 15 other people were gathering for day 4 of a two week long training in community song leading (note: not Sacred Harp related). We brushed off the droplets from our jackets and put aside our umbrellas. The woman who rides her bike each morning squeezed out her long brown hair.
After waiting several days until almost everyone else had already led theirs, it was my turn to teach the group a simple song. Nearly everyone else has done this sort of thing before, but not me. At 55 years of age I am learning an entirely new skill.
One of the leaders calls us together with a simple song and our voices and bodies form a circle in the center of the room under a high wooden ceiling.
We hold you in our circle, hold you in our love.
These are the lyrics to a three part song by Emily Roblyn.
I had listened to it dozens of times, and when I asked an experienced song leader for her help she filmed a video for me of how she would lead it. I practiced with Eric the night before, and then went over everything several times again that morning.
Standing in the center of the circle, I explained that at New Beginnings, on the Sunday before women are released from prison, we lay hands on them and speak a blessing, but I want in those moments to also have something simple to sing over them. And so yesterday I invited anyone in our singing group, if they needed a blessing, if they needed to be held in love, to walk into the center as we sang the song and just receive. (Or as I have said elsewhere - to submit to a blessing.)
I took out my brand new, never been used pitch pipe, found a G and lifted my hand to teach the first part and … completely blanked. I COULD NOT REMEMBER THE SIMPLE TUNE I SPENT DAYS MEMORIZING. Gone. Like a musical pick-pocket had lifted it out of my brain while I was distracted. I kept feeling my pockets for it but it was gone.
So I excused myself, found it on my phone, played myself the first 5 notes again (after of course having the bandcamp app glitch out first), walked back into the group, considered apologizing for flubbing it up, but chose instead to say shamelessly “I’m not gonna say sorry, I’m just gonna try again, here we go!” and my new friends seemed to approve of that choice.
I managed to teach the damn thing and eventually we all found our parts, and by that I mean eventually the song just sort of took over, so I stepped back to join the circle of singers. I didn’t know if anyone would take me up on my offer but immediately one of the other students not only stepped into the center to let the song wash over her, but she layed down and wept and then another and then one of our teachers and soon about 6 or 7 people were in tearful pile in the center as the rest of us sang We hold you in our circle, hold you in our love around them.
The only word I can think to describe it is: holy.
Since then I’ve had 2 thoughts:
I would never have been the first to say yes I want you to sing this over me and just lay down and receive it without apology. This morning I woke up thinking about how brave that was; to break the seal, to allow for others to not have to be the first.
Holy shit, we need spaces for giving and receiving blessing. (I was asked recently how I define “a blessing” and I think it’s something like putting words out into the world and into the ears of those that you desire to be changed in good ways by them).
Do you have a story about a time when you gave or received a blessing? I’d love to hear it! And also, be prepared if you ever come hear me speak, to end up singing with me. (schedule below)
Here is a blessing I wrote for a friend who had lost 100 lbs and was struggling with the change:
A blessing for a friend to offer her body
For the ways you have carried me through every day since I was born, I offer my gratitude.
For the pleasure you have given me, I praise you.
For the pain you have endured for me, I respect you.
For the protection you have offered me, I am indebted to you.
Yet here we are, the two of us, me and also me and it is time to come to different terms.
You, the extra layer, that has offered me both softness and armor, thank you. Thank you. You have served me so well for so long. But there are now things inside of me that keep me warm, that make me lovable, that make me safe so it is time to have a love-filled leave-taking, you and me.
So I bless the parts of me that have fulfilled their purpose in the past.
And I nourish the parts of me that I still need for this day.
Amen.
Here’s where I’ll be this Fall:
(come say hi!)
Fri Oct 11 – Indianapolis, In 7p
Spirit & Place Big Tent Talk on Gratitude (free) get tickets here
Sunday Nov 3 - Denver, Co - Montview Presbyterian (preaching 8:30a & 11a)
Nov 7 -Cleveland, Oh - Case Western University 4p – Limited Futures Lecture Series
Sat Nov 16-17 Little Rock, AR - Westover Hills Presbyterian Church (more info soon)
Sat Nov 16 7p Cotham Memorial Lectures
Sun Nov 17 10:30a preaching, 7p – fireside chat
Tues Nov 19 – Nashville, Tn Westminster Presbyterian Church – “An Evening With Nadia Bolz-Weber” (save the date – tickets available soon)
Sun Nov 24th – Denver, Co - St John’s Episcopal Cathedral 8a, 10:30a, 5p - preaching
There's a woman named Jenny that hangs out in my neighborhood. Biologically, she's somewhere in her 40s or 50s. Intellectually, she's closer to a fourth grader. I'm uncertain of her housing situation, but most days when the weather is decent she sits outside the CVS near Rittenhouse Square with a homemade cardboard sign that says "Free Smiles: Kindness Costs Nothing," and contentedly colors in a coloring book using a cheap dollar store art kit of markers and crayons and pastels. As people pass by, most too busy or too unwilling to notice her, she grins toward each person and says "Have a happy day!" Over and over again. "Have a happy day!" "Have a happy day!" She is eternally cheerful. Cloyingly so at times. Other than occasionally thanking people who smile at her and wave for smiling and waving, and telling me her name when I asked, this is pretty much all I'd ever heard her say until the day that she blessed me.
Several years ago, I was DEEP in grief. It had been about 11 months since my brother Nick had died, and a little over a week since my dear friend Valencia had died. I'd just come from Valencia's funeral, which was ATROCIOUS. (Turns out conservative evangelical theology isn't the most compassionate option to use in guiding decisions about a funeral for a young transgender woman.) The 10 block walk from the church to my apartment felt impossibly long, and seeing people go about their normal lives was excruciating, and I was trying to just keep it together until I got home. As I walked toward the CVS, I saw Jenny posted up in her usual spot and almost crossed the street to avoid her "Have a happy day!" to me, because I just couldn't handle that kind of optimism. But it would have meant adding to what already felt like an impossibly long walk, so I sped up and figured I'd try to hurry past her.
As I got up to her, she looked at me. I braced myself to return her greeting with whatever fake smile I could muster. But she broke out of her routine. "You look like you're having a bad day. Would you like to color?" It stopped me in my tracks. The tears started to come. I couldn't even speak, so I just took the coloring book she had extended my way, nodded, and sat down next to her in the middle of a sidewalk in the middle of Center City Philadelphia on a busy Saturday afternoon. I don't know what people around me thought of this, but who the hell cares. I kept waiting for Jenny to do as all my other well-intended friends had, and start making her way through the Rolodex of questions that get lobbed in the direction of the grieving. She didn't. She just quietly sat there, greeting passers-by with "have a happy day" and occasionally scooted the markers in my direction making sure I knew it was okay to use as many colors as I wanted. I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually I stood up and said I should get going. I thanked her for her kindness and for sharing her coloring supplies. She grinned her big beautiful grin at me and said. "Kindness costs nothing. God bless you." I don't think any blessing will ever hit me as hard as that one did. I still tear up when I think of it.
Reading about the woman who first laid down to receive the blessing, followed by a few others moved me to tears. Hearing the song softened my heart and hearing how you applied it broke this heart open in the best possible way. What a blessing! 🙏