Holy Peace, a Glad New Year!
An old, sick world looks to another dawn
There’s an old hymn, both tune and text from the seventeenth century, that we often sing around the time of the New Year. The first verse starts thus:
O rejoice, ye Christians, loudly, For our joy has now begun;
Wondrous things our God has done.
Tell abroad His goodness proudly, Who our race has honored thus,
That He deigns to dwell with us.
Then comes the swelling refrain:
Joy, O joy, beyond all gladness, Christ has done away with sadness!
Hence, all sorrow and repining, For the Son of Grace is shining!
In my best moments, I can sing lustily with my children, who belt this hymn like it’s the best news ever and the whole world needs to hear it, which is, in fact, true. My jaded adult view tends to leave me less than convinced. How has our joy begun? The table was left a mess; every single person in the house yelled at someone else in the chaotic scramble to find belts and shoes and coats; a lackadaisical driver, obviously out for a leisurely drive, drove ten miles below the speed limit while behind him I endeavored, mostly in vain, to keep my temper in check. Wondrous things hardly include these. And how in the world did He deign to dwell with us in this mess? I can’t even think about the refrain—it seems beyond hyperbolic. Sadness, sorrow, repining completely gone? No way.
Then we move to verse two, and my hard, bitter heart weakens.
See, my soul, thy Savior chooses Weakness here and poverty;
In such love He comes to thee.
Neither crib nor cross refuses; All He suffers for Thy good
To redeem thee by His blood.
Next to me on the pew, the seven-year-old drops his lower jaw and sticks out his chest, his version of “manly” singing. At the end of our line, the teen sings the tenor part without looking, his eyes wandering; the pre-teens’ voices warble and wane as they struggle to concentrate. They know this hymn by heart. The nine-year-old tries to copy the Introit onto a pad of paper until I shake my head at him and motion for him to sing. He rolls his eyes slightly, but puts down his pencil and opens his mouth. The five-year-old is humming along, her eyes trying to follow my finger as it traces the words. The two-year-old furrows his brows and yells approximations of the prior second’s note. All weakness here, and poverty—some of spirit, some of self-control, all dying. In such love He comes. Lord, have mercy on us.
Lord, how shall I thank Thee rightly? I acknowledge that by Thee
I am saved eternally.
Let me not forget it lightly, But to Thee at all times cleave
And my heart true peace receive.
At one time, each of these children has clung to me, first tiny, helpless arms grabbing blind with grasping fingers, later desperate arms in stubbornness or fear or some combination of desire and need gripping me in a vice of deliberate and pointed tenacity. Christ wants that I should be the same to Him; in faith cleaving, relentlessly seeking to glue myself to Him without whom I am completely and utterly lost. And when I fling myself in prayer, begging for His presence, I find that He has already come. He is here.I am overcome with gratitude. For now, I am at rest.
Jesus, guard and guide Thy members, Fill them with Thy boundless grace,
Hear their prayers in ev’ry place.
Fan to flame faith’s glowing embers; Grant all Christians, far and near,
Holy peace, a glad new year!
Truly, joy be yours beyond all gladness. The old will soon pass away; the new will come. May God bless and keep you in 2023.
The hymn is “O Rejoice, Ye Christians, Loudly” found in the Lutheran Service Book (LSB), #879.