It’s a rainy day in my home town—green and soft—so I’m thinking of Ireland, and of St. Patrick.

In the year 400, the Roman empire stretched all the way to the west coast of Britain. Somewhere near the Severn estuary on that coast, a boy named Patricius lived with his family. He was the son of a curialis, a tax-collector, which made him fairly well off—likely to get an education and to inherit some land, and his father’s tax district as well.

But the Empire was struggling, and the Roman garrisons were being drawn down to deal with unrest away east, which made the west coast easy prey for raiders from Ireland. One night in the year 401, just before dawn, a fleet of black coracles brought raiders to Patricius’ town. The town was looted and burned, and Patricius was captured, bound, and thrown into the bottom of a boat. He didn’t see what happened to his family.

The slave-takers brought Patricius across the Irish sea to Ireland, a land beyond the edge of the known world, where the customs and language were strange and where Christianity and the Roman empire had scarcely penetrated. There he was sold in a slave market.

His master set him to work as a shepherd-slave. With little food or clothing and with no human company, he spent days and nights alone in the hills, tending the sheep belonging to his master. He wrote later that he was chastened and humbled in his new life by daily hunger and nakedness.

I picture the boy Patricius waking before daybreak, cold and naked, surrounded by fears. I picture him renewing his courage with prayer. There’s an old type of prayer called a lorica. The word originally meant a piece of armor, a Roman soldier’s breastplate, but a lorica prayer is a prayer invoking God’s protection, figuratively armoring yourself with the love of God. And there’s an ancient lorica that tradition says was written by Patricius himself: the Breastplate of St. Patrick.

It has been set to music many times. I’m singing my own version of it today.

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P.S. If you haven’t tried my serialized fantasy romance, The Pastor and the Priestess, you can check it out here. It’s fun, and it’s free. I’m releasing one installment every week. (We’re up to Chapter Five: “Not Naked”!)

Here’s a new song—an upbeat prayer that God might help us open up our hearts. We used this as a warm-up song at the beginning of our Sunday service this week in the church I serve: the Open Prairie United Church of Christ.

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As usual, you can find sheet music for “Open Up” in our Free Stuff area.

P.S.  If you haven’t tried my serialized fantasy romance, The Pastor and the Priestess, you can check it out here.  It’s fun, and it’s free.  I’m releasing one installment every week.  (Today we started Chapter Three!)

Have you ever had someone who keeps embarrassing you in public—someone you feel like you have to keep apologizing for?

Someone … or something?

I have. And I’ve written a song about it. Without a band, I can’t do this one live, so here it is as an mp3.

In case the lyric went by too fast, here it is in full:

I'm So Done

We're out with friends and I'm afraid you'll say something offensive:
A sexist screed or racist rant that's coarse and comprehensive,
And I'll be left to patch it up with people you've offended,
And claim that what they heard you say was not what you intended.

But now I'm so done
Being your apologizer,
Yeah, I'm so done,
And I'm just a little wiser.
I was your bold excuser
And your liar and your loser,
But my spin control is spun,
And I'm done.
 
You turn their heads and everybody finds you hypnotizing,
Until you turn obnoxious and I start apologizing.
You stun the room, and I'm supposed to make some explanation.
How did it get to be my job to save your reputation?
 
But now I'm so done
Being your apologizer,
Yeah, I'm so done,
And I'm just a little wiser:
I was your chief excuser
And your liar and your loser,
But my spin control is spun,
And now I'm done.
 
You're beautiful, except for each and every ugly bit.
You're full of truth and wisdom, and you're also full of what fans hit.
You're peace and love and joy, and then you're homicidal rage,
With healing balm and poison pill on almost every page!

You threaten us with snakes if we complain about the rations,
You threaten us with plagues if we belong to other nations,
You threaten kids with bears if they go teasing balding leaders,
And you threaten them with stoning if they're stubborn little bleaters.
 
But now I'm so done
Being your apologizer,
Yeah, I'm so done,
And I'm just a little wiser:
I was your cheap excuser
And your liar and your loser,
But my spin control is spun,
And now I'm done.
 
You said that God forbids us kill, and that he helps us do it.
You said the world was ending, but somehow we all lived through it.
You said that you were perfect, and that we should all respect you,
And you said that God would curse us if we ever should correct you.
 
But now I'm so done
Being your apologizer,
Yeah, I'm so done,
And I'm just a little wiser:
I was your lame excuser
And your liar and your loser,
But my spin control is spun,
and now I'm done.

But now I'm so done
Being your apologizer,
Yeah, I'm so done,
And I'm just a little wiser:
I was your sad excuser
And your liar and your loser,
But my spin control is spun,
and now I'm done.

Here’s a new hymn about, of all things, the fear of God: not the anticipatory fear of God’s punishment, but the trembling response to God’s mystery and grandeur.

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Sheet music for “But Still I Tremble” is available in our Free Stuff area.

What could be more joyful, and therefore more God-ful, than Jingle Bells? And then, why can’t we sing it in church? Perhaps a few new verses would help …

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Here’s the original first verse, along with my two doxological verses:

Jingle Bell Dox

Dashing through the snow
In a one-horse open sleigh
O’er the fields we go
Laughing all the way
Bells on bob tail ring
Making spirits bright
What fun it is to ride and sing
     a sleighing song tonight!

The sleigh that glides along,
The horse that knows the way,
The harmony of song,
The snow inviting play,
The spirits growing bright,
The laughter and the fun,
They shine the light and fill the night 
     with praises of the One!

The sleigh is gliding God,
The horse is snorting God,
The fields are growing God,
The bells are ringing God,
The snow is drifting God,
The speed is thrilling God,
And yes, this moldy, golden oldy 
     song is singing God!