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.

This past month, my spiritual practice has been shot to hell.  Oh, I’ve prayed frequently—but briefly and distractedly.  Have you ever just sat in the presence of God, or just taken a walk in God’s company, and wholly escaped the passage of time?  Have you ever surfaced from deep reverie to notice—how odd!—that the sun has set, or the sun has risen?  I have, but not this month!

In fact, I’m embarrassed to confess that my life right now is just totally berserk with work.  I’m helping put on a play this month, as performer, accompanist, lighting and sound designer, you name it.  And I’m preparing to start a new job, and to move my extended family next month.  It seems to be one of those seasons when there just aren’t enough hours in every day.

Anyway, there certainly weren’t enough hours to squeeze out any new work for The Merry Mystic this week! Instead, I took some comfort today in listening to this old song of mine. This was The Merry Mystic in May of 2016. I hope you’ll find this re-run as comforting as I did.

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May you be blessed today with deep peace: the deep peace of the running wave, the deep peace of the flowing air, the deep peace of the quiet earth, the deep peace of the shining stars—the deep peace of the Prince of Peace.

In the legend of Moses’ birth (Exodus 1:15-2:10), there are two official midwives: Shiphrah and Puah. Then there are three other women who, in their different ways, also help bring hope into the world: Moses’ birth mother, his sister, and his adoptive mother. Here’s a new hymn celebrating their work, and the work of all midwives everywhere.

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Sheet music for “Midwives of Hope” is in our Free Stuff area.

Spring is on my mind and in my heart this week. Trees are leafing out overnight, and foals and fawns are frolicking in the meadows. The sexy ebullience of creation is made manifest. It’s like a recapitulation of the seven-day creation story from Genesis. I picture God as calling all living things, both into existence and toward God’s self simultaneously. This call is a deep enchantment, a longing that is part of our incarnational being, a magnetism that draws us Godward.

That’s the idea of “Come To Me,” a song from my 2012 album As a Deer Longs. Without a band and a DJ, 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:

Come To Me

I am ready now.
I have trained myself for this.
I summon you:
	Come to me!

Bird of the air, I summon thee:
	Flap your wings and come to me!
Beast of the earth, I summon thee:
	Stomp your feet and come to me!
Fish of the sea, I summon thee:
	Shake your fins and come to me!

I shine my light and draw you like a moth to a flame,
I sing the song and send the sound of saying your name.
I pull you to the edge and then I pull a little more,
I light the fuse and spread the news and open up your hidden door.
Now come to me!

I open up a path that you won’t find on the map,
I light the dark and make a spark that bridges your gap.
I dance before the altar and you feel the earth shake,
I touch you and your sun comes up and tells you that you’re wide awake.
Now come to me!

Fly me, whale me, stork me, quail me, hare me, snail me, come to me!
Bear me, bee me, mare me, flea me, manatee me, come to me!
Louse me, mouse me, goat me, stoat me, tick me, chick me, come to me!
Bat me, gnat me, frog me, rat me, dog me, cat me, come to me!
Come to me!
Come!

My Store page tells you how to buy that album, if you’d like to hear more.

The Gospel of John is the gospel of mixed metaphors.  Here’s a little song to help you enjoy them…

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