|
In 2009, my friends Mingo and Lucy Barron wrote a song whose bridge captivated me. It's been part of my devotional life, and a mini-chorus I've often led in corporate worship, ever since. This August, when ideas started echoing in my head around these four lines, Pastor Mingo gave me permission to recraft a new song around it. The best part? Charis collaborated with me. So amazing to worship Jesus with my baby girl! What name could I breathe to make darkness flee Who else can I call to see giants fall Whose feet can melt the highest peaks Whose glory makes the heavens sing It’s a name like no other It’s a love like no other It’s a grace like no other Jesus What love gives its life for an enemy Who crawls in this ditch just to rescue me What love would pursue me across the sea What grace carries me through all my grief It’s a name like no other It’s a love like no other It’s a grace like no other Jesus Jesus Jesus You’re a name like no other You’re a love like no other You’re a grace like no other Jesus ©2009, 2020 Christian City Music by Mingo Barron, Lucy Barron, Mike Noviskie, & Charis Noviskie
CCLI# 7162359 by Charis Church doors Barred. Locks set. Guitar strings, silent, strung Across an empty floor. Organ pipes Stopped with cobwebs. All locked, all empty. Cancelled. Windows boarded. Bibles stowed away. Spiderwebs in the pulpit, And floors forgotten By human feet. Dirt on the windows. Dust on the shelves. Silence rings, not bells And only insects hear. But:  Unless our hearts are shut and locked, And our voices are silent, Unless our lights are snuffed out, And our eyes are shut with fear, The inner sanctums of our hearts have gone cold, And we’ve clogged the valves of kindness, There is church today. Instead of making excuses, We make a way in the desert Instead of stockpiling, We give of God’s heart And we wash our hands of bacteria, But we don’t wash our hands of our neighbours. And we might wear our masks, But our eyes are wide open. Church is now. © 2020 Charis Noviskie. All rights reserved
by Charis Well, we’re stuck inside our houses With the people we claim to know and love best And now, with televisions, laptops or radios tuned in We discover something called worship, online. And it’s not the same  Weird without the coloured lights The sound of a hundred speakers And people—hundreds or more—just beside But now: There’re no dimmed lights No loudspeakers No crowds Instead we have dizzy sunlight, Gleaming through familiar frames And tinny sounds from only one speaker A couple of people—family And nowhere else to go Suddenly The sounds of family nearby Are loud We can hear every breath And the exact way that they might sing And the sound of clothes rustling No more big, dark, comfy spaces to throw loud voices into No more forests of raised arms to secure our own hands No more dimmed lights to hide expression And, suddenly My soul is vulnerable In a different way than before Can I still worship in such a way? When the world, The people around me Refuse to fade away? When even closing my eyes seems wrong And engaging is suddenly so much harder Because I can hear the kids next door playing And construction down the street Someone sneezing Somebody laughing too loud I can hear cars and sirens and neighbours And I can hear dishes clanging in the kitchen I can smell the spices of home food I am too distracted to worship! But all these distractions Aren’t they just the simple things that were always there? Gifts That we’ve forgotten in spectacle—lights, crowds, stages  Maybe I am learning to appreciate Richness The copious aroma of life Spicy, sweet, tangy Salty, savoury, tender flavour The taste and touch and feel of life-- In everyday moments I can no longer block out That the people around me are more precious than spectacles And that God can be worshipped by us too Together, in a way that doesn’t deny This rich aroma Of our everyday lives Now I share with God The kitchen cooking, dishwashing, couch-sitting, pillow-fighting, Debating, laughing, crying, smiling, Secret handshakes Nicknames, chores Pet projects, pet peeves Smallest thoughts Biggest dreams… The smell of home-cooked food My everyday life Because God loves to see life Life Is Richness © 2020 Charis Noviskie. All rights reserved.
a poem by Dan EricksonOur friend and fellow missionary Dan Erickson wrote this poem for a missions conference early in 2017 and read it at Hatfield's missions conference this afternoon. We are sharing it with his permission. BlessingWe are goofy, unstylish, odd. Most of us. We drive the worst cars if we have cars. We wear what fits, we fit in, eventually, almost. We eat what is put in front of us, and find we relish it. We speak with accents and stutters. Sometimes we are not understood even in the places we were born. We are the weird redheaded cousins to our families, the black sheep, some of us, others the glowing saints, sometimes on the same day. They think we’re clumsy, muddy, tainted, pure, scrubbed, antiseptic. We are placed on pedestals or in the jumble closet, depending on the mood and fashion. But when there is an explosion we run into the smoke we run towards screaming while others run away. We compare scars sometimes matching stab wounds in our backs, some of us. Burns, scrapes, blisters, bruises in all the same places. We have beautiful feet though. That’s what the old prophet said. People who bring good news have lovely feet. So I bless your feet in Jesus Name. Every calloused toe, you explorers, you pioneers, you aliens, travelers with only one true home, I bless your feet. I bless your hands in Jesus Name. Your fingertips feel for the pulses of your worlds, finding, God willing, heads to touch, hands to squeeze, brothers and sisters to embrace. I bless your hands. I bless your lips in Jesus Name. You speak life, peace, healing. Fear is afraid of your voices because they are full of the Gospel, full of love. I bless your lips. I bless your hearts in Jesus Name.
They are overgrown, overflowing, they hurt for foreigners, refugees, children, for the least stylish, the least influential, the least. I bless your hearts. When he talks about it, he still goes white. Vivid, fantastical flashbacks of a long-past night Whose tales keep skeptical hearers mystified. Yet, looking in his eyes, the man is terrified. Then wonder comes with color to his face. The heralds sent him to a lowly place Where something struck him deeper than the giants in the skies: He saw the face of God as he knelt before a child.  This ground that drank blood of hate and fear, Vanquished, torn, divided at our hands, Massacre-soaked and riot-quaked: here. Here, we dance. Weary ages, speckled red from war, Brought at last to rest, but not by sword. Beyond some fragile truce: real peace, secured On a Cross. By a Man. The. Man. So, we dance: because we cannot fly! ¹ Red and yellow, black and white, We are dancing in His sight. ² We dance. This bloodstained, sacred, common ground Revels in our dancing wake. The grace-cast shadow of the Cross, The living glory of the Lamb, Cascading justice on this land. Forgiveness-soaked and mercy-quaked: Here, we dance. Notes
|
Categories
All
Archives
September 2021
|
|
Blog |
RSS Feed
|
Mike & Chandra Noviskie,
missionaries to South Africa CCF Missions is a ministry of Christian City Fellowship. |
|