As in (some) years past, I wrote a new song for Easter to play and perform for the post-Easter Sunday episode of What I’m Thinking, my weekly video program at holycrosshilo.com. It’s a song that refers both to the events of the first Easter and of the Sunday that followed.
Am I thinking this week after Easter Sunday? Well, no, not yet. But I am singing “Tell Me to Turn Around.”
Here’s a transcript:
In the week after Easter Sunday I’m afraid I find it difficult to think about much of anything. That’s sad, because the Gospel lesson for this coming Sunday is the story of Thomas and his doubts (John 20:19-31). Poor Thomas gets less of my thinking than he deserves.
As a result, What I’m Thinking this week is What I’m Singing. This is something I have done a few times at Easter over the years, and so I’m pleased to bring you this song: “Tell Me to Turn Around.”
Where have you brought him? How can I see him? I want to know why these ugly things happen. But for now, just tell me. Tell me to turn around.
[Chorus]
Turn around, look behind, where I haven’t looked before. Turn around, clear my eyes. The life is glowing, and I am crowing That the world has changed since I turned around.
[Verses]
You told me already we’ve lost him completely. I want to know why these ugly things happen. Mary, what more can you tell me today? Tell me to turn around.
You told me, and told me, but what good are your stories? I want to know why these ugly things happen. Why are you lying about his wounds, brothers? And you tell me to turn around.
The word may come on the phone or in print, or over the ether. The news I’ve been fearing too long, and a loss beyond my bearing. Come sit… with me… Until… the word comes… And wait with me in the silence.
I’ve been longing to know the answer: Maybe yes. Maybe no. My heart is beating so swiftly, and my veins are leaping and pounding. Come sit… with me… Until… the word comes… And wait with me in the silence.
This is the night of shadows and I know what will be. Until then I will weep my prayer for deliverance I won’t receive. Come sit… with me… Until… the soldiers come… Just wait with me in the silence.
Come sit… with me… Until… the dawn comes… Wait with me in the silence.
I had set a goal to write a new song for this Holy Week. I was pleased to have this song to play today.
Don’t you like it, Simon, when I say that your Messiah is not what you want? Don’t you like it, Simon, when I tell you I’ll be raised up on a cross?
Of course you don’t, dear Simon. How could anyone be pleased to hear Messiah is no conqueror, except to turn the tables on Death.
I told you, but you wouldn’t hear it, Simon. You tell me how to live my life and die my death, and no. That’s not yours to settle or define. It’s mine. And God’s.
Ah, Simon Peter, my dear Rock, so hard of head, transparent of heart, so certain of things that must be true, and come to pass, and be:
I chide you hard for this denial now. A night will come when your denials will tap like a clock ticking toward dawn. And then, I will not chide, for you will turn aside
This song is based on the #lectionprayer “Simon Peter’s First Denial.” As you’ll find there, I was asked if the poem had been set to music. It hadn’t – but now, with some lyric adjustment, it has.
The song’s premiere performance was on February 28, 2024.
Author’s note: In writing the poem by the same title as a #lectionprayer last week, I realized I was writing a song. After it had been published I sat down to set it to music, and this is the result. Enjoy! -ESA
January 3, 2024
[Chorus]
Shine, star, obscuring light, summoning to you our eyes. Shine, star, uniquely bright, raising our gaze from the child you herald, sheltered from harm in the light.
[Verses]
Journey, O wise ones, and follow the star. Messiah is born. Messiah is born. Bring with you offerings costly and sweet proclaiming Messiah has come.
[Chorus]
Journey, O wise ones, but not to the city where monarchs are found, where monarchs are found. The Herods both ancient and modern are vicious. Put not your trust in their words.
[Chorus]
Journey, O wise ones, away from the city. The child is not there. The child is not there. Journey, O wise ones, and do not return to beard a vicious king in their lair.
[Chorus]
Journey, O wise ones, rejoice you have seen Messiah is born, Messiah is born. Journey, O wise ones, attentive to dreams that a bright day will come for us all.
A Kala 6-string ukulele, a Guild 12-string guitar, a Martin 6-string guitar, and a Kala 4-string ukulele ready for the Community Concert performance of October 20, 2023.
In 2022 I wrote twelve songs. That was a lot for me, and 2023 confirmed it. I wrote seven songs this past year, and one of them was not recorded – it was a special composition for a worship service. It’s possible I’ll return to it someday.
Six Days
First performed on April 5, 2023.
“Six Days” is a Holy Week song. I hadn’t written one before.
It’s So Good to See You
First performed during the Community Concert of April 14, 2023.
I have tried to write a song for Easter in most years since arriving in Hilo. This is the one for 2023, based on Matthew’s account of the resurrection.
Bring Me a Rose, Apostles
First performed on April 26, 2023.
One of my regular practices is to compose a poem or prayer (or both) related to the Scripture I’ll preach on. In this case, I wrote the poem, “Romance,” about Acts 2:42-47, a grim story about a couple who fail to keep their promises. To me, this story lays bare the “rose-colored glasses” with which we look at the Early Church. Maren Tirabassi read the poem and asked a simple question: “Is this set to music?” By the next day, it was, and this is it.
Breakfast on the Beach
First performed online on June 7, 2023.
Vacation Bible School returned to my schedule this past summer, with lessons that included the story of Jesus feeding his disciples on a beach of the Sea of Galilee after his resurrection. I thought it needed a song.
Bad Dreams Go
First performed at the Community Concert of October 20, 2023.
I have included the introduction I gave to this song in the clip posted above. I wrote it in the wake of the eruption of yet another bloody and intractable war between Hamas and Israel. Somewhat desperate, I went back to my daughter’s childhood, when I was equally desperate to assure her when she woke from a nightmare.
Fill Up Your Spirit with Love
First performed on December 20, 2023.
I set a goal for Advent 2023 that each of the Wednesday Songs from Church of the Holy Cross would relate to the theme for the coming Sunday. I hoped I might write new songs for three of the four Sundays. In the end, I wrote this one for the last Sunday of Advent on the theme of Love.
After I wrote “Romance,” Maren Tirabassi asked me, “Is this set to music?” It wasn’t, but I, too, found its rhythm begged for a melody. Here it is:
Bring Me a Rose, Apostles
By Eric Anderson April 25, 2023
Bring me your time and a rose, apostles, gathered in prayer; gathered to share. Bring me your time and a rose-colored glass, to which we’ll aspire and fail.
Bring me the needs that were met, apostles, the poor lifted up, assembled to sup. Bring me the gifts of the rich, apostles, the rich become poor in the blood of the cup.
Bring me the change – for it came, apostles. The rich held their wealth despite failure of stealth. Bring me the gifts for the saints, apostles, they gave for Jerusalem’s health.
The rose-colored glass will not hide, apostles, Saphira’s collapse, Ananias’ grim lapse. Nor the laud that is given to greed, apostles, however much time will elapse.
Bring me your time and a rose, apostles, gathered in prayer; gathered to share. Bring me your time and a rose-colored glass, to which we’ll aspire Aspire and fail.
These seven poems and the song are based on Scriptures associated with “the Seven Last Words of Jesus” – strangely, there are eight lessons. The video includes reading of the Biblical texts, reading of the poems, and performance of the song, “As We Bring Him Down.” The poetry and the video were prepared for Good Friday in 2022; I am reposting them for Good Friday 2023.
You strode those streets to teach, to worship and to heal. You strode those streets to cast the moneychangers from the Temple courts.
And now, with failing strength, you stumble up the street, too weak to bear the instrument of death. Where once you rode in festival parade they follow you to mourn for what has been and what will be.
I’m sure that Pilate knew just what he said. This is what happens to the ones who claim they have no emperor but Caesar. King of the Jews? Claim the title if you like, but know that title brings you only here, to die upon a cross, not reign upon a throne. So Jesus, claiming spiritual rule, will offer up his spirit to the Roman callousness and fear.
How strange a criminal, whose deeds “deserved” a death of torture, understood the reign of God much better than the priests, much better than the Roman Governor, much better than the monarch, better even than the ones who followed Jesus. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” For Jesus, entry to that realm was not through gates of stone, but gates of death. Beyond those gates our eyes see only shadow, but to his, and to this criminal, the shadows have been thrown by brilliant light.
Your friends look on, O Jesus. See? Your mother Miriam: she weeps with Miriam and Miriam. She will not urge you to a wedding feast, not now, or prompt you to transform the vinegar of death into a vintage rich with life. Instead, as scarlet stains your hands and feet, you transform stranger into son, and woman into mother. Here amidst the panoply of power and of hate, you fill the purifying jars of love.
Who could not bear to watch from heaven? Was it the sun, ashamed to the Savior die? Was it the moon, unable to divert its gaze? Was it the angels who had praised Messiah’s birth? Or was it simply that the clouds must gather, too, and witness bear, and mourn, and weep?
Forsaken the Anointed One. It seems so strange that Son of God, Messiah should cry out in abandonment – or… Does it?
Do we not hear the question echo down the years, the centuries, and on, “I was your God, and you my people, and you turned away.” We worship a forsaken God.
I could not blame you, Christ, if you let “It is finished” be your final word. You only came to do us good, and we? We desecrated you, we desecrated the tree on which we watched you die.
I could not blame you, Christ, if you decided that we had rejected your salvation – for we did – and now could live in suffering – as we do. And you, who stood for truth, nearly let us live the lie, but you could not let “It is finished” be the end.
The calloused feet that trod the miles. The mobile lips the formed the smiles. The fingers that bathed his friends’ toes Are still – are unmoving – Are released from the world and its woes.
[Chorus]
Hold him gently as we bring him down. Throw aside the bitter thorn crown. Lay him in the cloth we could find. The world has been cruel to the kind.
The sparkling eyes that held yours in peace. The worker’s hands that feared no disease. The ears that heard more than we knew Are still – are unmoving – Are now just memory for a few.
[Chorus]
The open arms we have crossed on the chest Where the loving heart beats not in his breast. Draw the fabric across the dear face So still – so unmoving Oh to see it again. Oh to find such a place.
Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. – John 12:3
To the cheers of the crowd, ride along. Turn the tables and scatter the coins. As sweet perfume comforts your feet, Comfort the woman who comforts you.
[Chorus]
Six days, six days in the city. Six days to ready your heart. Six days: does anyone understand That you must play this part?
In the Temple courts, proclaim truth. Turn the arguments back on the skeptics. Raise your sad eyes to the pillars of stone That you know will come down, and come down too soon.
[Chorus]
Send them out to make plans for the meal. Wash their feet, whatever they say. Pray alone as sweat streams from your brow, Knowing thorns will be your crown.
[Revised Chorus]
Six days, six days to the palace. Six days, six days to the cross. Six days, six days to the tomb… Six days for all to be lost.
Six days to wind up the journey. Six days of betrayal and strife. Six days to lay down your power…
Three days… Three days… Three days to take back your life. Three days… Three days… Three days to raise up your life.
As mentioned in my summary of 2022, I had a Lenten success this past year, writing six songs during the six weeks of that season. It took longer to compose the other six songs I wrote during the 2022. Some were based on Biblical stories, some inspired by the writing of friends, and others by things going on in the world. You’ll find performances of all of them below, many from the weekly Song from Church of the Holy Cross series.
Wisdom Feed Us
First performed at the Community Concert of March 11, 2022
The simple truth is that I am deeply concerned about the lack of wisdom displayed by human beings. As far as I can tell, folly rules the world.
Dream of Peace
First performed at the Community Concert of March 25, 2022.
Russia invaded Ukraine on February 24, 2022. I went looking in my repertoire for a song I’d written about peace, and didn’t find one. I’ve sung “Dream of Peace” several times and it became my contribution to the Interfaith Communities in Action Thanksgiving Celebration video for 2022.
Come On, Guitar
First performed on March 23, 2022.
Although “Come On, Guitar” was performed earlier, it was written a few days after “Dream of Peace.” It is a tribute (or an invocation) to my new Martin D-10E. I had decided that I would write a song on and for the instrument when it arrived, and this song is the result.
Creature of this World
First performed on April 6, 2022.
“Creature of this World” was inspired by “Offering,” a poem by Rachel Hackenberg. It’s become one of my favorites, and is one of the songs providing background music for my video 2022: A Year.
As We Bring Him Down
First performed during Scripture & Poetry for Good Friday, released April 15, 2022.
Written for Good Friday, this song is set in the “Deposition of Christ,” when the body of Jesus was removed from the cross and brought to its tomb. It is, shall we say, somber.
Walk, Mary, Walk
First performed for What I’m Thinking #259, April 18, 2022.
I’ve written a song for Easter for a few years now, and frequently play them during the first episode of What I’m Thinking after Easter Sunday. When I listen to this, I hear echoes of “As We Bring Him Down.” I wrote them seven days apart. This piece completed the Lenten song cycle.
One in a Million of Grief
First performed on May 18, 2022.
In mid May, the one millionth American died of COVID-19. Despite robust public health systems in the United States, the disease infected a greater proportion of the population, and killed a greater proportion of them, than was true in other developed nations. The US has, in fact, suffered more deaths per 100,000 population than any other nation in the world except Peru. This song also marked the first public performance on my Kala 6-string ukulele.
Some Days are Just Too Much
First performed on June 29, 2022.
I had a number of friends in mind when I wrote this song – and myself as well.
Hey, Moses
First performed on July 13, 2022.
I wrote this for Church of the Holy Cross’ Vacation Bible School – and then fell ill that day and didn’t sing it for them. It’s about Moses – and God – at the burning bush. I should probably sing this in a higher key…
To the Banks of the River Jordan
First performed on July 27, 2022.
I wrote this song for my friend Drew, who died just a few hours after this performance. Some may recognize the echoes of Ecclesiastes’ wisdom about time and seasons.
Take the Labyrinth Road
I wasn’t on the planning team for the Pastoral Leaders’ Retreat of the Hawai’i Conference, but I was asked to bring a song. Of course I couldn’t think of one, so this is what I wrote. This is the other song in the music track for 2022: A Year.
Morning Has Come
First performed during worship on Christmas Day, December 25, 2022.
I suspect there are other songs with the title “Morning Has Come.” This one is a Christmas morning song, set in the bright light of morning.
And there they are: twelve new songs in 2022. I wonder how many there will be in 2023?
This is the premiere streamed performance of “Take the Labyrinth Road,” sung live at 11 AM HST on October 19, 2022. It was written for the Pastoral Leaders Retreat of the Hawai’i Conference, United Church of Christ, and first played during that event on October 12, 2022.
by Eric Anderson October 7, 2022
C Dm F Em / C Dm C G / C F Dm G / C G F G / C – – –
Twisting, turning paths from without to within Over gravel, soil and roots. Let the time begin For a journey of the soul from brokenness to whole… ness in the Spirit, Come take the labyrinth road.
The journey curves about in the world, in the heart, And the ground below is rough or is smoothed by art. Moving body, moving soul from brokenness to whole… ness in the Spirit, Come take the labyrinth road.
No promises on the way for insight or inspiration Just a time to step away for peaceful contemplation, For a journey of the soul from brokenness to whole… ness in the Spirit, Come take the labyrinth road.
ordainedgeek 