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  • Writer's pictureAndrew Comiskey

Mercy Sings

We the forgiven sing to our Savior; our hearts overflow with grateful melody. We give thanks to Him with simple songs of love. We start each day in praise, not because we feel good but because He is only good, worthy of our first thought.

We greet Holy Week in song. Lent fades out as we hail our Savior with ‘Hosanna.’ We look twice. On a donkey? The King of the Universe? Strangely fitting for this Royal whose glance, word, touch stopped our bleeding. He came close enough to unite the unbridgeable divide in us, to mirror dignity, to plumb our royal roots.

Now we can’t take our eyes off Him. We dare not look away. Sin bangs on our door and Lent reminded us that we still answer. This week, we start down His road of sorrows humbled by our erratic ‘spring-cleaning’ and aware that our little sacrifices come to something only when they incline us to Him. We sing as we walk. He doesn’t mind our limp. He walks slow enough for us to keep up.

Our song is our gift. Like Mary of Bethany, we give what we have. Aware that the world may hear our offering as a tepid medley, we effort to keep it down, sweet and low. Funny. The very parish where Jesus ‘immerses’ us every Thursday night also houses the best sacred music in Kansas City: classically trained, historically accurate virtuosos. I listen respectfully at Mass to a language I don’t know then drench Jesus with simple songs on the car ride home or for the 90-minute worship set led by Abbey for the Gideon choir (no auditions required!) at Immerse.

Perhaps He hears differently than the world does. He must. We hear the world murmuring about Him. Jesus speaks of betrayers, enemies cloaked as friends. We are friends, I hope. More than friends; we need Jesus, are desperate for Him, nothing without Him. It hurts that some religious want their order more than Jesus’ saving touch. We fear for Him. In the betrayal of many, we glimpse the Judas-in-us, how we crave social approval too. Yes, we want to be with Jesus and yes, we fear dying a naked, shameful, agonizing death for Him.

We wonder where He is going. We sing a new song as He leads. Darkened with deeper hues, our praise lowers into a lament. We bear an unseen weight. We watch Him washing the feet of a beloved betrayer and nervously check our own dirt. In Jesus’ tender searching gaze, we witness Fidelity and wonder about the quality of ours. Haltingly we sing: ‘Thank You for Your mercy, Humble King.’

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