The verses of Psalm 54, selected for today, are familiar to us all. Most of us are quite willing to recognize that God is there for us, that God saves our causes and sustains our lives day after day. In fact, as we grow older, we usually become more mindful that without God, we wouldn’t get through the scrapes we get ourselves into. Nor would we be able to get through the increasingly greater demands of this life. In response, most of us grow more willing to offer our sacrifices to God, to bring our offerings. We are more likely to keep the Sabbath and to appreciate that God has reconciled us through the sacrifice of Christ’s death. As we grow older, we are more likely to persevere in the faith and to hold out hope in the Gospel message.
That describes a lot of Christians. It certainly is where I am at this point in life. But that brings a problem. What kind of sacrifice can I offer? What kind of offering should I bring? Jesus tells us that retreating into obedience to rules isn’t it. It isn’t about how perfect we are. If we were perfect, we would not need Jesus. Keeping the Sabbath and offering a sacrifice has more to do with finding Christ present in all that we do. It is more about living our lives in faith and openness to what God calls us to, especially in the midst of our imperfections. We are called to offer what we can toward what is needed, imperfect though our offering may be.
I recently came to a better understanding of what that can mean through the artistry of Leonard Cohen. Most of us are familiar with Leonard Cohen. He wrote and performed perhaps the most iconic anthem of our age, Hallelujah. Cohen was a Canadian singer-songwriter, poet, and novelist. His work explores religion, politics, isolation, depression, and death. He died in 2016 at the age of 82. I recently came across a recording of another of his well-loved songs, Anthem. The recording I heard was recorded during his “Live in London” concert on July 17, 2008. He had just been swindled out of all his money by his manager. Rather than being angry, this concert was one of reflection on a long life (he was 74 at the time) and hope. It inspired me to think more about what kind of offering I can bring. The lyrics go like this:
Chorus:
So ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack, in everything. That’s how the light gets in.
The birds, they sang, at the break of day.
Start again, I seemed to hear them say.
Do not dwell on what has passed away,
or what is yet to be.
Now the wars they will be fought again,
the holy dove, she will be caught again.
Bought and sold and bought again, the dove is never free.
Chorus:
We ask for signs, and the signs were sent.
The birth betrayed, the marriage spent.
Yeah, the widowhood of every single government, signs for all to see.
I can’t run no more with that lawless crowd,
while the killers in high places say their prayers out loud
And they’ve summoned, they’ve summoned up the thunder cloud,
and they’re gonna hear from me.
Chorus:
You can add up the parts, but you won’t have the sum.
You can strike up the march, on your little broken drum.
Every heart, every heart to love will come,
but like a refugee.
Ring the bells that still can ring,
forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack, in everything.
That’s how the light gets through.
Ring the bells that still can ring,
forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack, in everything.
That’s how the light gets in.
You can find the recording HERE. The work moves me to think more courageously about what I can do with what remains of my life, as a sacrifice to God. It may not be perfect, it may be a broken drum, or a cracked bell. But when offered to God with a humble and loving heart, it is a perfect offering.
May God Bless You and Grant You His Peace!