The Wonder of Words

For the three years that we were in middle school, and even beyond that, my sister had a secret weapon. She would sing these words, “Ching chong, ching chong, boop scala vatske, gilly-gilly-gilly vitch on vo, vitch on vo.” That’s nonsense you might say. I was convinced the taunt had meaning. It was some sort of curse or an insult. What made it worse was when my sister sang it in unison with her friend Sylvia, the one who made it up or shared it.

My strength was no match for those words. Is the pen truly mightier than the sword? Perhaps not if the sword has insecurities or feels mocked. I still don’t know the meaning of that chant. It certainly says something for the power of words. “By our speech we can ruin the world, turn harmony to chaos, throw mud on a reputation, send the whole world up in smoke and go up in smoke with it, smoke right from the pit of hell.”

That same chaos can be turned to harmony. Even that ching-chung was a song sung by my sister. Who can not be flabbergasted at these words, “’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe…” Or those deep lyrics of the Beatles, “I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob.” Image bearers are we and we can create complete new languages like the Quenya and Sindarin spoken in Middle Earth.

One wonders, if we’d had different songs sung over us as children if the taunts and blows we’d dealt each other would have happened. Certainly my sister understood that by flinging ching-chung boop-ska-la-vatski she was only making me feel more helpless and angry. I had no magic words. Only anger and force. It could have been worse.

Words and language are wonderful mystical things with great power. I wish our politicians understood that. And our bosses. And some parents. We could sing silly songs over each-other to make us laugh (There once was an old lady who swallowed a fly—perhaps she’ll die). We could sing spiritual songs, songs of blessing and peace. Romantic stories (No more Mr. Darcy please) about deep love and heroic tales. Legends that married the two together.

My sister called today to wish me well. The words we speak to each other now are to bless and encourage. We speak of wine and art and love and life. Life is short we realize. So we sing a different song.                                   

Photo by Glen Carrie on Unsplash

Oil of Zarephath

My friend, she says, is sustained day by day,
Just like the widow in Lebanon.
Polio, yes, takes all her strength away,
Health’s not what she’s depending on.
 
The widow, she scrapes, together one last potpie,
Convinced her son won’t go on living.
By famine, true, means they both will die,
Biscuits and oil are life-giving.
 
The prophet, thus says, shall put end to the fast,
With challah bread from oil and flour.
Her only son, gasp, breathes away his last,
Crushed beneath deaths’ dark power.
 
Holy man, I’m marred, sin is brought to light,
Is it your plan to kill or set free?
“Thy beloved, see, alive and alright,”
She glimpses Him from Galilee.
 
Oh Lord, we sing, how long these bitter pains?
Drought of oil while famine breaks and mars,
He will provide, trust, hear the gentle rains,

Oh Lord fill these our earthen jars.

Photo by Roberta Sorge on Unsplash

Twinkle In The Eyes And Terror In The Face

Thus the Lord used to speak to Moses face to face, just as a man speaks to his friend.

Do not hide Your face from me in the day of my distress; Incline Your ear to me.

My bride; You have made my heart beat faster with a single glance of your eyes…

There is terror in a face we cannot see. In a face that is distorted, misshapen through birth defect or accident-the man bagging your groceries with twisted lips and purple potato nose. The creature in Stranger Things; lacking face but feeding on life. The secret, stomach emptying fear going to the airport as a child to pick up a father---afraid we won’t remember what he looks like.

There is delight in the glance of a lover; the twinkle of a smile in the eyes and the invitation for more. Comfort is found in the face of a friend; the lines on the face mirror years of passionate sharing. The embrace at the airport glad to be in each other’s company again.

There is angst when ‘darkness hides God’s lovely face.’ In all our cries and words and pounding we cannot hear God. Cannot get hold of the hem of His robe. This friend has been the closest one. The one on our side when the divorce papers come; life abandons, friends wound.

There is sweetness when God’s eyes invite us in. Freeing us up and lightening our load to share with such a friend. Filled to fulness. Spring in our step. We fear being forsaken but instead are fully known; safely known. Face to that Face; joy and laughter bubble up. Thirst quenched, hunger sated. Fully heard and safely held. The face we’ll finally see.