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A Simple Gift: Coming ‘round right

Steve · May 27, 2023 · 6 Comments

In 1848, a Shaker elder named Joseph Brackett wrote an easy-to-learn-and-sing tune for his community called “Simple Gifts.” We all know it today because it has made its way into American (and Irish) culture, interpreted and recorded often by folksingers, church and school choirs, and even symphony orchestras. It evolved to become the Christian folk song, “The Lord of the Dance.” The composer Aaron Copland incorporated its melody into his masterpiece, “Appalachian Spring.” The hit Irish dance review, “The Lord of the Dance,” reinterpreted the simple melody and took it as its theme. It has ended up on television commercials. It’s a beautiful song with a long and complex history.

But at its heart, it’s just a simple song extolling the virtues of a simple life:

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain’d,
To bow and to bend we will not be asham’d,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come round right. 

At a recent meeting of my small faith group, we listened to this song, as beautifully and simply recorded by cellist Yo-Yo Ma and folksinger Alison Krauss. There’s a video embedded at the end of this post so you can hear it for yourself. 

The thought and prayer that emerged from deep within as I listened was just how important it is to be “in the place just right….in a place of love and delight.” We live in one of the most complex and complicated times imaginable. Complexity can be good in many aspects of our lives. Legal documents are long for a reason. A good novel or song can speak to us on many levels. Interpreting the complexities of faith and religion is the work of theologians, pastors, writers and thinkers.  

So while I’m not downplaying the intricacies of the modern world, I am wondering this morning if there is still a place for simplicity – for the simple gift of faith in a God who is love. Here in my 64th year, I am feeling a need and a call to a simpler faith, and by that I do not mean a different faith or a change of faith but rather a simpler and more focused spirituality that allows me to be more fully drawn into this God who is love. I am feeling a need to be content and at peace with that simplicity and leave the complexities to others so inclined. I want to bow toward that simplicity and embrace it more fully, to allow it to truly be my delight. As I enter these latter years, I want and need that faith to encircle me so that wherever I turn, I am forever in its gentle grasp.

Where is this simplicity to be found? I find it in the beauty of the world around me, this ever-evolving gift given to us by a Creator-God. I find it in the Word of God as handed down to us in the Holy Scriptures and in the person of Jesus. I find it in the gathered community that is my Catholic community on a Sunday morning but also in a small group of friends gathered around a kitchen table. 

For if we can’t find God in these simple moments and in these great simple gifts, how are we ever going to find God in the complexities of theology and church teaching? We need both. We are called to behold, as Meister Eckart once wrote, “something great, something marvelous, something rare.” 

As Christians, we have already received something rare, marvelous and great. We have been given the ability to encounter the Christ — in scripture, in the Eucharist, and in each other. Our job while we’re here is pretty simple. We need to allow ourselves to be surrounded by it all, astounded by it all, encompassed by it all. Simply that.  

Looking for Hope in all the Wrong Places

Steve · October 30, 2020 · 18 Comments

Sunset in southern Illinois. Photo by SJG.

It’s a cold and sunny day
here in St. Louis, following a number of days of cold and wet. Fall is sinking fast and winter is lurking in a tree somewhere not too far off, ready to sweep in like a red-tailed hawk on us unsuspecting varmints just doing our best to gather enough energy for the long road ahead. 

On top of all that seasonal analogy, of course, is the general state of the world. We’re still hunkered down and masked up (at least we are in my family and circle of friends) against a sneaky and unforgiving virus that scientists are still struggling to understand and create a vaccine for. The national election is a few days off and, no matter which side you choose and vote for, you are likely feeling a sense of foreboding and even fear about the results and what it will mean for the United States in the foreseeable future. The country and the world seem to be in a state of unrest, incivility and hopelessness that many of us have never experienced. 

It’s easy to lose hope, and perhaps it’s even easier to place our hope in the wrong things and people. I’m not here to tell you what’s right and what’s wrong. But since the theme of this blog has always been — broadly defined — about the intersection of God in our lives, I would like to make a few observations today and then leave you with a song and prayer of hope written by one of my very close friends and creative collaborators. 

First, a few observations about hope:

  • No elected official and no political party’s platform will restore hope to us; we will have to find a way to do that ourselves. 
  • If we hope for a better and more civil society, we will need to begin with the way we treat everyone around us and not look to leaders to emulate it. They will undoubtedly let us down.
  • If we hope to count ourselves among the friends of Jesus, we need to remember that when Jesus was asked about the greatest commandment, he didn’t lay out a complicated set of rules that told us if we could be in his inner circle or not. He just said: “Love God and love your neighbor as yourself.” There’s hope in that. 
  • And if you’re not sure who your neighbor is or think it is just those people who live in your neighborhood and look, love, believe and act like you, remember again the words of Jesus in the parable of the good Samaritan: “Our neighbors are those in need.”   

There is, despite all evidence to the contrary, reason for hope right now, but only if we are are willing to recommit ourselves to the teachings and love of Christ and only if we’re willing to do the hard spiritual work of using those teachings of love, forgiveness and grace as the foundation for the way we interact with the world. 

Still, we may find it hard to hope right now. 

My friends and collaborators John Caravelli, left, and Phil Cooper, working out the arrangement of “It Looked Like Hope.”

“We have all been there,” writes my friend and collaborator John Caravelli. “You may call it emptiness, a dry spell or a dark night of the soul. Many of us are feeling that way right now and for good reason. We are in the midst of a deadly pandemic. This election season has been filled with uncivil discourse, reported to us incessantly via social media and a 24-hour news cycle. We are experiencing the consequences of racial divisions and climate change. Whatever the reason, we can all find ourselves feeling lost, angry or sad for periods in our lives.”  

Acknowledging all those emotions and yet holding out for something better, John wrote a song not about the darkness but the light, about what we experience when the heaviness lifts.  

That’s me, singing. Photo by John Caravelli.

“Very often, it’s not something you can really identify, but you know when it happens,” he says.  “Suddenly, you notice more about what is right with the world and not only what is wrong. You see the beauty, the kindness, the love and the blessings. Despair gives way to hope, as it should.”

John wrote the song, “It Looked Like Hope,” about the experience of searching for hope in all the right places — in an autumn day, by the light of a full moon, in the dawning sun, in places where we might least expect to find it — and finding in those still moments not just beauty but the very face of God; of knowing, like Julian of Norwich, that “all will be well and all will be well.” That God is near, no matter how we’re feeling about it. 

John let me do the singing while he played guitar, and our friend and third collaborator in the CCG songwriting trio, Phil Cooper, played the keyboard. John and I produced the video below, and I added a quote at the end from John’s favorite saint, St. Therese of Lisieux, which seemed to sum up how we were feeling, or at least hoping:

Above the clouds, the sky is always blue.

It Looked Like Hope

It’s been a long time coming
It’s been a long time tired
I’ve been lost and angry
As if some evil fates conspired.

Dark autumn wind blew all day
There was a hunter’s moon last night
It shone through my bedroom window
My bed glowed in the Lord’s moonlight.

And when the dawning sun broke through the clouds,
From my dream as I awoke,
I believe I saw the face of God
I believe it looked like hope.

But there’s an end to every dark road
The light will shine at last
A song of hope will deliver you
From a helpless lonely past.

I believe I heard the angels sing
A pure and simple song
To relieve me of the mournful tune
I’ve been singing much too long.

And when you least expect it
In a dream that you have, in a song that you hear 
It’s then that you know 
That all will be well, and all will be well
That your God is near, that your God is near

I believe I heard the angels sing
A pure and simple song
To relieve me of this mournful tune
I’ve been singing much too long.

And when dawning sun broke through the clouds,
From my dream as I awoke,
I believe I saw the face of God
I believe it looked like hope.
I believe I saw the face of God
I believe it looked like hope.

Words and music by John Caravelli. Copyright 2020 Potter’s Mark Music.

Songs of Comfort: On Eagle’s Wings

Steve · April 22, 2020 · 8 Comments

Note: I interviewed Fr. Jan Michael Joncas a few weeks ago about the enduring power and comfort of his song, “On Eagle’s Wings” for Catholic Digest magazine, which went out of print not long after the assignment. So with Fr. Joncas’ permission, I am posting the article here.

Fr. Jan Michael Joncas, courtesty photo.

When Fr. Jan Michael Joncas composed the song “On Eagle’s Wings” four decades ago, he was trying to comfort a friend whose father had just died of a heart attack. He wrote the song on guitar in the days following the death and then performed it at the funeral, and that might have been the end of the story. But God, Fr. Joncas said in a recent interview, had other plans.

“It’s just amazing to me,” said Joncas, 68, a prolific composer, priest of the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis, and artist-in-residence and research fellow in Catholic Studies at St. Thomas University. “I had no way of knowing, first of all, how it got distributed so that people could use it. But by now, it’s made its way across most of the English-speaking world and into other denominational hymnals.”

Even higher-profile uses of the song include recordings by superstars like Josh Groban and Michael Crawford, as well as its performance at the memorial service for the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing victims and at the funeral of opera singer Luciano Pavarotti.


“I never expected anything like this to happen,” said Fr. Joncas, quarantined at home in St. Paul, “but as I’ve grown older, I’ve grown more and more comfortable with it. I tell my friends that to even have written one piece that has allowed this many people to sing their faith is an incredible gift. Even if nothing else I’ve written ever has that same kind of distribution or power, I’m still happy with it. God does what God wants with this stuff. I am just more and more amazed at how God can use things that you might not ever have thought of to advance whatever God’s intentions are.”

And although it’s become one of a handful of contemporary hymns that have become staples at funerals, Fr. Joncas believes its scriptural roots in Psalm 91, as well as in Exodus and the Gospel of Matthew, make it a song of comfort for the many confusing and fearful times of our lives, as well as for ordinary and joyful times like baptisms and weddings.

“I’m going to use my academic background here,” he said, laughing quietly. “It’s the multivalence [ability to have many values and meanings] of any kind of canonical text scriptures that give them really different importance or different meanings based on the context in which they are used. So the context for ‘Eagle’s Wings’ has been in most people’s experience of funerals, but it’s not limited to that.”

The fact that the song can often make people cry – not because it’s sad but because it’s so comforting — is a gift of the Spirit, said Fr. Joncas, who in 2003 was diagnosed with Guillain-Barré Syndrome, a disorder in which the body’s immune system attacks the nervous system. He was paralyzed for several years and unable to compose. He wrote about his experiences of the disease in “On Eagle’s Wings: A Journey Through Illness Toward Healing,” released in 2017 by Twenty-Third Publications. It was that experience, he says, that allowed him to move beyond his Midwestern stoicism.

“The Eastern traditions talk about the gift of tears, which I think is really accurate,” he said. “I’m a now-beyond-middle-aged, Caucasian Midwesterner, which means that expressions of deep emotion just don’t come to me naturally. After my experience with Guillain-Barré, I found that I’m much more able to trust the feelings, to let them come out, and to connect empathically with people.”

It is, perhaps, the song’s central and vivid image of being “held in the palm of his hand” that gets us every time. It’s a physical impossibility, but it’s the emotional driver of the song. And that’s the power of scripture, Fr. Joncas says.

“One of the things I teach is that psalms are the cries of the human heart, that even though these are ancient Jewish lyrics, they have this wonderful ability to enter very deeply into human experience and then allow that experience to become a way of encountering God.”

At this moment in time, when the world is wracked by disease and the fear of the unknown, Fr. Joncas suggests that leaning on ancient texts like the Psalms can be a healing salve precisely because there’s nothing new under the sun.

“Although this [pandemic] is certainly unprecedented in our memory, there are people who can point to the Spanish influenza right at the beginning of the 20th century. As a historian, I can say, ‘well, it’s not the black death where a third of Europe simply disappeared over the course of a couple of years.’ We’ve faced this kind of difficulty before. But I think the scary part is we’ve got so much good science and technology that we thought we’d be protected from anything like this. So it really pulls the rug out from underneath our expectations.

“When that happens, I think going back to texts from our heritage is important, and songs of comfort remind us of a time when we have already experienced God’s care, and it’s kind of an act of trust that God will continue to care for us.”

In the palm of his hand.




Video Post: Psalm for a Day

Steve · March 23, 2019 · 4 Comments

Almost a year ago (March 31, 2018) I posted a reflection about “waiting” during Holy Week, and that post included a new song I composed and performed with my two musical partners, John Caravelli and Phil Cooper. A year later, we now have a video to go with the song, so I thought I would post it here.

Sit with it, pray with it, let it be a reminder that God is present throughout all of our days and nights…

Psalm for a Day

When the morning sun
Defeats the darkest night
I will hope in you, Lord
I will hope in you.
When the sparrow flies
And the flower blooms
I will hope in you, Lord
I will hope in you.

I will accept the peace beyond
All my understanding
And I will find you there
I will trust in you
I will trust in you.

When the evening calms
And the madness fades
I will look to you, Lord
I will look to you.
When the setting sun
Sheds its final light
I will look for you, Lord
I will look for you.

When the darkness falls
And I close my eyes
I will rest in you, Lord
I will rest in you.
I will rest in you, Lord
I will rest in you.

© 2018 Potter’s Mark Music.

Words and music by John Caravelli, Phil Cooper and Steve Givens.

The Players

John Caravelli, acoustic guitar and BGVs
Phil Cooper, piano and BGVs
Steve Givens, lead vocals

A Video Christmas Card: Christmas to Me

Steve · December 14, 2016 · 16 Comments

Thanks to you all for reading and responding this past year. Here’s a little Christmas greeting for you that asks the important question: What is Christmas to you?

Christmas to Me

Christmas to me, isn’t the lights on the tree
The wrappings and the bows
A reindeer’s glowing nose.
Christmas to me, isn’t so easy to see
In endless games and toys
For little girls and boys.

And no matter where I go
All the trappings and the snow
It just isn’t merry
It just isn’t Christmas
Till I am home again with you.

Christmas to me, echoes the mystery
The sacred holy night
A grace so pure and bright.
Christmas to me, lives in the memory
Of family and friends
A love that never ends.

Words & music by Katie Cooper Nix, Phil Cooper, Steve Givens, and Jim Russell
©2007, Potter’s Mark Music

The MO Bottom Project

John Caravelli, guitar
Phil Cooper, piano
Pat Dillender, drums
Steve Givens, vocals
Gerry Kasper, bass

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Steve Givens is a retreat and spiritual director and a widely published writer on issues of faith and spirituality. He is also a musician, composer and singer who lives in St. Louis, Mo., with his wife, Sue. They have two grown and married children and five grandchildren.

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