Sophie Sings a New Song
“Do it again.” Three words that make kids laugh and make parents go insane.
This past Easter Sunday morning, I was making a big pancake breakfast for my family. Tricia (my wife) was having a nice sleep-in, and Sophia (our daughter) was patiently awaiting her feast. A few years ago, I put together an Easter playlist for my iPod, and of course I added some songs from Resurrection Letters, Volume II this year. Much to my surprise, my little two year old started singing along to “All Things New.” Every time those three words (”all things new”) came up, she belted them right out. I read in an interview where Andrew said he wanted his songs to be the kind that are still being sung years from now. Be encouraged: the next generation is already singing them.
Those repeated words, “all things new,” are what caught Sophie’s attention. Everyone with kids knows that they’re in for some annoyance when you’ve done something funny, and they want you to “do it again.” And again. And again. And again. And again. That’s not anywhere near enough “and again”s.
But there might be some wisdom in the child’s repetition that we’re missing. G.K. Chesterton wrote,
Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. (Orthodoxy, Chapter 4)
Or, as Rich Mullins wrote,
Well we are children no more, we have sinned and grown old
And our Father still waits and He watches down the road
To see the crying boys come running back to His arms
And be growing young
Growing young
Perhaps our inability to abide repetition, our constant looking for something “new,” has a lot more to do with our weakness and failure than it does our becoming “mature.” Lately, I’ve been trying to gather the strength to “do it again” as many times as Sophia requests it, and I’ve been trying to summon the wisdom to find joy in the repetition.
The new song Sophie was singing is paradoxically older than the universe. When Scripture refers to a “new song,” it’s not referring “a song recently written,” but a renewed song, or a song of renewal. “All Things New” and every song that conveys enternal truth is the repetition of the ancient paths which will one day be fully renewed. It is, most definitely, a song worth repeating.
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
The concept of eternal newness is fascinating to me. It amazes me to think that God can treasure monotony. Our repetition is tiring and meaningless. Yet His repetition is new!
That was beautiful, we all need a new song. Sometimes life beats us down and makes us lose sight of what is really important. We turn into empty husks, going through the motions to pay the bills and survive, neglecting the things that make us human. I have tried hard to recapture that spirit but have only few moments when I can sustain it
My oldest son (age 6) has been singing along to The Good Confession since he first heard it. He’s been asking lots of questions about asking Jesus into his heart and I have this sneaky feeling that Andrew Peterson has already stolen my thunder and my little boy has been redeemed while singing the words, “I believe He is the Christ, the son of the living God . . .”
That Chesterton quote is magnificent. My heart welled up with hope when I read it, as it does any time I remember God’s joy in His creation. One thought that occurred to me is that I’m very hypocritical in my disdain for repetition. I can be easily worn out by my children, but I find the repetition of sin patterns comfortable and easy. I am so thankful that God has infinitely more patience than I. Thanks for posting.
Travis,
Someday I’ll break down and read Orthodoxy. It gets quoted so much I probably have bit by bit :-).
I think of this quote just about every time I see a sunrise or sunset and “Growing Young” is one of my favorite Mullins tunes. Thanks for putting them together in such a clever way.
I love this thought:
“Lately, I’ve been trying to gather the strength to “do it again” as many times as Sophia requests it, and I’ve been trying to summon the wisdom to find joy in the repetition.”
That attitude will serve you well during these tender years. I don’t miss the work of having toddlers around but I love the recollection of those “do it again” times. They are some sweet ones and I pray you all collect many of them too.
Am I the only person who is reminded of Mark Twain when I hear GK Chesterton? There’s something magical to me about saying something really funny while at the same time conveying a really serious point.
Could it be that need for constantly new things evidences our general lack of satisfaction? If the thing satisfied, then would we grow tired of it?
I am a carpenter that listens to his ipod on headphones all day, sometimes sermons, sometimes music. Today I listened the RL2 for about 3 hours straight, and there was no boredom. Tomorrow may be different, but I got choked up more than once during “Have your way”, “All things new” and “Hosanna”.
It seems as though, although I’m really old (or it seems), I still learn more completely by repetition. And, I really do think, much like Greg S., that in listening to songs of our faith, we become more aware of, and learn so much about our God; Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I have had RL2 in the CD player in my car since I got it back in the Fall with the “pre-order” folks. I listen to it daily while running errands, and I find that as soon as “The Good Confession” hits the last note, I hit the little button on my steering wheel that fast-forwards CDs to the next song, all so it will continue to play through RL2 one ore time. I catch it every time, and when “All Things New” begins, I ALWAYS take a deep breath and settle in to, what seems like the arms of Jesus. I have yet to grow tired of the songs on that CD, and I think it’s because they are so full of the Truth. And with every AP CD I own, from “Clear to Venus” to “RL2″, God seems to speak to me those words we all long to hear, “I love you, you are my kid, and you can believe I will never let go of you.” As a person who seems to NEED repetition, I know I will never grow tired of hearing how much my Father loves me! Travis, it’s such a wonderful thing that you love your Sophia enough to repeat things for her as often as she asks. She will grow up knowing your love for her, and she’ll also know she can count on you to show her, over and over again, how deep that love is, and from Whom it comes.
All of this reminds me of the song “For the Love of God” on “The Far Country” CD…..it all comes back to His love, doesn’t it? =)
Hi Travis, Great thoughts. It reminds me too of George MacDonald. In fact, I’ve often wondered if Rich Mullins read a lot of MacDonald when I hear “Growing Young.”
MaeDonald talked a lot about childlike faith and wonder and the idea of growing young, both in his sermons (The Child in the Midst) and in places like The Golden Key, with the Old Man of the Fire, who is but a child although in the story he seems to symbolize ultimate spiritual maturity. Like our buddy Rolland Hein observes about The Golden Key, “spiritual bodies that inhabit the ‘high countries’ to which the travelers go, keep becoming younger in physical vitality and more childlike in spirit.”
I too look forward to the day when Christ will do away with that awful “f” word. Familiarity. I find myself always fighting to find again joy once known in things great and small.
Travis, Tony, et al: thank you for the encouragement. Lately I’ve been so, so tired… and it’s sad how much I’ve lost the ability to “do it again”. Christ is truly our only hope.
Greg: I’m seeing the same sort of thing with my six-year-old daughter. It’s simultaneously exhilarating and intimidating… but when I hear my little ones singing these beautiful truths, that grin jumps unbidden to my face; the unexpected joy is a welcome companion.
AP: Keep the music flowing. We’re praying for your joy and your strength, and that sweet family of yours.
With Travis’s article and the rest of your comments on the table, I was reminded of this video. Try to watch it without laughing out loud. “Do it again, Daddy.”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5P6UU6m3cqk
[...] I think that boredom is a weakness which plagues us, and I’m fighting hard against it. I wrote recently at The Rabbit Room, Lately, I’ve been trying to gather the strength to “do it again” [...]