Thanksgiving Hallelujah

I am sure you have heard the song "Hallelujah" written by Leonard Cohen and made popular by Jeff Buckley.  It is a haunting melody with lyrics that delight and confuse. Originally written in 1984, Cohen penned almost 80 verses to the song and performed them in various forms and arrangements in his tours. Many artists from different genres have covered it since then. It has become a staple of singers on competition shows like American Idol, X factor, and The Voice.

The simple refrain of "Hallelujah" appeals to those of us with faith. It embodies our desire to praise God, to give him thanks for our blessings.  It is the cry of Joshua when the walls of Jericho fell. It is the golden thread throughout the Psalms that our Almighty Father is worthy of all our praises. It is in the Hosanna on Palm Sunday. It is the roaring witness of the great multitude as well as the heart's whispered desire of the Apostle John in Revelation: "Amen. Come Lord Jesus." We love our hallelujahs, don't we?

Looking at these lyrics closely today, I was struck by what I had been overlooking. How did I miss the pain? Why didn't I hear the plaintive cry in the lyrics? Why did I focus on the hallelujahs and miss the brokenness? 

 "Maybe there's a God above, 

but all I"ve ever learned from love 

was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you. 

And it's not a cry that you hear at night, 

It's not somebody who's seen the light, 

It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah."

Life has not been easy for us this year. In January, during his senior year of high school, Dylan decided to leave our home and live with another family for several months. I was fired from my job in April without notice or cause and the company fought my unemployment claim. (They lost.) I found legal work two months later as a temp at a facility that can only be described as a thinly-disguised, high-priced sweatshop. Chuck received an offer from his employer to transfer to Houston, so we lived separate lives for most of the summer.  I had to say goodbye to my church family; it was particularly sad to wave goodbye to my youth ministry kids. With Dylan off to college in Hattiesburg, Elaine, Carlos, and the kids in Mandeville, Chuck and I finally reunited in Houston in September, only to discover that the job market in Houston is incredibly tough to break into, especially for a new resident with no network of family and friends. Without my income, we are stretched to the breaking point, and I am beginning to wonder how to afford Thanksgiving dinner. It is difficult to find a hallelujah.

Yes, Dylan will be home from college for Thanksgiving. Elaine and Carlos are coming too and bringing the kids.Yes, we are reasonably healthy--although I am still plagued by tinnitus and hearing loss. Yes, life could be worse. But it could be better. It was better. I've know hallelujahs.

But remember when I moved in you 

And the holy dove was moving too

And every breath we drew was Hallelujah?

I have been thinking recently of what I would say when we exchange our "thanksgivings" at the dinner table. I have been hard pressed to find something that I can say out loud. I am thankful that Dylan hasn't been kicked out of college (At least, not yet.) I'm thankful that I don't have to drive the Gray Ghost in Houston traffic. (We sold it to a friend for her daughter who was in dire need of transportation. But that leaves us with only one vehicle and I am isolated and alone most of the time with no way to get out and meet people.) I am thankful that Chuck has a job. (But his company is restructuring which is and will continue to be stressful until everything shakes out months down the road.)

In the midst of this insanity of life, I can hold on to nothing except my faith that God is good, Jesus loves me, and the Holy Spirit will not forsake us. My cold, broken, whispered hallelujah will be a prayer for the promise of warmer, louder, stronger hallelujahs to come.