Remember Your Song

It's Saint Caedmon's Day.

Caedmon (died 680 A.D.) lived in Ireland in a time when history, news, entertainment, life and love were all shared by word of mouth, and by music. Ballads passed down from generation to generation carried the life-blood of the People.

But Caedmon couldn't sing. Couldn't play a note, couldn't even remember a story in the proper order. When his turn came, so the story goes, he would panic; words would get jumbled, notes lost, and singing would come to a standstill if he even tried to join. 

So he began to avoid any situation in which he might be called upon to sing. One night, having left a warm, joyful hall full of singing lest the harp be passed to him, he fell asleep on his bed in the cattle shed, where he'd gone to sleep with the beasts. 

In his dreams a man came to him, and stood before him. 

"Sing for me, Caedmon," he said. "Sing for me."

"I can't sing," Caedmon protested. "Why do you think I'm out here, instead of at the feast?"

"Sing anyway. Sing for me."

"I don't know what to sing."
"Sing about the beginning of the world, and sing about creation."

And so Caedmon sang. In his dream, before the man who had called on him to sing, he sang a song of love and praise to the Father of Heaven, Creator of All. And, in his dream, the song was so beautiful as to draw tears from the hearer.

But when he woke, the song was still with him, and he sang it for everyone who would hear. The story of Caedmon tells us that he sang for poor and rich, educated and simple, man and woman and child. He sang the stories of the Creator, the stories of Love. 

And so the man who couldn't speak a story, much less sing one, became the carrier of the greatest Story, because when told to open his mouth, he trusted that the song would be there.

And so today, 
    we think of those whose song is unsung, 
         and pray that they find their music
    we think of our own song
          and ask if we have sung it well
              and if not, we take a breath
          and ask for grace
              and open our mouths to sing.

I cannot speak, 
unless You loose my tongue;
I only stammer,
and I speak uncertainly;
but if You touch my mouth,
my Lord, 
then I will sing the story
of Your wonders!

Teach me to hear that story,
through each person,
to cradle a sense of wonder
in their life,
to honour the hard-earned wisdom
of their sufferings
to waken their joy
that the King of all kings
stoops down
to wash their feet,
and looking up
into their face
says,
'I know--I understand'

This world has become
a world of broken dreams
where dreamers are hard to find
and friends are few

Lord, be the gatherer of our dreams.
You set the countless stars in place,
and found room for each of them to shine.
You listen for us in Your heaven-bright hall.
Open our mouths to tell our tales of wonder.

Teach us again the greatest story ever:
the One who made the worlds 
became a little, helpless child...

So many who have heard
forget to tell the Story.
                                                         --Adapted from Celtic Daily Prayer
                                                          From the Northumbria Community