Originally published
May 14, 1987 — Calvinist Contact
What would he say today?

Sometimes a sudden emotion shivers within. Maybe, back in the garden, you hear a bird singing. Or a grandchild examines your face with pure-serious eyes. A cathedral organ soars under the vaults and along high, steep walls.

God preserves pieces of paradise throughout this broken and confusing world. Sometimes you would like to clasp them hard to your heart so they can never slip away, but inevitably they dissolve in the maelstrom of everyday life. It is the fortunate person who can experience beauty, in whatever form, as a wonderful gift from the Lord’s hand. For that is how He intended it here on this earth — a paradise where beauty and harmony endure forever.

One day, that paradise will return in all its glory. Its beauty is described in the Book of Revelation. There we are caressed by its joyful prospect. But that caress does not leave us dead to this world — for the plaintive song of the St. Matthew Passion still resounds across all continents: ‘Erbarme dich’ — have mercy on us, O Lord! That sigh floats over our lands and oceans like soaring white seagulls with outstretched wings.

This aria follows the dramatic music in which Bach describes Peter’s betrayal. You can hear the rooster crowing! And then, very softly, we hear, ‘und weinete bitterlich’ (and cried bitterly). How Bach must have identified with Peter’s betrayal and sin. Hardly has the word ‘bitterlich’ died away when the song’s profound melody takes over. You could call the ‘Erbarme Dich’ aria the Song of Repentance. O Lord, we have ruined our own lives — how deeply we have offended you by turning your paradise into a hell. Yet you show mercy to us when we sin and towards everything in this world that has grieved you, so much that you gave your only Son to make a new beginning – a renewed paradise, a new heaven and a new earth.

Have mercy on us, O Lord, as we wage war. “A prison cell is only two metres long and less than two metres wide — even smaller still is the plot of land that awaits me.”

Have mercy on us, O Lord! Afghanistan. An irrigation pipe under a road over which Soviet tanks rumble. Smiling soldiers, aiming a flamethrower at the gap. The child, clinging to its mother’s skirts, consumed by a flaming torch in mere seconds.

Have mercy on us, O Lord. A mother takes her grown son to the supermarket. He walks a bit oddly — sometimes his arms mow like windmill wings. His mouth drools a little. “Nice, hey mother, such a big store and so many people.”  Kindly, he says ‘hello’ to all the customers. But that takes all his attention, and suddenly his shopping cart collides with that of a well-dressed lady, a woman from whom one might expect innate civility. But the ‘lady’ viciously tells the mother, “How can you bring something like that into a store!” Something like that!

Have mercy on us, O Lord! A large CRC church in Canada. The church council bringing together brothers in the Lord who absolutely will not park their cars next to each other on the church parking lot. Not for them to greet each other once, or worse still, strike up a conversation.

Have mercy on us, O Lord, when, with a great artillery of suspicious, black-and-white, theological wordplay, we gloss over the precious precedent of your long suffering and mankind’s.

Have mercy on us, O Lord, if even a semblance of racial hatred dwells in us — even hatred against an ancient people. “It is not the Jews, Lord Jesus, who crucified you. It is I who did this to you — for this had to be done, alas, for my sins.”

Son of God, why is it so difficult, even for Christians, to follow your example? Why then are we always so preoccupied with our own self, with our craving for self-esteem, for earthly goods and desires?

Can we still hear the gentle call of your grace?

Something beautiful passed by,
Way over my head, 
Right past my heart --

I hardly saw it.
I closed the window,
And closed both eyes,
And felt with all my fingers closed -‑
Did I have it?

I walked outside,
Far into the distance,
Right into heaven -‑
Have I found it?

I held up my own heart,
Looked into my own heart,
Deep within my empty heart --
Was it there?

Then at dusk,
I thought in the twilight,
That in the twilight --
Someone was calling me.

Then I cried softly,
I cried very softly,
I cried for so long -‑
Until I was asleep.           

Adama van Scheltema

Notes

Adama van Scheltema (1877 – 1924) was a Dutch socialist poet, whose work was likely featured in Herman’s education.

Herman de Jong (1932 – 2004) was an organist and a great lover of J.S. Bach.

His family history with developmental disabilities (cousin Guert and grandchild Jovita) as well as his work for Friendship Groups gave Herman a deep sensitivity.

As a life-long member of the Christian Reformed Church (and Gereformeerde Kerken), Herman experienced the turmoil that led to its breaking up in 1991.