And Can It Be? (v)

Update & disclaimer: when I posted what's written below, I was under the assumption that Charles Wesley wrote these lyrics with the remainder of the hymn. It has since been revealed to me, thanks to conversation with and investigation by Jonathan Powers, that this verse was not in Charles' composition but must have been added sometime later, which would explain its absence in most publications of the hymn. This verse is included on this page, which has a large compilation of hymns.

Verse 5

Still the small inward voice I hear,

That whispers all my sins forgiven;

Still the atoning blood is near,

That quenched the wrath of hostile Heaven.

I feel the life His wounds impart.

I feel the Saviour in my heart.

This is the only verse that does not appear in the United Methodist Hymnal. I've a hunch that the reasoning has to do with the fourth line and the language of "hostile Heaven." [Update: it also appears that Wesley didn't write this verse but this was added sometime later.] My friend Jonathan, who is a worship leader and has studied at length about Charles Wesley, said that he doesn't recall ever having heard or recited this verse in worship/song. He was aware of this verse, but was unable to recall the lyrics from memory like he is able to for the other verses of this hymn. We'll get to the more unsettled portion of this verse in a moment, but let's take the images of this stanza in order.

The first picture we have is the gentle voice of assurance that "all my sins [are] forgiven." Here the author combines the Scriptural imagery of Elijah's encounter with God on Mount Horeb in 1 Kings 19 with what appears to be an allusion to the witness of the Spirit ("inward voice"). Sometimes, like Elijah, we expect God to reveal himself in the grandiose (an earthquake, a fire, a thunderstorm), but what we get is a gentle whisper. It's not that forgiveness didn't come at a great and messy cost (the cross), for it did, but forgiveness is often instilled into our hearts gently and quietly. At the heart of the Lord's prayer is a prayer asking for forgiveness. Immediately prior, Jesus tells us to pray in secret. When my son breaks a rule in the house and we get to the point of confronting his wrong, he apologizes and I tell him, "I forgive you" while hugging him. I don't shout it. Forgiveness is whispered because it is told in the midst of embrace.

The atonement takes center stage in the third and fourth lines. Now, I understand the reasoning for omitting this verse because hostility implies a lack of control in today's usage of the term. It conjures up an image of unharnessed rage and destruction. I'm not sure what sort of reception this language of 'hostile Heaven' had in the days of when this verse was added, but what is clear is that the editor here is alluding to the theme of the atonement as propitiating the wrath/anger of God. To clarify, the Wesleys did not contend that wrath was an essential or eternal attribute of God, but was the passion/expression of his justice and its reaction to sin. John wrote in a letter:

Although, therefore, I do not term God, as Mr. [William] Law supposes, 'a wrathful Being,' which conveys a wrong idea; yet I firmly believe He was angry with all mankind, and that He was reconciled to them by the death of His Son. And I know He was angry with me till I believed in the Son of His love; and yet this is no impeachment to His mercy, that He is just as well as merciful.

(Note how love takes center stage and remains God's reigning attribute!) Matt O'Reilly posted recently on the issue of wrath and that we must see that wrath is not solely an expression about the Father's hatred of sin, but that wrath also exists in the other Persons of the Trinity. So, properly speaking, it is not as though the Father is placing His wrath on the Son against the Son's will, but that God is taking the wrath upon Godself (or absorbing it?) in the death of the God-human, Jesus. In that sense, it might be best understood, as Charles puts it in this hymn, that wrath is 'quenched.' The demands of holiness/justice are satisfied because of the sacrificial self-giving of the Son.

This nuance causes me to wonder about the reaction against the notion of God's wrath so prevalent in contemporary theological dialogue. Could it be that certain theologians are reacting more against the implications of a split Trinity (in which the image of a father inflicting his anger upon his son in rejecting him/turning away from him/etc.) than the notion of anger itself? Perhaps not, but maintaining the unity of purpose of the Persons of the Trinity in God's rescue plan that goes through the cross, would be one way of avoiding the pitfalls of many problematic expressions of penal substitutionary atonement. (Click here to see a line from John Wesley that shows the unity of purpose in the Godhead in redemption.)

The final two lines of this stanza return to the inner working of salvation by the editor's appeal to the feeling of new life that the presence of Christ brings when he enters into our hearts. Again we see the beauty of paradox in the picture that Christ's wounds heal us and give us life, an image found in Isaiah 53 and 1 Peter 2. Wounds that heal. 'Tis mystery all!

And Can It Be? (iv)

Verse 4

Long my imprisoned spirit lay,

Fast bound in sin and nature's night;

Thine eye diffused a quickening ray--

I woke, the dungeon flamed with light;

My chains fell off, my heart was free,

I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.

This verse may well be the most beautiful combination of lyrics to illustrate sanctifying grace in all of poetry. To highlight sanctification in Wesleyan theological understanding, the picture of a prisoner in chains illustrates the bondage that sin keeps us in until Christ breaks the bond and sets us free from the power of sin. Whereas justification is oft described as the sinner's being set free from the guilt of sin, sanctification is being set free from sin's power. (There's really much more to the Wesleys' understanding of sanctification: for instance, John liked to use various phrases to describe it and preferred to speak about being made 'perfect in love' which conveys in part that TO which we are saved. But as it pertains to sin, i.e. what we are saved FROM, this is how it is best understood.)

For the Wesleys, prevenient grace is often imaged by the language of light. The passage to which John Wesley most frequently referred in speaking on prevenient grace was John 1.9: The light which enlightens everyone was coming into the world. Being in the midst of the prologue of St. John's Gospel, this clearly grounds the Wesleys' belief in prevenient grace upon the Person and work of Christ. So perhaps more accurately, we can say that this verse images the interchange of prevenient and sanctifying grace since even our response of rising, going forth, and following is enabled by the prior work of Christ. This clears the Wesleys from any false accusation of Pelagianism, whereby humans are capable of saving ourselves. From start to end, salvation is all grace.

To return to the picture of the prisoner in chains and its correspondence to sanctification, I recall on several occasions where Dr. Kenneth Collins made the following comment: "Forgiveness of sin without freedom from it is just polish for the chains that keep us bound." This is why salvation is so much more than being acquitted or being declared righteous. The angel told Joseph to name the child Jesus because he shall "save his people from (not in) their sin" (Matthew 1.21). In the theology of atonement, this imagery of a prisoner set free may have the closest affinity with the language of Christus Victor. It is a power-breaking grace that we are faced with. Christ breaks bonds that were impossible for us to break. If you recall in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Eustace (who had become a dragon) was unable to "undragon" himself. He was in bondage because of a bracelet around his wrist. Aslan (the Christ figure of the Chronicles of Narnia) had to peel off the dragon layers so that the bracelet could come off, and once that happened Eustace was able to go forth and follow the right path.

Where darkness, evil and death once reigned, Christ brings light, goodness, and life. He comes to break our chains so that we, like Charles confesses, can rise, go forth, and follow him!

And Can It Be? (iii)

Verse 3
He left His Father's throne above
So free, so infinite His grace --
Emptied Himself of all but love,
And bled for Adam's helpless race:
'Tis mercy all, immense and free,
For O my God, it found out me!

Here we have Charles' beautiful lyrics of kenosis, Christ's humbling and self-emptying of himself. Many point to the Christ hymn of Philippians 2.5-11 (esp. verse 6 - "emptied") as the key Scriptural text for kenosis, although others read the passage through the lens of Christ as Second Adam. I don't see why both can't be at the heart of the passage. Kenotic theology maintains the full divinity of Christ though he suspended certain attributes from his conception to his ascension (see, for instance, Mark 13.32, which conveys that Jesus is unaware of when the final judgment would take place). To read Philippians 2 through the lens of Christ as Second Adam is to affirm his full humanity, his obedience in undoing the sin of Adam, which had 'grasped at equality with God' through disobedience. One of my favorite quotations comes from St. Irenaeus' On the Apostolic Preaching where he interprets the significance of the cross, and he seems to suggest the combination of these two themes:

And the transgression which occurred through the tree [of knowledge of good & evil] was undone by the obedience of the tree [the cross]--which [was shown when] the Son of Man, obeying God, was nailed to the tree, destroying the knowledge of evil, and introducing and providing the knowledge of good.

...of all but love. Again we see that love is God's reigning, his "darling attribute" as we saw in verse 1. Charles is obviously engaging in a bit of hyperbole, for he certainly didn't mean to imply that Christ let go of attributes such as justice, holiness, righteousness, and so forth. The point is that love (and we should couple mercy with it, seeing it at the heart of this verse) is the chief motivation of God's redemptive action in Christ. I say we should couple 'mercy' with love because the Wesleys saw them that way. In a letter to William Law, one of John's mentors, John stressed as much when he said that "love and anger [are] the passions (speaking after the manner of men) which correspond with the dispositions of mercy and justice." Mercy also belongs here because of what we find in the next line of the hymn: that we, Adam's race, were helpless. Christ bled and died to bring us to a helped state. It takes humility to recognize that the only way to life is to admit our own helplessness. It's no accident that it took Christ's humility to lift us out of helplessness.

I have the image of a lost sheep in my mind here. That is the image of helplessness. 'Tis mercy all! that Christ would enter into harm's way to find a stupid sheep like me, who brought this own helplessness upon myself. That mercy has found me! This was at the heart of the Wesleys' experience(s) and evangelical manifesto in 1738. Christ died for the world and is the savior of the world. They knew that! But they'd never personalized it the way St. Paul had in Galatians 2.20, where he affirms that Christ loved me and gave himself for me!

And Can It Be? (ii)

Verse 2
'Tis mystery all: th'Immortal dies:
Who can explore His strange design?
In vain the firstborn seraph tries
To sound the depths of love divine.
'Tis mercy all! Let earth adore,
Let angel minds inquire no more.

I performed a search over at the Wesley Center Online to see if much had been written on this verse in particular. Nothing much showed up, but I found a series of sermons compiled into a book that were preached by P.F. Bresee. He quotes this verse in one of the sermons and writes some beautiful words that speak of this mystery that Charles Wesley was speaking to in this verse...that darkness and hope meet at the cross:

That is a marvelous utterance of the Spirit through the prophet Hosea -- "I will give her the valley of Achor for a door of hope." Achor was the dark place -- the place of disaster, defeat, wreck; and that place of darkness is made a door of hope. Where the wreck and ruin came, there the Cross is raised. Sin has caused the awful blight and curse, but right in the very place where the curse falls, there the Blood flows. The Lamb of God dies to take away the sin of the world.

The Son of God has made the darkest place of human history the most luminous place in this universe. Every thing is dim beside it. Ten thousand suns gathered into one, would be blackness itself compared to the unspeakable glory of the cross of Christ. The Cross is the great suffering, infinite, crowning glory of God. It is the mighty, struggling, dying effort to do what omnipotence can not do; to accomplish the impossible; to cause infinite justice and infinite mercy to kiss each other over the brow of a doomed man, and folding their arms about him, lift him to a new possibility. To the amazement of a moral universe it is done. Infinite love, infinite suffering bring it to pass.

'Tis mystery all! Moving into the lyrics themselves, in the last post, I suggested that Charles wasn't making an explicit theological statement about divinity dying. You might think that it would be best for me to back off from my assessment of Charles given his statement here, 'th'Immortal dies', but I still don't think he's making a doctrinal claim except the orthodox one that Christ is God (the Immortal one) from eternity (see Revelation 1.17-18). We saw similar claims from Charles in the series on the Nativity hymns we examined in December last year, which drew upon the rich paradox of God becoming Incarnate. The mystery and miracle of the Incarnation began in the Virgin womb and reaches a new height in the cross. But the story, as we know, was not over at Calvary. It couldn't be, but it had to go there.

Who can explore this strange design? For indeed, it is a mystery. As is true in many areas of theology (and life), when it comes to the death of Jesus, we must begin and end in the realization that we cannot exhaust its meaning. We cannot fully explore it. If we begin there, in worship and awe and humility, then we have the freedom to explain what is clear and admit what we ultimately do not and cannot know. The atoning death of Jesus is not a puzzle that needs to be pieced together. It is a mystery that we cannot ultimately explore in a way that we can explore the earth.

There's a funny clip in The Truman Show where Truman recounts his days in elementary school where he told his teacher that he wanted "to be an explorer, like the great Magellan!" His teacher (who had to take part in the ploy to keep Truman in the bubble created for his life) pulled down a map of the world and said: "Oh, you're too late! There's nothing left to explore." You and I are not made to wrap our heads around the atonement. It is bigger than our heads. If it weren't, then it wouldn't be much, would it? That's why there's something freeing about beginning with mystery and keeping that at the heart of Jesus' death, as Charles does here. In Psalm 31, John Wesley's notes convey the atonement as mystery when he says: ...the secret of God's tabernacle, as it is called, Psalm 27.5, the place of God's special presence, where none might enter save the high-priest. With thy secret favour and providence, which saves them by hidden and unknown methods.

Even angel minds cannot grasp the depths of love divine. Who are humans that You are mindful of us...that You care for us...that You'd become one of and die for us? It takes a good dose of humility and trust to adore something you cannot grasp, but that is what is asked of us when it comes to the death of Christ. But humility, trust, and adoration is truly freeing as we realize that the depths of the reality of God's love is beyond comprehension, yet we can truly experience it! 'Tis mercy all! Let earth adore...

And Can It Be? (i)

Verse 1
And can it be that I should gain
An interest in the Saviour's blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain-
For me, who Him to death pursued?
Amazing love! How can it be,
That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?

So begins one of the theologically richest hymns ever written. Written by Charles Wesley, many say that if Methodism were to have a fight song this would unquestionably be it.

Thanks to Jonathan Powers' direction, I was taken to this article, which is a snippet about some of the background of Charles' writing the hymn. For instance, the hymn was first published under the title 'Free Grace,' which is interesting given that one of John Wesley's most famous sermons shares the same title (another reason to make this the fight song of Methodism). The lyrics, the author of the article notes, relates closely to Charles' special experience on May 21, 1738 (three days before his brother John's experience at Aldersgate where his heart was "strangely warmed"). Although rules of grammar are suspended to a certain degree when it comes to poetry, I am struck that this hymn begins with a coordinating conjunction: "And can it be...". I wondered if this meant that Charles originally had this hymn as a follow-up to a previous hymn or if it had some sort of poetical or theological significance. With no evidence that I've seen to the former, the latter seems most probable. Since Jonathan (mentioned above) is more of an expert on Charles and on hymnody in general, I asked him. He responded with this insightful thought: "By using 'And'+ it marks the song as a response/reflection on conversion." This strengthens the case that this hymn is deeply connected to the experience referenced above, an experience (similar to John's) that many call Charles' conversion.

The hymn begins with a coordinating conjunction because this hymn marks the response of someone who is in awe of the extent of God's love. Or, as the author of the article above put it, "The questions that open the hymn are a remarkable reiteration of the perplexion faced by one who is confronted by the wonder of God’s forgiving love...This mystery is at the heart of God’s love and mercy, which is inexplicable even to the angels. We are left simply to adore the depths of divine mercy."

This is that upon which this hymn is grounded. This is that upon which our salvation is founded: God's infinite, perplexing, and forgiving love! In Charles' journal on 14 August 1741, he records this:

I went after a stray sheep, who was turned out of the way by the predestinarians; but the good Shepherd had found her himself, and brought her home rejoicing. For some days she had been under the full influence of that narrow opinion, and could not bear any of her brethren and sisters. Then she cried unto the Lord to show her the truth, and he answered her by his own mouth. The true light broke in upon her, and in his light she saw that God is love. She is now humbled in the dust before him, for having "robbed him of his most darling attribute."

Notice that he says it is love that is God's "darling attribute." We'll see the theme of 'light breaking in' in another verse, so stay tuned for that. Interestingly, the topic of John's sermon 'Free Grace,' Charles' journal entry above, and John's treatise 'Predestination Calmly Considered' all center on the controverted issue of predestination and the Wesleys' disagreement with the Calvinists' take of the issue. But in all of these (and more), it is 'love' that is at the heart of God's nature and hence God's intent in saving fallen humanity. John, in 'Predestination Calmly Considered':

So ill do election and reprobation agree with the truth and sincerity of God! But do they not agree least of all with the scriptural account of his love and goodness? that attribute which God peculiarly claims, wherein he glories above all the rest. It is not written, “God is justice,” or “God is truth” (although he is just and true in all his ways). But it is written, “God is love,” love in the abstract, without bounds; and "there is no end of his goodness."

Two final points that probably deserve much more consideration. First, the lyrics 'gain an interest in the Saviour's blood' convey the metaphor of sin as debt and atonement as redemption (or perhaps ransom) with the language of commerce in gaining interest. This should not be read to suggest that 'ransom' or commercial atonement theology governs the Wesleys' (or at least Charles') approach to the atonement. Indeed, this hymn will go on to portray other themes that lay at the heart of Jesus' atoning death, but it does show that there is something immeasurable we gain in the death of Jesus. I think this is conveyed somewhat in 'How Deep the Father's Love for Us' by Stuart Townend in the lyrics:

Why should I gain from his reward?
I cannot give an answer.
But this I know with all my heart:
His death has paid my ransom.

Second (and finally), in relation to the recent posts about Tertullian's and Cyril of Alexandria's takes on the Godhead at the cross (you'll want to read the couple of comments on each post) comes the question of the final part of this verse: what did Charles import into "That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?" Jonathan raised this question in the comments on the post about Tertullian. Though I could be mistaken as to Charles' meaning, I don't think he was making a theological argument to suggest that Christ's divinity died at the cross. If he was doing that, then I think he stood in opposition to the conclusions of the early church (most notably Cyril's theology, affirmed in the Council of Chalcedon). I rather think that Charles was using 'my God' as an expression much like Thomas cried in John 20.28. Charles rightly recognizes that Jesus is indeed "My Lord and my God!" It is an exclamation that, returning to an earlier point, shows our wonder at the infinite and perplexing breadth and depth of God's love, God's 'free grace'!

Evidence of Original Sin?

In 1756, John Wesley began writing what would be his largest treatise, The Doctrine of Original Sin according to Scripture, Reason, and Experience. This project was written in objection to John Taylor, whose treatise from 1740 on the same subject amounted to arguing for a Unitarian doctrine of God, an Arian Christology, and a Socinian atonement model, in which Christ's death is really nothing more than a demonstration of the love of God that humans are called to imitate to align themselves in the favor of God. The preface of Wesley's work indicates that he (Wesley, that is) views sin in terms of a disease that needs the healing touch of the Great Physician.

In Part 1 of Wesley's treatise, he surveys the world to assess the depth and breadth of human wickedness and sin. After reviewing sin's universal reach and effects in the past, Wesley turns his attention to the known world of his own day, noting the kinds and degrees of sinfulness among the heathen, Muslims, and Christians, which he breaks down into Greek/Eastern Christians, Roman Catholics, and Protestants. Even noting that 2/3 of the world population was 'heathen' according to their calculations, I find it peculiar that the majority of Wesley's treatment is on the heathen nations and Protestants with very brief assessments of each Islam and the Eastern Church and a fairly short survey of the Roman Catholic Church of his time.

Furthermore, the nature of the activity indicating sin's pervasiveness is quite frequently along the lines of structural oppression and vanity of riches (seen in Asia-China), ferocity in mass murderous actions (seen in many Native American tribes and in the Roman Church), and imperialism (seen in European Protestants). In surveying sinfulness in England, even, Wesley shows its extent in economic injustice through schemes of smuggling and harsh treatment of widows and orphans. The all-encompassing nature of sin is expressed poignantly in the final statement of this section of his treatise: Still, then, sin is the baleful source of affliction; and consequently, the flood of miseries which covers the face of the earth, - which overwhelms not only single persons, but whole families, towns, cities, kingdoms, - is a demonstrative proof of the overflowing of ungodliness in every nation under heaven.

Not only is this summary statement, preceded by its examples, indicative of a view of original sin as a 'disease,' but it shows its major 'symptoms' in societal and structural sins of murder, oppression, slavery, imperialism, and economic injustice. I find these emphases interesting. In speaking about the nature of sin, would you expect to hear these as the primary 'symptoms' in a sermon or treatise from a preacher today? My guess is that many would put their attention toward other sorts of behaviors. That's not to say Wesley's thoughts are normative or that we should address 18th century problems in the 21st century. But I do think that we often tend to ignore how these bigger sorts of issues are problems still today, if for no other reason than to not take our own habits into consideration and how they may, unintentionally even, proliferate these structural schemes.

Now, up to this point, I applaud Wesley for his assessment...even his own countrymen and brothers in the faith are not excused. This section kind of reminds me of the lecture in a class I had in college on 8th Century Prophets with Dr. Dickens. In the opening chapters of Amos, we find several oracles, calling the nations out for their sins. There is a fascinating (and chilling) rhetoric Amos employs when he does this. He begins by pointing out the sins of Israel's worst enemies (Damascus - 1.3-5; and Gaza - 1.6-8) and gradually makes his way to addressing the sins of those neighbors toward whom Israel is more or less indifferent, and then onto their allies (Judah - 2.4-5), but reserves the longest oracle against the sins of his own people, Israel (2.6-16, and one could say the rest of the book, which is 9 chapters long). When a prophet speaks out against the sins of your worst enemies it's easy to start chanting 'AMEN!' but when you do so, you're caught! Slowly, but ever so surely, Amos made his way to his own audience and they couldn't but hear the judgment of the Lord upon themselves.

Again, no nations, no religions, no people groups are exempt. But there's something interesting about all this: with all this assessing, Wesley never seems to directly address how these 'symptoms' may (or may not) be exhibited in those who are on the receiving end of it all. His diagnoses/judgments of the 'symptoms' lie primarily upon the heads and hands of those who are doing the oppressing; of those who are enslaving others; of those who are smuggling and robbing from the poor; of those who are murdering in mass numbers. We are left to perhaps ask Wesley how he would address how (or whether?) sin may play itself out in those who are on the receiving end of these sins.

Furthermore, and here I'm getting to the point regarding the topic I am researching, how does the gospel in general, and the atonement in particular, speak to them? Of those who are clearly guilty of these atrocious actions, language of guilt and punishment may seem appropriate enough, so long as it calls for reformation of character and the structures that keep these things in motion. (We must also recognize, however, that in such reformation, there is an added emphasis, if not a shift, that the linguistic family of guilt and punishment doesn't really address.) But how does Christ's death, the atonement (if we understand it to be the solution to whatever the problem/human predicament is) speak to these others: the oppressed, the enslaved, the imperialized, the widow, the orphan, even the murdered?

Charles & 'The School of the Cross'

I've been reading through Charles Wesley: Life, Literature & Legacy, edited by Kenneth Newport and Ted Campbell. The book is very helpful as it presents Charles as a theologian in his own right and not to be seen solely through the lens of his older brother, John. This is demonstrated in the 28 chapters that come from the pens (or keyboards, I suppose we should say) of more than 25 Wesley scholars who write on the various theological, historical, and personal aspects of Charles' life. One chapter that stands out in particular to me, as a student of atonement theology, is the one brought forth from John R. Tyson, "'I preached at the Cross, as usual': Charles Wesley and Redemption".

I won't regurgitate everything spelled out by Tyson here, but I did want to draw attention to a helpful insight that seems appropriate to draw out in the Lenten season and that is his a section where Tyson talks about the school of the cross. This is not something about academia, but he's drawing upon language from Charles that speaks about the Christian's life as learning the way of the cross. Tyson begins, "For Charles Wesley the cross was not only God's decisive act in the history of redemption, it became the pattern for the Christian's life as well." He adds, "By observing and participating in Christ's sufferings, Christians come to 'know him,' they begin to partake of his Spirit, and are thereby prepared for their own victory over death and for the life to come." This is demonstrated in Charles' lyrics. For instance:

We now who Jesus' spirit breathe
The ills of life with patience bear,
With joy receive the stroke of death,
With faith expect his rise to share,
His victory o'er the gaping tomb,
And live His endless life to come.

and...

While I thus my Pattern view,
I shall bleed and suffer too,
With the man of sorrows join'd
One become in heart and mind.

More and more like Jesus grow,
Till the Finisher I know,
Gain the final Victor's wreath,
Perfect love in perfect death.

and further still...

Thy suffering, Lord, doth mine imply
And binds me on thy cross to die.

The term 'Pattern' above should stand out as an indicator of an important influence upon the Wesleys: The Christian Pattern, (or The Imitation of Christ) from Thomas a Kempis, a work that John extracted and published for his English readers. This hardly exhausts the Wesleys' approach to redemption, but it does draw out an important facet of the cross that is often lacking in many presentations today of the Atonement and its implications: that in Jesus' speaking of his own impending path toward the cross, he bids his disciples/students to 'take up your cross' and follow him. This prepares us, as Tyson suggests, for our own "victory over death."

Jon Foreman, in his Winter EP, has somewhat portrayed this notion of the 'school of the cross' in the lyrics of 'Learning how to Die' when he speaks of realizing that life is not about taking, accessing, laughing, but about learning how to give, cry, and die. A most appropriate song for Lent: