Richard Gillard’s "The Servant Song" is a staple in Catholic parishes, but it’s far more than just a catchy recessional hymn; it is a profound blueprint for lived discipleship. To truly pray with this song in daily life, we must move past the melody and sit with the radical vulnerability of the lyrics. When we sing, "Will you let me be your servant / Let me be as Christ to you," we are asking for the grace to see the face of Jesus in our coworkers, our difficult family members, and the strangers we encounter. Praying this song means transforming our morning commute or our household chores into an act of liturgical service. It challenges us to set aside our egos and ask, "How can I hold the light for you in this moment?" It’s a prayer of presence, reminding us that our primary vocation is to accompany one another through the shadows of this world.
Actually living this prayer requires us to embrace the reciprocity of the Christian life. The song doesn't just ask us to give; it asks us to have the humility to receive: "Pray that I may have the grace to / Let you be my servant, too." In our daily routine, this might mean allowing someone to help us when we are overwhelmed or admitting our own "night of fear." By meditating on these verses during a quiet moment of Adoration or even while washing the dishes, we align our hearts with the kenosis, or self-emptying love, of Christ. When we treat the song as a daily covenant rather than a weekly performance, we begin to realize that we are all pilgrims on a journey—not traveling alone, but bound together by the extraordinary mandate to love and serve as Christ loved us.
I am just beginning to dive into the beautiful, ancient devotion to the Five Wounds of Jesus, and I wanted to share a bit of the journey with you. It can feel a little overwhelming at first to look at the Crucifix this closely, but I’ve found such a gentle guide in St. Bernard of Clairvaux . In his Jubilee Rhythm on the Passion, Bernard doesn't treat the wounds of Jesus as distant historical facts or sights to be avoided. Instead, he approaches them with the tenderness of a friend, speaking directly to the feet, hands, side, and face of our Lord. For someone like me who is just starting out, his rhythm teaches that prayer isn't just about reciting words; it’s a holy hide-and-seek. Bernard invites us to literally hide ourselves within these wounds, seeing them as clefts in the rock where we can find shelter when our own lives feel turbulent or heavy. As I start this process, I’ve been practicing what I call gazing and greeting. Following Bernard’s lead, I look at the Crucifix an...
Comments
Post a Comment