The Joy of a Broken Hallelujah

I listened closely to the words of the song "Hallelujah" though I never had really paid attention before. A phrase stuck out to me clearly. "Love is not a victory march; it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."

Sometimes in life we do stupid things. Sometimes they are completely accidental but they still worry others. Yesterday was one of those days. I messed up directions while hiking; the girls and guys decided to hike at a different pace and meet at the top, but we girls took the wrong trail. Joshua and Tyler couldn't get a hold of me or Jenn and Kim, the two girls with me, and thought we were hurt, kidnapped, or dead. Meanwhile, we were happily enjoying our hike, the views, and each other's company. We weren't lost, persay, but we weren't on the correct trail, either. When we got back in range for good service, we called Joshua, who we quickly learned was very worried, had spent a while searching for us, and was about to send park rangers after us. 

When I heard he was worried, I braced myself for anger, too. I braced myself for a lecture on how to do it better next time. I braced myself to feel dumb. Instead, when we met back up with him and Tyler, they were so relieved. When I tried to apologize, he said, "No. I should have never left you. And I'm just glad you are okay." 

His response rocked my world.

As I pondered his response and heard the words to "Hallelujah" last night, I realized that I have had a flawed view of God. I tend to assume that when I mess things up I should brace myself. When in reality, He extends that same kind of grace to my soul, and I do not need to fear.

"Love is not a victory march; it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah." 

The line stuck out to me because Joshua's unconditional care wasn't because I did all the right things and won victoriously. It was in that brokenness (when I'd messsed up) that he still showed compassion and "sang an hallelujah" over us formerly "lost" hikers. No "I told you." No anger. No humilitation. Just this unconditional care for our well-being despite ourselves. 

It's called Grace. 

You know, Someone Else "sang an hallelujah" over me one other time when I was lost. Jesus sang a "cold and broken hallelujah" over us at the cross. He set aside His victory-march-against-Rome-ready crown and died in my place. The King of kings rejoicing over me through the pain with singing.

It's called Grace. 

 

And this got me to thinking. Do I, in turn, sing a broken hallelujah over others? When various non-Christian students here showcase their brokenness, do I dwell on the annoyance it may cause me or the wrongness of their actions?  Or do I "sing an hallelujah" over them? When my Christian brothers and sisters fail, do I sing or scoff, bless or break, give grace or grief?

I want to sing more often. To praise the Lord for them and be grateful for the ways that they challenge me and the opportunties being among them brings for the furtherance of the gospel. I might not be perfect while I'm doing it, but I will offer my own brokenness to the Ultimate Hallelujah Singer. 

He is Gracious, indeed. Hallelujah!