Children of the Heavenly Father

The power of music is potent, particularly in a worship setting,
particularly on Christmas Eve. There are few who don't get through a
Christmas Eve service without a catch in their throat as the
congregation sings "Silent Night," especially in a sanctuary with only
the glow of candlelight. I'm certainly one of those people and I try
to harmonize in an effort to keep from getting too blubbery and
embarassing myself.

This year, there was a new song in the Christmas Eve line-up. It's
not a carol, but a Swedish cradle song that is nearly guaranteed to
bring any grown man raised in a Swedish community to tears.

"Children of the Heavenly Father" is a sweet and lovely lullaby that is
traditionally heard at Swedish funerals in these parts. When the
small family group rose to sing this song as the service started,
I knew I was in trouble. I held my own with only my chin
trembling, until they sang the last verse... in Swedish. That was it.
The tears flowed and it was so beautiful. The family who sang are
people my family has known for generations.

The song speaks to the children of God who are lovingly cared for as a
father loves his children. It is a beautiful song that is comforting
to those who mourn and hearing it at Christmas was a way to hear the
words in a new context. The realiziation that we are children of God,
just as Jesus is a child of God.

For a short time, I worked for a Lutheran nonprofit organization,
Bethphage Mission. The original mission was started by Lutheran women
in Axtell, Nebraska, who dedicated their lives to ministry in a way
similar to Catholic nuns. They provided a home for children and
adults with developmental disabilities. I remember a story told to me
by the chaplain there, who being new to the community, found a new
hymn to sing during a chapel service. He was surprised when most of
the residents and the sisters wept openly through the hymn. The
pastor, of German American heritage, was distressed as well and asked
one of the sisters what had happened after the service was over. She
lovingly explained to him that the only time many of the residents had
ever heard "Children of the Heavenly Father" was when someone had
died.

My uncle Riley, grew up in the Augustana Lutheran Church and joined
the Episcopal Church as an adult. When he died in his late 60's, the
priest of the Anglo-Catholic parish he was a member of, presided over
a dramatic requiem mass that Riley would have loved. For us, it was
foreign territory and as family, it felt a little like the rest of the
congregation was having the healing experience we were looking for.
That is, until the organist began to play, "Children of the Heavenly
Father." That's when our catharsis began. Many Swedish Americans
will half jokingly tell you that it isn't a funeral until they play
that song.

For many Swedish families, Christmas Eve service at midnight is the
pinnacle of the holiday. It was the night my family spent with my
Swedish grandparents having meatballs, herring, and a Swedish custardy
cheesecake known as ostkaka. Those spirits of Christmases past seem
to hover closely on Christmas Eve. Their presence is as strong as our
melancholy can be. Hearing this beloved cradle song at church that night brought them to
the place where we were on the most holy night of all.