by Leo Wheelan
Worship song reflection of the Month:
In his song, Nothing Stands Between Us, I believe John Mark
McMillan expounds on two ideas about encounter with God. Firstly, that the
power and beauty of nature fills us with a sense of awe and wonder which
reflects the greatness of its creator. And, secondly, that this experience
ought to move and encourage us to find time for silence in our lives where,
through prayer, we can enter into relationship with Him.
The song begins – strangely enough – with the first verse:
‘River of gladness, fill my soul
Jesus, you're my greatest thought
God, I know
I see the light
I see the lightning
I hear Your voice
Inside the cracking thunder, singing’
I think the ‘River of gladness’ is a nod to Psalm 46:4: ‘There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy
place where the Most High dwells’.
This river represents the source of all our joy and McMillan
pleads with it to well up within him. He recognizes that we need to look beyond
our world and to God in order to find a lasting joy. He then notes that our
greatest thought, our greatest aim, is to be more Christ-like. We do this
essentially through prayer. The Catechism of the Catholic Church describes
prayer as ‘the raising of one’s mind and heart to God’. It follows that whenever our thoughts are
lifted towards God, we are engaging in prayer, in dialogue, with Him. The
moments in life where we are captivated by beauty – seeing a star-studded night
time sky or hearing the Emperor concerto for the first time (go on, check it
out – it could be the best forty minutes of your day) – are lasting and
formative experiences precisely because within them lies an encounter with God.
McMillan hears God’s voice ‘inside the cracking thunder’, within nature
herself, calling him to that encounter.
Featuring heavy use of the musical device of repetition, the
chorus then proclaims:
‘Nothing stands between
us, oh
nothing stands between us but love now.
Nothing stands between us, oh
nothing stands between us but love'
This imagery typifies a homecoming moment, a realisation on
McMillan’s part that God has always been waiting for him to simply turn his
heart towards Him in prayer. And He’s always waiting for us to do the same.
Though it has to be said, it’s a very bold claim. I find that time and again, I
can feel unworthy of God’s love, through my own insecurities, doubts and
failures. Henri J.M. Nouwen, in his book ‘The Return of the Prodigal Son’
(which I highly recommend), points out that ‘one of the greatest challenges in
life is to receive God’s forgiveness.’ God can often remain for me a harsh and
judgmental God, one who demands everything of me and causes me to worry
whenever I stumble. This is simply not the reality of God’s nature, and I find
I need reminding of the fact that, through the Cross, there is nothing that can
stand between us, but love.
The second verse is musically similar to the first, with the
only lyrical alteration found in the first two lines:
‘River of gladness take
control,
there’s a cup of joy for every taste of sorrow.’
Within these lines can be found advice that can change an entire
outlook on life. When we get caught up in our own trials, however great or
small, it is so easy to become bitter and resentful. This is obviously not a
place that anyone wishes to be in, and so McMillan rightly points out that despite
every difficulty, trial or tribulation, we have so much to be thankful for. I
do not wish to minimise or make light of some of the great suffering which some
people have endured, but to point out that it is incumbent upon each of us to
take up our cross with joy. That way, you make manifest the ‘River of gladness’
in your daily life in a way that transforms you and ‘makes glad the city of
God’.
The lyrics of the final movement of the piece are as follows:
‘Have I tried to scale
Your walls in vain?
To cross your seas I pushed against your waves.
What for all the miles have You to say?
Were You there beside me this whole way?
You always find me
In between the thunder and the lightning.’
This penultimate stanza speaks of a personal vision of who God
is for us. Do we completely trust His sovereignty, or do we put other gods
before Him? Are there things taking up residence in our hearts where only God
should be? A relationship, your new house or even yourself? Whatever these
things might be, I believe they prevent us from handing our lives over to Him,
which in turn limits the action of God’s grace in our lives.
If this song could be likened to a long family car journey home,
then the questions raised in the second to last stanza could describe the final
few miles. After bickering over who sits where, endless arguments over who saw
the yellow car first, tears about the last pack of sweets etc., we as children
realise that mum and dad have wanted nothing but to get us there safely. We’ve
put ourselves in the centre of our own universe for the entirety of the journey
before even considering where we are going and what we can do to help get
ourselves there. So often this is the case for me with God, too. I neglect to
turn to Him in thanksgiving for this great gift of life; I fail to seek His
guidance in where I am going and I hurt the people around me in the process.
This is why it is so crucial, in the busyness of life, to make
time for silent prayer and contemplation. We can begin to apprehend God in the
beauty of the natural world or a work of art, but this experience is only
supposed to direct our thoughts higher towards a prayerful relationship with
Him. McMillan conveys the idea that God always seeks us first, before we have
even considered approaching Him. We can become aware of His majesty in the
terrifying flash of lightning and the deep rumble of thunder, but the place
that He truly finds us is between them, in the stillness and silence.
