Flood of Red

Every week Jana and I share fond memories from our UK trip this summer, a trip made possible by our bestest friend Hannah, known to the readers of this blog as The Girl With the Rainbow Stairs.

Jana and I mostly talk about all the amazing people we met in Jersey, England and Scotland. Too many to name, but oh dear friends, you know who you are and we miss you terribly! Our days with you were so very rich and life-giving.  Our hearts ache with joy as we think of the days we shared together.

One of the people we got to spend time with was Drew Worthley, who invited Jana and I to break bread with the Borough Common Church during our time in London. Beyond being a lawyer Drew is also a musician (check out his website) and I was excited to get an advance listen to Drew's recently released album Crucible (which you can buy on Bandcamp or iTunes).

Drew doesn't describe himself as a Christian artist, but many of his songs are theologically rich and speak to the longing, fragile brokenness of faith in a post-Christian world.

I told Drew that my favorite song from Crucible is "Flood of Red." It's a winter Christian song, a song about doubt and the dark night of the soul. But it's also a song about the sacraments, the Eucharist in particular, about how the broken bread and flood of red can carry our faith when it's just to hard to get out of bed.
"Flood of Red" (listen along here)
I am the doubt of Thomas
I'm the finger in the wound
I am Indiana Jones with no Short Round to help
And I'm trapped in the Temple of Doom

I am Saint John of the Cross
In his darkening night of dread
I've the stark bloodshot eyes of the lonely and lost
And I can't seem to get out of bed
I'm struggling to get out of bed

But the broken bread and the flood of red
In silver cup won't lift me up, fill me up
The broken bread and the flood of red
In silver cup won't lift me up

But I'll drink it down still
Yes I'll drink it down still
Speak my holy verse
So that Adam's curse
Might lift from me now

I am the heir of Jonah
And I'm still stuck inside that fish
I've misplaced my strength, my honour, my love
And I'm striving not to forget this

Still I grasp the husk of my fervour
Like a suitcase stained with time
Oh it's torn up and tattered and splattered with hope
And my faith is spilling out of the sides
Yes my faith is spilling out of the sides

But the broken bread and the flood of red
In silver cup won't lift me up, fill me up
The broken bread and the flood of red
In silver cup might just lift me up

So I'll drink it down still
Yes I'll drink it down still
Speak my holy verse
So Adam's curse
Could lift from me now

This entry was posted by Richard Beck. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply