Prelude — Piano Sonata No. 8, Op. 13, Mvt. 2
Ludwig van Beethoven · piano
Beethoven named this sonata Pathétique — from the Greek pathos, meaning deep feeling. But this second movement doesn’t suffer. It sings. The melody floats above a gently rocking accompaniment like a consoling voice in the dark — intimate, unhurried, entirely undefended. It arrives at your side without announcing itself and stays until you’re ready.
On this first Sunday after Easter, before any words are spoken, let this be the hand on your shoulder.
Introit — An Easter Carillon
W. Leonard Beck · choir & organ
A carillon is a set of bells tuned to ring in harmony — and Beck’s choral setting shimmers with that same luminosity, voices layered over bell-like overtones cascading from a tower. Last week we celebrated the empty tomb, but the bells haven’t stopped.
Let them keep ringing!
Hymn of Praise — Come, Christians, Join to Sing
Christian Henry Bateman (1843) · HPP #68, all
This hymn was originally written for children — “Come, children, join to sing” — until the adults realized they couldn’t stay quiet! The text is almost entirely monosyllabic, the melody irresistibly singable, and the recurring “Alleluia! Amen!” lands like a fist on the table of joy.
Anthem — Bridge Over Troubled Water
Paul Simon (1970) · piano · Jamie Hammer, solo
Simon wrote this “secular hymn” after hearing the Swan Silvertones' gospel recording of “Oh Mary Don’t You Weep,” where Claude Jeter sings: “I’ll be your bridge over deep water if you trust in my name.” The lyric never asks for anything in return. It simply says: when darkness comes, I will be there.
This is what the resurrection looks like in practice — people becoming bridges of faith.
Interlude for Reflection — Breath of God
organ improvisation
A brief musical inhale before the congregation gives voice to its prayer. In John’s Gospel, the risen Christ appears to his disciples behind locked doors and breathes on them: “Receive the Holy Spirit.”
Hymn of Reflection — Breathe on Me, Breath of God
Edwin Hatch · HPP #227, vv. 1, 3, & 4
Edwin Hatch was an Oxford scholar who could have filled a hymn with theological complexity — and instead wrote one composed almost entirely of one-syllable words. The Hebrew ruach and Greek pneuma both mean “breath” and “spirit” simultaneously — the same word for wind in the trees and God moving through a life.
Feel the divine exhale. And then breathe.
Offertory — Take This Moment
John L. Bell · choir & organ
Bell’s text is an act of radical availability:
Take this moment, sign and space; take my friends around; here among us make the place where your love is found.
No grand declaration — just an open hand. The offering is not only what you place in the plate. It is the moment itself, the space you occupy, the people on either side of you. Trust that love will be found here.
Closing Hymn — Rejoice, the Lord Is King
Charles Wesley (1746) · HPP #393, vv. 1, 3, & 4
Wesley drew this hymn from Paul’s letter to the Philippians: “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.” What makes that command extraordinary is its return address — Paul wrote it from a prison cell. Wesley turns it into a refrain that refuses to let us sit still: “Lift up your heart, lift up your voice; rejoice, again I say, rejoice!”
It’s an order from a man in chains to a world that has every reason to sing.
Postlude — I Can See Clearly Now
Johnny Nash (1972) · piano & all
Nash recorded this in Jamaica with reggae musicians — one of the first non-Jamaican artists to do so — and the island’s unhurried sunshine is baked into the groove. The lyric is deceptively simple: the rain is gone, the obstacles have disappeared, it’s gonna be a bright sunshiny day.
But anyone who has walked through a long, dark season knows that the moment clarity returns feels like nothing short of resurrection. We leave worship on a sun-warmed road, eyes wide open.
Go in that light!