REIGN, REIN and more RAIN

I had glanced quickly at the concert program as we took our seats, and noticed that the Empire Brass was going to play, “Lord, Reign Me In.” What a strange title for a concert selection, I thought. Wait a minute – I read it wrong – the correct title is, “Lord, Reign in Me,” a praise chorus by Brenton Brown. What a difference the transposition of two words makes. Certainly the message of the correct reading is my plea: Lord, reign in me. I want Jesus to be Lord of my life, to rule as a sovereign, to prevail. Or, as Adelaide Addison Pollard wrote so powerfully, “Hold o’er my being absolute sway” (SASB, 487).

Well, most of the time I want Christ to reign. I would be less than honest if I said that I always wanted the Kingdom of Jesus to prevail in my life. Like the times when I want to give someone the evil eye (my kids tell me that I have that look perfected), and Jesus nudges me, “Love your enemies.” Or those days when cynicism is coursing powerfully through my veins, and the Spirit whispers, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” Oh, yes, most days I have good intentions, and am actually able to live those intentions out, by the grace of God, but I have my times . . . Lord, reign in me. Please, Lord Jesus, reign in me.

But what of this second, confused reading of the title? Where did that come from? Might it be a Freudian slip of the Spirit? For there are times that this also must be my plea and prayer: Lord, rein me in. Rein in my sarcastic, flesh-eating tongue, rein in my scattered thoughts, rein in my critical spirit. When I want to go it alone, Lord, rein me in. When I have my own ideas, brilliant though they may be, Lord, reign me in.

And you do, Jesus. With the words of scripture, the shepherd’s crook, the well-placed words of your people, and always the wooing of the Spirit, you rein me in. You hold me close for a time, and then allow me again to move out into the world. When I call to you as my heart grows faint, you “lead me to the rock that is higher than I” (Psalm 61:2). And still you trust me to be your servant in the world. It reminds me of parenting an adolescent.

One more twist – back to the original sentence structure, but a third spelling. (It’s called a homophone, for all you frustrated English teachers – and yes, I had to look it up). Lord, rain in me. Rain in me, rain on me, rain. St. Teresa of Avila uses the metaphor of rain as she sorts through the question of prayer in her autobiography. At first, when needing to irrigate a garden, we might draw water from a well and carry it in a bucket to the garden. The "second water" is obtained when the gardener secures water through use of a windlass and bucket. The third method of irrigation is to plant the garden near a stream, but the fourth is for the rain to fall.

Yes, Lord, I’ll carry the bucket of mundane, daily obedience. I’ll use my mind and hands to devise ways of deliberate faithfulness, and I’ll spend time sitting by the stream of your grace. But, Lord, rain in me. Rain on me, the rain of your mercy. Thunder, lightening, wind – let the rain pour down.


Major JoAnn Shade ministers with her husband Larry as the corps officers and Directors of the Ray and Joan Kroc Corps Community Center. She received a B.A. in sociology from S.U.N.Y. at Binghamton, a M.A. in Pastoral Counseling, and a Doctor of Ministry degree from Ashland Theological Seminary in June, 2006. She is a prolific writer, lecturer, and busy counselor and has contributed to this blog since its inception.