From 1994-2004 I was the the pastor of Our Lady Help of Christians Parish which was located just across the street from West Concord Union Church where I was invited to preach this past weekend. Over that decade in West Concord I enjoyed a great relationship with the pastors across the street: first, Rev. Jim Keck and then Rev. John Hudson. In addition, both communities were blessed with the ministry of Jim Barkovic as Director of Music. I was invited to preach on November 9, an annual Special Music Sunday at WCUC, when the music ministry (still led by Jim Barkovic) plays an even larger than usual role in the service. Thus the title of my sermon: There's no end to the music of God in our lives!
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I wonder… I wonder if… I wonder if we closed our eyes and sat absolutely still in silence… and if we listened, oh, so carefully and intently… I wonder if we might together hear the harmony of the spheres… the hymn of the universe. In fact, let's give that a try. Close your eyes. Be still. Be quiet. And listen carefully and intently… Well, I don't know about you, but what I heard was a shared, peaceful, silence. I didn't hear the harmony of the spheres. I didn't hear the hymn of the universe. But I heard that shared, peaceful silence – and these days, I'm very grateful for any shared, peaceful silence.
The harmony of the spheres is an ancient Greek philosophical and cosmological concept that describes the relationships of the movements of heavenly bodies - as a form of music. Unfortunately, the concept of the harmony of the spheres doesn't bear up under the scrutiny of modern scientific inquiry. But fortunately, this morning, you and I aren't about the business of science. We are about the business of theology: faith seeking understanding, understanding the Logos of the Theos, theology. Theology, which for centuries was called the Queen of the Sciences, until the Enlightenment bestowed the crown on mathematics instead.
But we're not in math class. We've gathered as a church. It doesn't mean that we left our science and our math at the door when we came in this morning. We brought into church with us all the numbers and theorems and equations and algorithms that are part of our human existence and our understanding of it.
But we're not only a people of science. We are also a people who tell stories. A people who love to tell stories. All kinds of stories: stories of love and romance, stories of mystery, stories of science - science fiction stories, historical stories, biographical stories - all manner of stories. And of course, we love to tell the story of God. We’re a people of words and stories of poetry and verse, of metaphor and allegory. And we are a people who love to sing our stories. We are a people of melody and lyrics, of symphonies and solos, of harmony, counterpoint - and discord.
There seems to be no end to our words, our poetry, our stories; no end to the music and the songs that rise up, that are born of the creative beating, healing, wisdom, and artistry of the human heart and imagination.
The human imagination… I wonder, for us who believe that “we are made in the image and likeness of God,” is there any way in which we more resemble our God than in a gift of our imagination?
We have been created with the capacity to imagine what does not exist. To imagine what cannot exist. To hope for what is not yet ours. To believe in what we cannot see or hear or smell or touch or taste. To bring to speech, to sing out loud what lives in our minds, what lives in our thoughts; to sing what lives in our ideas; to sing what lives in our very souls.
Once again, for emphasis, there seems to be no end to the words, the poetry, the stories of our lives; no end to the music and song that rise up at are born, that are created through the healing wisdom and artistry of the human heart and imagination. No end. You're never gonna pick up the papers from the morning and see the headline: “We ran out of songs.” There are our new songs every moment of every day, new songs being imagined, new songs being composed, new songs being sung.
Is it any wonder, then, that what we call prayer? Should so easily express itself in music and come to life in song? Should it surprise us that our communication with God, our conversation with God, our intimacy with God: so beautifully, easily, often, and even naturally, becomes incarnate in sound and song.
Apart from the grace of God, how else explain or account for the ways in which music effortlessly reaches down into the depths of our souls and places there so carefully a hand to guard and conceal and protect our heart's secrets?
How else explain or account for the wordless ways in which music soothes and mends and heals the pain, the brokenness and the vulnerability of that burden every heart?
How else explain or account for the times, we retreat to music as a refuge from grief? For solace in our loneliness? To connect with lost ones through memory? To renew and refresh our faith in God?
And how about the times when music moves us to cry the tears we've been holding in and holding back? Or to cry the tears, we didn't even know we had in store. The times when music refreshes us at depths in our soul, we thought, had long gone dry and barren. The times when a particular piece of music reconnects us to virtues we hold dear, to realities we deem vital and important, to values we cling to for purpose and meaning in life.
And what of those moments when the poetry of music, when the appeal, the purpose, and the power of music, are wedded to our storytelling - and especially our telling the story of God, or more significantly, our telling and singing the story of God's love for us - and our love for God.
What of those moments when our prayer becomes our song… those moments when our song becomes our prayer.
Indeed, there seems to be no end to our words, our poetry, and our stories; no end to the music and songs that rise up, that are born of, that are created through the healing wisdom and artistry of the human heart and imagination - graced by God.
Now, I wish at this point that I could refer to someplace in the Gospels where Jesus spoke about music or called us to join him in song. Nope. The closest we come is Matthew 11:16-17, where Jesus asks, "To what can I compare this generation?" They are like children sitting in the marketplace and calling out to others, "We played the pipe for you, and you did not dance. We sang a dirge, and you did not mourn.” Not and especially ringing endorsement for music. But we know that Jesus was a faithful Jew. So we can be sure that he knew the poetry of the Psalms, that he sang them in temple, in the synagogue, at the Passover table.
So allow me to add another vision of Jesus singing. It's found in a landmark document in my church, the Catholic Church, a document on worship that was the first document to come out of the Second Vatican Council in 1963. There we read these words. “Christ Jesus, high priest of the new and eternal covenant, taking human nature, introduced into this earthly exile, that hymn, which is sung throughout all ages in the halls of heaven, he joins the entire community of humankind to himself, inviting us to join in his own singing of his canticle of divine praise.”
What has Jesus been doing since the Resurrection? He’s standing before the One who sent him, who raised him up, and he's been singing his heart out - in praise and thanksgiving - and waiting for us to join in his song.
But there are times, aren't there, times when we may find it difficult to join in the singing. I think of the words of Psalm 137 "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat weeping when we remembered Zion. On the willows, there we hung up our harps, for our captors asked of us, for the words of a song, our tormentors for joy: ‘Sing for us a song of Zion.’ But how could we sing the song of the Lord in a foreign land?”
There are times in my life when I just haven't felt like singing. There are days in my life right now, especially recently, when I've I found it hard to sing because I’ve felt that I'm living in a foreign land.
I long for the Lord's song. And the Lord sings His song forever, without interruption, in all ages, through thick and thin. And in times like our own, we need to invite the Lord to sing his way into our hearts to let his song reconcile, mend and heal our own hearts with the melody, the lyrics, and the beat of his heart, sounding, ringing, singing, inside of us. What is his song? It is that hymn that echoes through all the ages, the song of the story of his saving love for us.
There are over 1,000 references to music in the Bible - just not in the Gospels. So I think we can trust that there's music in heaven. What kind of music? Well, to paraphrase St. Paul: “Eye has not seen an ear has not heard - the playlist - God has ready for those who love him.” You might spend some time later today, writing up a playlist of the music you'd like to hear when the Lord calls you home. What would you write? I'll tell you my list, because I did it last night. I know that my own list would be filled with light jazz and classical; lots of choral, especially a cappella. And if they're taking requests, I want to hear a lot of Handle and Bach, Rogers and Hammerstein, Brubeck and Sondheim, John Rutter and Keith Jarrett.
I enjoy dreaming about such things. But the playlist I really need to attend to is the music that makes my heart - or fails to make my heart - sing in my thoughts and words and deeds now - even when I feel that I may be in a foreign land.
I have to ask: how does the music of my life harmonize with the music in the lives of the people around me?
How does the music of my existence echo the music of divinity: the song the Lord sings in my ear, all day long, inviting me into His song.
How do I search and discern and listen within my soul for the music of God's presence? For the love song God's been singing to me - and to you - since we were conceived in our mothers’ wombs.
How does my heart pick up the song of justice, the lyrics of charity, the pulsing beat of passionate care for the poor, the homeless, the abandoned, the outcast.
And how does the Lord's song of victory - victory over sin and death, victory over pride and oppression- how does his song burst forth in me and in us, God's people, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, when we're up and when we're down, when we're filled with joy or filled with sorrow.
There seems to be no end to our words, our poetry, and our stories; no end to the music and songs that rise up, that are born off, that are created through the healing wisdom and artistry of the human heart and imagination.
So let there be harmony among the spheres!
Let there be a hymn resounding through the universe!
Let the song of the risen Jesus echo in the halls of heaven and in the heart of each of us here this morning!
For if the Lord invites us to join in his song: how could we keep from singing?
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