As I looked over today’s readings, searching for a unifying theme to reflect upon, the things which stood out to me most were prayer and thanksgiving. I thought – “okay, cool! I can write about prayer and thanksgiving!” I put together what had the makings of a pretty interesting reflection – I had it mapped out and mostly written, with observations about my experience of different ways to pray, and a few amusing anecdotes. Mind you, after reading Job more deeply, I had to set aside my horror at the notion that God had made a bet with Satan that Job wouldn’t be faithful anymore if God stopped protecting him, and that God watched while Job lost his entire family, servants, animals, and all his belongings. And that we were supposed to be satisfied that since God restores Job’s belongings, giving him MORE stuff, and giving him new children – more of them, and way better – the three daughters were the most beautiful in the land – so clearly, WAY better than the ones who had died. Oh my goodness. So, I was ready! And then, of course, something happened, and I decided to start from scratch. My reflection is still about prayer and thanksgiving; but even more, it’s about a specific form of prayer and meditation – one we may not even realize we’re engaging in: music.
Here’s what happened. My beloved neighbor of over 30 years, Betty, is getting deeper and deeper into dementia – along with physical frailties. She and her husband Jimmy are in their eighties now, and their kids are taking turns spending time with them. Toni and Marvin live locally, so they can come regularly. Terry and Jenny both live in Texas now, and they come out for a few weeks at a time to stay, as Betty really needs 24 hour care now, in case she falls down. I was talking to Jenny, and planning my own way-overdue visit to Betty. I thought I’d bring over a hymnal; even though the hymns in it are Episcopal, and Betty’s music runs more towards spirituals, I figured there’d be something in there for us to sing together.
I’ll bet most of us here have had the experience of sharing music with a loved one with dementia. I know I’ve had conversations with Kris about his mother singing “Stille Nacht” long after she ceased really being verbal. My father had Parkinson’s. As he got closer to the end, he could barely open his eyes, and his speech was reduced to a whisper so faint that you had to put your ear right up to his lips, and you still might not catch a word. But as soon as we started singing the folk songs from our youth, he’d start singing.
So I was talking to Jenny about planning my visit with the hymnal so Betty and I could sing together, and I was going to say something about how music still speaks through us even when we’ve lost who we are. I started to say that “music is our last language.” But what I actually said was “music is our first language.” And as soon as the words left my lips, I became fully aware that God had spoken to me – and through me. Because music is both our first language AND our last language.
When we listen to music, and when we sing, we are in direct communion with God, and with Creation. It is a profound experience.
In August, our extraordinary young pianist, Jesse Distiller, played a Chopin scherzo for us. It was a challenging piece – both to play and to hear. It opens with a frantic, wild section; you can sense that the composer and the pianist are distressed. Frankly, it’s distressing to listen to. And then – ah! Profound relief! Comes a section of beautiful, soothing clarity – it’s balm for the soul. We, as listeners, are relieved, feeling that the tribulation has ended. But after this release, back comes the frantic work, and the accompanying distress. And again, comes the soothing relief. This process repeats several times: distress… relief… distress… relief. We keep hoping that the relief will last – but the distress keeps returning.
Jesse shared with me a profound insight which came to him in playing the piece for us; he said that it had come to him that the periods of release and relief in the piece must be akin to the relief that prayer brings to those who pray. How fascinating! The composition expresses the composer’s inner turmoil, and the comfort he experiences, and then the composition is a vessel for the musician to feel and express that – and we, the audience, go for the same ride. Isn’t it amazing how the music brings us all on that journey together, a journey of misery and of relief?
Perhaps now is a good time to circle back and report to you how it went when I went to visit Betty. So, I brought the hymnal over, and we hung out, and Betty talked a lot about childhood memories. And I was trying to figure out a good time to open up my hymnal and figure out a song to sing – and then Betty just started spontaneously singing Amazing Grace – and I had my hymnal handy, so I could get out all the verses! How amazing to come to church today and sing Amazing Grace together!
Last week I was talking to Becky and Sandy, who are regular attendees of Calliope’s concerts, about our latest concert. Calliope presented Thompsonia, a fabulous family trio performing traditional American music, and Becky pointed out that one of the musicians paused during the concert to call our attention to the way the light from the stained glass windows was creating its own magic as it played across the musicians, the instruments, the walls, the floors, and the audience. We talked about what an extraordinary privilege it is to sit in our Sanctuary – THIS Sanctuary – listening to exceptional music, feeling the wonderful acoustics of the space vibrating, watching the play of light, and being surrounded by an audience who is similarly rapt. They, too, are going on a journey. They, too, perhaps without even knowing it, have entered into a state of grace and worship.
There are so many different and wonderful ways to pray, and I don’t mean to raise music above any of the others. But we humans – we are always getting into our heads and trying to control things. When we are singing in communion with others, it’s amazing how the harmonic mingling of our voices turns us into vessels for the holy spirit. Instead of attempting to will our minds to be still (good luck with that!), or trying to will the holy spirit to enter us, or to answer our prayers, or to comfort us, we become like a light shaft for the spirit. Like a fountain which fills up and overflows without any effort on our part. Now, this being stewardship month, I thought it might be a good idea to revisit how I came to St. Alban’s; Julie recruited me to help cofound Calliope. Clever boots. I had been running fundraising events for Berkeley High Band and Orchestra in the Parish Hall, thanks to Julie and St. Alban’s generous welcome. So she recruited me, and that’s how I found myself here with you, not just running Calliope, but worshiping, and singing, and even giving reflections. That’s a pretty amazing pathway.
Again, there are so many ways to pray. Here’s one more: when Reverend Raphael Warnock of Georgia won his senate seat, he talked about his mother’s hands, which she had used to pick other peoples’ cotton, and how she had used those hands to cast a vote for her son to become a US Senator. He also said that a vote is a kind of a prayer – a prayer for the world we desire for ourselves and for our children, and our prayers are stronger together. So, not that anyone in this congregation needs any encouragement for this, but if you haven’t yet made that prayer, let us pray that together. Let us use the hands, the voices, the life and the love that our Creator gave us, and our great teacher, Jesus taught us how to use, to pray that prayer, too. Amen.