WHEN MUSIC IS PRAYER

May 13, 2007

“How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?”

            It is such a privilege, as someone on whose life music has been an empowering benediction, to be in the pulpit on this Sunday when we offer a profound thanks to all who grace our lives with the gift of music. I think I speak for most of you when I say, whether it is Gregorian Chant, the chorales of Bach, the universal appeal of Taize, or the most contemporary product of Hal Hopson, just to be part of this church and offer or inhale this rich tradition, where it is all so wonderfully done, is nothing short of a gift from God. And, I think, Dana Lang offered in one sentence many of our thoughts when, in a recent meeting considering the forthcoming Pastoral Nominating Committee, she said, “You know, ministers are a dime a dozen, but Monicas are hard to come by."  And lest you think we have completely forgotten the other celebration of this day, let me remind you that Monica is also a Mother!  Our focus, however,  this morning is given in the words of a hymn by Fred Pratt Green which we will sing toward the conclusion of the service, “When in our music, God is glorified, and adoration leaves no room for pride, it is as though the whole creation cried, Alleluia.”

            Curiously, the text for this morning is from a Psalm depicting a scene where there was no music. Babylon was a bad place for the children of Israel. They found themselves there, not as willing tourists, but as the unwilling spoils of battle. Jerusalem fell to Babylon in 586 BC. Deportation followed immediately for a significant number of Judah’s ablest and most productive citizens.  They found themselves in exile in a land that had nothing but contempt for Yahweh.

            One of those exiles upon his return to Jerusalem years later reflected on his experience in words that are among the most touching in the Bible.  “By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and there we wept, when we remembered Zion. On the willows there we hung up our harps. For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”  Some have imagined that the enslaving Babylonians, partying it up on a Saturday night, had sought to compel the Hebrews to add to the merriment by singing their sacred songs. An invitation to such sacrilege, we may be sure, the Jews resisted. They were not about to cast their pearls before swine.  No wonder, under such circumstances, they had asked the question, “How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land,” especially when it was asked for as amusement.

            We may be sure however, that under the right conditions, away from Babylonian eyes, they did indeed sing the Lord’s song in that foreign land. We know this because their faith survived the exile, and faith cannot live without a song. Without a creed, yes; without a systematic theology, yes, at least for a time; without buildings and organization, yes; without political power, yes. But not without a song!

            And the reason is, their songs, their Psalms, were their prayers. And here is the thesis of the morning. For God’s people, song, music, singing, is a response which engages the whole self in prayer.  And these songs, these Psalms, are in touch with every aspect of our life. What goes on in the Psalms is peculiarly in touch with what goes on in our life.  There is no emotion that we can feel, no sorrow, no questioning, no pleading, no cry for help, no lamenting for what has happened, that is not in the songs of Israel. And there is no joy, no ecstasy, no happiness, no celebration, no thankfulness, no gratitude, that is not in the songs of Israel. John Calvin wrote a commentary on all 150 Psalms, a classic devotional work if there ever was one, and I love what he says in the introduction to that monumental work, that the Psalms “are an anatomy of all parts of the soul.”  No wonder that for Israel their music was their prayer.

            We should also add that instrumental music may be a form of prayer since words are not necessarily essential to prayer. There are an awful lot of prayers offered that have no words to them. And some of them can be life changing moments that you didn’t plan.  I had such a moment.

            When I was in college I was a chemistry major, only because I thought I wanted to go to Med School. At the same time, having studied piano and organ in grade school and high school, I took organ at Hope College as a kind of minor, even though today I wouldn’t play the organ around Monica if you paid me. But one night out there on that campus, about 11:00 p.m., I went from the Chemistry lab, kind of in a funk, to the chapel, sat down at the organ, and played from the Bach Liturgical Year or something like that.  My roommate of four years, who by the way I met last weekend after not seeing him for 50 years, and we picked up our conversation as if we just left the fraternity house, came by the chapel that night, snuck in, listened for a while, came up to me and said, “You know what, Jack. When you are at that organ, you are in a different world. You are a different person. You are in the wrong field. You are headed for a profession you don’t want. I don’t know if it’s music or the ministry or teaching or what, but you are not the same person in this chapel as you are in that lab!” That was the beginning of a radical change in my life, which would take at least another year to bring to fruition. But that night, at that organ, playing that music, was for me probably one of the deepest prayers I have ever offered. Without words. And that conversation with Gordon Hondorp was the beginning for me of a true conversion experience, even though I still resisted it and really didn’t know what was going on!  Let me quickly add, for the chemists in the congregation, Gordon, my roommate, was also a chemistry major, practically a straight “A” student, went to the U of M medical school, and became a very successful internist in San Jose, CA.

            Here’s a recommendation that I bet you have not heard from this pulpit since this church was formed. I encourage you to read, in the Book of Order of the Presbyterian Church USA, the second part of the Constitution of this denomination, in The Directory For Worship, Chapter 2, section W-2.2008, under the heading, Scripture Read and Proclaimed, where, after it says, “The preached Word is based on the written Word, it says, “The Word is also proclaimed through song in anthems and solos based on scriptural texts, in cantatas and oratorios which tell the biblical story, in psalms and canticles, and in hymns, spirituals, and spiritual songs which present the truth of the biblical faith.  Song in worship may also express the response of the people to the Word read, sung, enacted, or proclaimed.”  In short, music may be, could be, should be, for us the greatest expression of our deepest and most profound prayers.

            “How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” Well, you can’t if it is required by callous captors who demand exotic entertainment for their amusement. It would surely be a sacrilege. But on the other hand, even in some Babylon we can sing. Even under hostile circumstances we can raise our voices to God, either as a plea for help or as an offer of thanks. In fact, the history of the church shows that often “in a foreign land,” the people of God have brought music as prayer to God.

            So, if Jesus could sing a hymn with his disciples on the night of his betrayal and arrest (talk about being in a foreign land!),  if Paul and Silas could sing at midnight in a jail at Philippi, if King Gustavus Adolphus could have his entire army sing “Ein’ Feste Burg” on the eve of the battle of Leipzig when the city was under siege; if martyrs could sing on their final march to death; if Martin Rinkart could write “Now Thank We All Our God” under the dark night of the thirty years war and the Black Plague; if Negro slaves could sing under the lash of cruel servitude; then the faithful in all lands, in every age and time, in whatever foreign land they find themselves, can sing in any situation, hostile or not.  Thus will all the world know that the Lord is our dwelling place in all generations. Thank God for music, for the way music gives shape and form to our deepest thoughts and our deepest prayers, and that because of music, for us the whole creation cries, “Alleluia!”

Prayer

We thank you today, O God, that we can be reached and held by music. For poets and composers and performers who have helped us give expression to our deepest moods and feelings, hear our thanks. We pray through Jesus Christ, whose life, death, and resurrection, were one magnificent hymn of praise to your holy name. Amen.