MAKING SWEET MUSIC

I Corinthians 12:4-27

St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church

Rev. Gary Paterson

May 10, 2009

 

Have you ever wondered where sermons come from? Let me tell you, it’s a question that preachers are always asking themselves, sometimes with a small note of desperation in their voices. Though to be honest, sometimes that same note of desperation is in the hearts of the congregation too!! When it comes to sermon-making and sermon-hearing, I guess, first and foremost, you hope and trust that it is the work of the Spirit, who can take just about everything and anything as a means through which God can get at us. Most frequently, sermons begin with Scripture as the taking off point, trusting that the witness of the community over the millennia has an inspired wisdom. Sometimes, though, it can be something from the surrounding world -- a movie, an Oscar contender, for instance. Other times the Spirit sparks up a moment from the church, maybe from this congregation, where we are living through a time of loved members dying, and babies being baptized; or from the community, in the midst of celebrating Mother’s Day – the busiest day of the entire year for restaurants, or where we are anticipating a provincial election in a couple of days; sometimes the Spirit lands on a moment of your own life, inviting you to listen to what your own days are saying, in the very here and now.

This sermon began a few weeks ago when I was on prayer retreat over with the Benedictine Sisters in Nanaimo, at Bethlehem Retreat Centre up on Westwood Lake. I was recovering from all the busy-ness of Holy Week, taking some time just to ponder and pray. One afternoon I found myself sitting at the edge of the lake, the sun shining quietly upon me, nothing to distract me, just being attentive. I closed my eyes, in order to sharpen my hearing… there… the husky chirr of a towhee, intersecting with the falling ripple of the song sparrow, weaving together with the chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee and the twitter of kinglets flitting from branch to branch, all interspersed with the clear, constant caroling of robins. The occasional daring bumblebee was buzzing around checking out the early pink magenta blossoms of the salmonberry. The waves slapped gently on the shore, a basso profundo undergirding the soundscape, interspersed with the occasional whisper of leaf in the breeze. It was the universe humming a vast and complex hallelujah. I imagined sounds I couldn’t register… the footsteps of ants, the slow work of earthworms, the wind moving over the wings of the osprey. Each creature singing its own song, each atom vibrating at its own frequency; and everything, in this very act of singing in its own unique way, was offering up praise. Like St. Francis said in the hymn with which we began our worship today:

All creatures of our God and King

Lift up your voice and with us sing

Hallelujah, hallelujah,

Sing praises, sing praises, hallelujah.

It became clear in this holy moment that what was true for each blade of grass was also true for each human being – we too are part of this cosmic hymn of praise, and our challenge is to discover our true voice, the note that each of us can offer back to the universe… to God.

Yesterday I helped celebrate at a couple of weddings. Now, I try to make each one personal and distinct, but similar words often get used. When I address the bride and groom I frequently start off by saying, “Out of the incredible exuberance of the universe, each of you has been created unique and special; there has never been anyone like you ever before, in all creation, and there never will be again.” Though I confess, one day, when I was perhaps running on automatic, I launched into my standard opening, forgetting that the groom’s best man was his identical twin. Ah yes… well, you live and learn. But ironically the twins were the first to say that in fact they did feel unique and different… they just had a more challenging time finding their own note.

I think of today’s Baptism, and I wonder if the parents of Elena, Nolan and Emily are celebrating their children’s membership in this community of faith, in God’s family, recognizing that they will benefit from helpers as they seek to help their kids find their place, the song that comes from their heart, shaped by their special gifts. It made me wonder if we could think of church as a holy “singing school,” where God will help us find the notes we need to sing. We learn together in worship, prayer, service, just hanging out together mindfully, attentively, graciously.

Now here’s a thought for you… last week, when Darryl and I were talking about today’s service, and the idea of making music together, of the church being a singing school, Darryl mentioned that every room or building has a particular frequency which calls forth the resonance of that unique space. He has discovered that the note for this sanctuary is D… listen for a moment to a deep D chord, and feel this space vibrate…….. Can you feel it? If Darryl were to increase the volume, I wonder if the building would shake? ….. Well, you know me, I can’t let a concept like this just rest… I began to wonder if each one of us has a particular note at which we best resonate… a chord that just has us vibrating at our very richest. And that’s our life’s task… to discover what it is, and then to offer our “frequency” to that universal hallelujah of praise.

Sometimes it’s hard to get a sense of our true sound… so many forces, inside and out, telling us what’s acceptable, what we should sound like; sometimes our song gets knocked off course, we start singing to someone else’s tune; or we just go silent, so distracted by all the noise that is going on all around us. Sometimes we don’t even trust that we have a special note to offer. Reminds me of a story of a violin that was being auctioned off amid a hundred other leftovers. It had been through the wars and back… a bit battered, scratched here and there, dusty. Nobody wanted to bid on the violin… until a man came up from the crowd, gently picked up the instrument, tucked it lovingly under his chin, took the bow, and began to play. A hush fell upon the crowd, as they suddenly heard music that grabbed their hearts. Who knew that the violin could make such a sound, that it only needed a friend, a master musician, who could see the potential of the instrument, and with practiced skilful hands and ears, make it sing? Hey, the auctioneer couldn’t cope with all the bids that were suddenly offered. Just so with each one of us, no? A little the worse for wear, perhaps… but in the right hands, oh, can we make fine music; if we invite God to be our voice coach, our singing master, the holy musician who will lead us into song, from our borning cry to our final whisper, then we would be of inestimable value.

A few weeks ago I heard Leonard Cohen in concert – now there’s someone who has struggled with God and life, someone who has discovered the notes that make him resonate. I remember a quiet song, one that has haunted me for the last three weeks:

If it be your will

that I speak no more,

and my voice be still

as it was before;

I will speak no more,

I shall abide until

I am spoken for,

If it be your will.

If it be your will

that a voice be true,

from this broken hill

I will sing to you.

From this broken hill

all your praise they shall ring

if it be your will

to let me sing.

Maybe the song has stayed with me because of Hugh Stansfield, whose death we mourn… a member of this congregation, and Chief Justice of the B.C. Provincial Court; a man who sang praises, a man who will speak no more. I knew Hugh for many years, and counted him as a friend. He was a gifted man, and as he struggled to find his voice he debated whether he should enter the world of theatre – he had a great voice; or ordained ministry – he would have been so good; or law -- which is where he ended up. But not just with a job… always, he said, he was following a vision, trying to hear God’s voice, and adjusting his song accordingly. Hugh’s guiding words, his instructions for singing, came from the prophet Micah. The Israelite people were oh so busy with all religious duties, but kept complaining that God didn’t seem to be listening. You’re singing off-key, said Micah, not listening to the singing master; he cried out, “What does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8) Which is what Hugh tried to do with his whole life… variations on a theme. And I think he found his note… and sang it well, very well. Hallelujah… that’s what he sang… justice, kindness, and a humble walk with God: “I did my best, it wasn’t much… and though it often all went wrong, I’ll stand before the Lord of Song, with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah”… you recognize those words, don’t you…
       [Vocal Ensemble sings Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”]
       "Hallelujah"

Now I've heard there was a secret chord

That David played, and it pleased the Lord

But you don't really care for music, do you?

It goes like this

The fourth, the fifth

The minor fall, the major lift

The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah,

Hallelujah, hallelujah.

You say I took the name in vain

I don't even know the name

But if I did, well really, what's it to you?

There's a blaze of light

In every word

It doesn't matter which you heard

The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much

I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch

I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you

And even though

It all went wrong

I'll stand before the Lord of Song

With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Now, I’ve heard Leonard Cohen sing this song; and I have recordings of Rufus Wainwright and K.D. Laing singing “Hallelujah” – but when our Vocal Ensemble sings it, I hear something different. It’s the harmonies, the layering of sound, how different notes are joined, how they fit together. When you take different notes, and weave them together, something new emerges. That’s what was happening in that magic moment at Westwood Lake, when every sound of bird, leaf and wave came together into a holy song. It’s what I think we are invited to participate in… each one of us; invited to sing our note with the choir… take a look at all the people around you. That’s part of the choir – just imagine how your note contributes, changes, adapts, harmonizes… who would have imagined the music that is possible!?!?

A friend sent me a fascinating YouTube video… a version of “Stand by Me” that was done by an organization called “Playing for Change.” This group gathers together… digitally… artists from around the world, and then they begin to weave together an incredible hallelujah. It begins with Roger Ridley and his guitar in Santa Monica,

When the night has come,

And the land is dark,

And the moon is the only light we’ll see

No I won’t be afraid, no I won’t be afraid,

Just as long as you stand, stand by me.

Suddenly they cut to Grandpa Elliott and Washboard Chaz down in New Orleans, “And darlin’, darlin’, stand by me, oh now stand by me.” Then it’s off to Amsterdam, to add the voice of Clarence Bekker; back to Zuni, New Mexico, with the Twin Eagle Drum Group; then Francois Viguie from Toulouse, working his tambourine, and Cesar Pope from Rio with the ukulele, while Dimitr’s cello in the squares of Moscow cries out plaintively. Geraldo and Dionisio from Venezuela add guitar and bass, Mboute plays his drums in the Congo, and the Sinamuva choir from South Africa takes harmony to new heights; and finally, Stefano Tomaselli from Italy begins wailing away on his saxophone. Who knew that “Stand by Me” could sound like this… check it out… you’re probably going to cry.

There is a skill and a gift in learning how to sing with others, to blend our notes so that they work with the voices singing around us; not too loud, so as to drown out other notes; recognizing that silence, and breath pauses, and space… that’s all part of making music too. Maybe this is what family is about at its best… a place where you’re encouraged to discover your note, where it’s okay to sing off-key sometimes; and then, family as a place where you also learning to sing with others, figuring out how all the different notes can fit together – in so many different ways. You learn to make sweet music.

I wonder what it would be like if our upcoming elections were a time to discover how all of us might sing together… the poor and the rich; the left and the right; new Canadians and long-timers and First Nations; if we worked toward creating harmony rather than cacophony… “I can sing anything better than you can….” Am I just being naïve?

And maybe this is a fine metaphor for our life together in this congregation… where such different voices are welcomed by a God who weaves all the notes together, who says, “What a wonderful opportunity to make sweet music.” It’s a community where every member is called to sing his or her notes; where we discover that a diminished seventh chord can be as important as a minor fall or a major lift. A singing school for souls,

Let’s take a moment, and sing… just two simple syllables: “Amen” -- “Aaaaaaaa….Meeeeeeeennnnn”…. Go high; go low; sing the same note; find the harmonies; somewhere go silent, and listen to the music around you; then join in again. Let’s sing soft and gentle; then firm and strong. Amen… Amen…. So be it.