A Joyful Noise

A sermon preached at Old South Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Hallowell, Maine, June 18, 2006.

Text: Colossians 3:12-17
The Rev. Susan M. Reisert, Minister

Near the beginning of the coming of age movie Almost Famous, the main character of the movie, young William Miller, is seen peering into a store front in his hometown of San Diego, California. It is early in the morning and no one else is around. He is watching a local radio station at work. The disc jockey is interviewing the legendary rock critic Lester Bangs, played by Philip Seymour Hoffman. At some point in this interview, Bangs is heard declaring: “Music, you know-- true music-- not just rock 'n' roll-- it chooses you. It lives in your car, or alone, listening to your headphones-- you know, with the vast, scenic bridges and angelic choirs in your brain. It's a place apart...”

I think that he is probably right about that, that music chooses you. You know when you hear a piece of music that speaks to you. You know when you hear a piece of music that you like. You don’t usually have to even think about it.

Music is one of those intangible things, almost indescribable things, that speak to us in a way that is mysterious and profound. From a mother humming to a newborn child to the familiar tunes sung each day in nursery school to the sometimes dissonant sounds of a middle school band to the wondrous sounds of an orchestra to the hypnotic riffs of a guitar solo to the magnificent sounds of a choir in a big church to the quiet and solemn melodies sung at a funeral, music is just one of those things that is woven so intimately into the fabric of our lives that we mostly take it for granted. From the very personal tunes we choose to hear through our earbuds attached to an iPod or an MP3 player to a grand orchestra playing Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony in Symphony Hall, music speaks to us in both the ordinary and the profound, in those grand moments and in the mundane living of our daily lives.

Music expresses the entirely of the human experience in sweeping symphonies that build from the very small to the spectacularly majestic. But, music also lives in the very ordinary, in a purely utilitarian manner, motivating us through menial chores or through a workout at the gym. It’s hard to imagine an exercise class without music.

Then, there is the music of church—familiar hymns that mark out the rhythm of the church year, the lovely melodies offered by the choir and the sounds of bells that we look forward to at special times of the year.

The music that chooses us, we carry it in our living singing familiar songs in our head. We look forward to certain pieces of music during particular times of the year—whether it be sacred or secular. And, we are often put off by that music making an appearance too early or in an unfamiliar setting. As much as we adore certain Christmas songs, we don’t want to hear them in the middle of summer. But, music also reminds us of the steady march of time through the year. When we do begin to hear the familiar strains of Christmas carols, we know that Christmas is indeed coming—ready or not.

Music has the ability to transport us to a place that is apart from the ordinary. Music sometimes offers that path to the holy that is so hard to find elsewhere.

During a long weekend exploring Edinburgh, Scotland in the fall of 2004, we made a special effort to attend a Sunday service at St. Giles’ Cathedral, the high kirk of Edinburgh, the historic City Church of the city. Though they claim to speak the English language in Scotland, it is often very difficult to understand those Scottish. That was certainly true of the minister leading the service that Sunday morning at St. Giles’. I couldn’t understand a word that man said during most of the service—despite the fact that most of my ancestors came from Scotland.

But, the choir more than made up for the language barrier. The choir was exquisite. It was one of the first times in my life that I had a sense of appreciation for architecture in the carrying of the human voice. The voices of the choir seemed to surround the large cathedral and to linger just so in the rafters of the central tower above the assembled choir. I had never heard anything like it. I don’t remember what they sang or even if they were accompanied by an organ. I just remember those voices. It spoke to me in a way that I can’t describe. It chose me and, for a moment, I was in a different and more holy place.

Music can do that. Music somehow moves us beyond what simple, spoken words can accomplish. It takes us to that place set apart, choosing you and lifting your soul to places that we don’t touch all that often.

Yet, we don’t talk much about music. Even in church we tend to take music for granted. Why is this? Are we thoughtless and impolite people who think so little of our musicians and choir directors and singers? Are we mean-spirited cretins who cannot be bothered to spend some time thinking about music and those who bring it to us each Sunday? Why do we spend so little time in appreciation for this part of our church lives that is essentially impossible to consider living without?

Well, it may not be entirely our fault. And, in looking around for someone else to blame, I just may have found it—and I found it in our very own Christian scriptures, in the New Testament. In the Revised English Version of the Bible, the word “song” appears 86 times in the Bible, but only five of those times is in the New Testament (and they are all in Revelation). The plural of song appears 30 times, but only twice in the New Testament—one of those in our passage for this morning. The word “melody” occurs twelve times in the Bible; only one of those occurrences is in the New Testament (that’s in Ephesians). The word “music” appears nineteen times, but only once in the New Testament (Luke). And, the word “sing” appears a full 105 times, but out of those only SIX are in the New Testament (and none of those are in the Gospels). Notice a pattern here?

Music and singing and song and melody are all very important to the Old Testament, but somehow do not make much of an impression on the writers of the New Testament. Jesus himself is largely silent on the subject.
I don’t have the foggiest idea of why this is and why the New Testament, our very own Christian scriptures are so reticent when it comes to music. In the little bit of research that I did, I couldn’t find anyone who could shed any light on this. It may be that the early Christians considered music such a given, and certainly it was mentioned frequently in their scriptures, in the Hebrew scriptures, that it didn’t seem worth mentioning. But, I really don’t know.

This morning’s passage from Colossians, an epistle which may or may not have been written by Paul, contains one of the very few references to something that has anything to do with music or singing: “And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God.”

And, so, we pause today not only to be thankful for the music in our lives that helps us lift up our praise to God, the music that helps us to express our deepest longings and our gratitude to our God who gives our lives meaning and hope, but we also offer our thankfulness to those who bring us music—we offer our thankfulness to those who play the music, particularly to Bunny for playing this lovely organ. We offer our gratitude to those who offer their voices in the choir, those who provide the sounds of the bells at Christmas and Easter. And, perhaps, most importantly, we thank those who corral these folks and their varied talents and desires, and lead them in practice and performance. It can’t be an easy job . . . . We offer our thanks, as well, to those who guide this program through the music committee.

We offer them our gratitude, though it doesn’t seem nearly enough.

At our hymn sing back in April, I read a little from a wonderful little book called Simple Gifts, Great Hymns: One Man’s Search for Grace by Bill Henderson. I offer again this little passage from the beginning of this book. It seems to say just the right thing, despite the limits of spoken words:

“At the nondenominational Rockbound Chapel, fastened to a granite boulder on hill over the sea near Sedgwick, Maine, I sing songs with other summer visitors—strangers and people I barely know. In untrained, inelegant, often too-loud or too-soft voices, we sing to each other of our pain, loneliness, and fear, topics we would hesitate to admit flat out in gatherings after services. We also sing of love, grace, trust, hope, peace—sentiments that are left out of the usual daily patter. We sing words that matter to us.

“We are Protestants, Catholics, and those who would prefer not to be labeled. Some of us are of troubled faith and others are more agnostic than not. Even if our pew companions don’t exactly share creeds, our hymns carry all of us to those Thin Places described by the Irish, elevated states of consciousness where almost all barriers between mortals and gods vanish.”

Hymns, songs and those who lead us in such ought not be taken so for granted, yet we know that our spoken gratitude so little a response. The writer of Colossians reminds of the significance of music in the midst of our faith and our relationship with God: “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God. And whatever you do, in word or in deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”

Let us raise our voices in song and give thanks. Amen.