The Blessing of Music

Last night our church choir performed its Easter Cantata. It was beautiful.

I got to hear the music portion early on because our choir director asked me if I could write narration for the program. I had no idea who at church told him I could write, but someone did. I agreed to give it a shot before I heard the music because I don't often get to write for a purpose any more. And once I heard what songs Brian had picked, I felt the Lord's leading immediately.

Some songs were familiar; some were new to me. But they all touched me. In fact, as I listened, daily, to the CD Brian had burned for me at least one song would leave me tearing up. And it was a different song every day. You know how God is... He just meets you where you are.

After about two weeks of listening, I realized that I couldn't write narration after just listening to the music. Because it was distracting me. Music moves me, and words move me. Trying to do both at the same time was tearing me up. I was coming up blank because all I could focus on was worship.

And that's a great thing.

But it wasn't getting me any narration written.

So I sat down at the computer and wrote out the words to every song, in the order that Brian planned to have them sung. Just the words. No tunes.

Then I prayed. And opened up my Bible and my Holman Bible Dictionary. And waited.

But not for long. The Lord pretty much took over there.

When I was done writing, I prayed some more. And it was clear that my part was finished.

I generally second guess every thing I write, whether it's something that was published in a newspaper, a blog post, a term paper, even the wording on our wedding program. I pick it apart after the fact and think of how it could have been done better. One word here would have been stronger than the one I chose. A comma right there would have made that portion more understandable.

But there was no hesitation this time. I didn't go back and read over what was written after I e-mailed the text to Brian and he said he liked what I sent.

And last night when I heard those words narrated between songs, I didn't feel the normal sense of familiarity I usually have with words I write. I just truly believe they were God's words, not mine.

That's what I prayed for all along. That I would be a tool and nothing more.

For those church members who said something sweet to me about what was written, I thank you. But at the same time, I feel sort of like I need to shrink back from that. Because I can't claim those words as mine.

And because I think God blessed me most.

And the only explanation I have for that is this: when I teach a Sunday school class or a Bible study, I know God is touching me more than he could possibly be impacting those who are in the class.

Now, I'll tell you some thing a bit funny.

I'm not watering it down when I say those songs got to me. Yesterday morning, the choir sang one that by then I had heard dozens of times, and I knew I'd hear it again in the evening as part of the program.

I already felt like I'd been put through a spiritual wringer in Sunday school. Nothing particularly rough is going on at home. No hormones to accuse. No spousal arguing. The kids all behaved well that morning and we even got to church on time.

But you know when you keep hearing the same thing over and over again from God, to the point that you can't even remember where you heard it first? That was going on in Sunday school. And I kept thinking of one verse that wasn't a part of our actual Sunday school lesson, but something someone said made me think of it.

Where did I hear that verse first? Was it on that radio program I listen to in the van on Wednesdays? Did the preacher use this text recently? Were we referred back to that scripture in Bible Study Fellowship notes lately?

And then I remembered. The first place I heard it was while working with Clay on memorizing Awana verses. So here's the verse that was kicking my tail in Sunday school: "For whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all." James 2:10.

I won't go into detail as to why that verse is applying to me so much right now, because this post is getting novel-ish already. But you think on it, too, and maybe it can kick your tail for a bit as well.

Back to the music.

I sat in the church service alone yesterday morning. The hubby was counting the offering; the kids were in children's church. So I scooted in toward the center of the pew and this precious older lady came and asked if I was saving the seat next to me for anyone. I said I was saving it for her, so she sat down and we chatted for a minute or two.

She had the man who was with her go get her one of those hearing devices that makes it easier to hear the service if you have any problems with your hearing. She told me that she used to be embarrassed to need one, but that it helped so much she got over it.

Then the service started and the congregation sang three songs... a couple were older hymns. The kind that make me think of going to services at my grandpa's church when I was just a little bit. My grandpa is going to turn 91 soon, so I get a little weepy when I think about what time I may have left with him.

Are you seeing a pattern here? Seriously, it's a good thing I don't normally wear make-up anymore, because the water works were in full force.

Then the choir sang "Jerusalem". And I was done for!

I was swiping at tears in the corners of my eyes after the first verse, but I felt a sob coming on as the chorus came up. The kind of sob you do as a child when you're having an all out fit and then you can't breathe so you kind of take in bullet breaths that shake your whole chest.

And then my favorite part came up.

"Jerusalem, I want to walk your streets that are golden.
And I want to run where the angels have trod.
Jerusalem, I want to rest on the banks of your river.
In that city, city of God.
John saw the lion lay down by the lamb. I want to know ev’rything about that lamb.
John saw the day, but did not see night. The Lamb of God, well, must be the Light."

I want to know everything about that Lamb. The Lamb of God must be the Light!

And that's when I snorted.

I was trying so hard not to sob out loud and distract every person on my row. But the effort was too much, so it came out as a snort instead.

And I was grateful I was sitting next to that sweet little old lady with the hearing problem.

Tell me God doesn't take care of the details!