The Music of Heaven

‘Day and night without ceasing they sing “Holy, holy, holy, the Lord God the Almighty,

who was and is and is to come”...

Revelation 4: 8

Over these coming weeks, as Christmas approaches, there will be a great deal of music in my life. Not only the incessant Christmas muzak in shops or the carols sung by groups on our streets or played by brass bands, nor even the many carol services in which Ministers tend to get involved at this time. In addition to all of that, I choose to listen to (and sometimes participate in) a good deal more music and singing during this season.

It somehow seems appropriate and fitting, after all, are the Biblical accounts we read in this season not full of song? From the canticles of Mary and Zechariah and Simeon to the choirs of angels greeting Christ’s birth, there seems to be a lot of singing! (although closer reading of the passages will reveal that they do not actually mention any singing as such!)

Then again, perhaps it is simply that for me music is so very important. Music speaks to me. Music expresses my feelings. Music is woven through my life. Perhaps I might even suggest (and I certainly feel) that for me music is like an echo of heaven, and I do not necessarily mean simply ‘sacred’ music.

As you may have already noted in some of these Advent posts, I have referenced music in some of my posts. I appreciate all kinds of music; rock, jazz, classical, musicals, folk and so on (although I have to admit I am not generally too fond of Country and Western!).

I was brought up surrounded by music. Church music, classical music, stage musicals, Frank Sinatra and opera were all a big part of my parents’ life and I absorbed much of that. Discovering the Beatles as a child and rock music as a teenager opened the door onto an entirely new appreciation of music and – from there – to jazz, folk and back to classical music.

One of the things that interests me is the extent to which music ‘speaks’ to me. Words and lyrics may be significant, but when set to music they come alive. Music without words can ‘speak’ even more to me, and move me very deeply.

I have so very often been moved to tears by music; Tchaikovsky’s ‘Pathetique’, Bach’s ‘St Matthew Passion’, the Beatles’ ‘In my Life’, Bernstein’s ‘West Side Story’, Yes’ ‘Awaken’, Paul Simon’s ‘Sound of Silence’ and on and on and on.

But music has also been a powerful means of expression for people facing difficult situations or struggling for justice or seeking to affirm hope. My friend Ian Gilmour is currently blogging on the theme of music and his blog (which I recommend) can be found here: https://counter-point.blog/?fbclid=IwAR1WX0MKMXK051TpXPDIa90fzQwzLdwThfv2iF68pQk5-G5muodMuzIVs1w

Ian’s particular interest is in the spirituals which emerged in the context of slavery. In that music, there was not only an expression of faith (although there was that) but also of the hope of freedom, and the struggle for justice.

In so many ways, music expresses our deepest longings, our hopes, our faith, our love, our desire for liberation or justice.... and in so many ways, music touches us, speaks to us, connects with us.

And in all of this, I so often sense a touch of heaven that comforts and challenges and speaks of God.

Angels

‘The angel said... “do not be afraid”’

(Luke 1:13; Luke 1: 36; Matthew 1: 20; Luke 2: 10)

Angels play a big part in the Nativity narratives in the Gospels and so it is no surprise that they also appear frequently in Christmas hymns, on Christmas cards and in Christmas Nativity plays! But in spite of the usual depiction of angels in Nativity plays there is no mention in the Gospels of haloes or wings. But what is striking is the repeated message of the angels. To Zechariah when told of the future birth of John the Baptist, to Mary at the Annunciation, to Joseph when he discovers that Mary is pregnant, and to the shepherds on the Bethlehem hillside the word is the same; ‘Do not be afraid’.

In some ways I feel that my family and I have encountered some angels through our difficult few months; messengers who have brought a word of comfort and assurance to us.

I am not meaning literal ‘angels’ (although, who knows!) but the few people who have known the details for what we have faced (and some who have not known all that much) who have brought peace and comfort and often so much more to us.

These are the angels who have offered us a place to stay, a chance to get away from everything, practical guidance, a listening ear, wise counsel. And even although only a few have been in a position to offer these specific things, there have been others who have provided friendly support, a word of hope or comfort and the promise of prayer.

All of them have been like angels to us; divine messengers who have (wittingly or unwittingly) reflected something of God’s care and concern into our anxiety and uncertainly, and who have brought comfort and hope.

‘Do not be afraid’.

I am grateful for each and every ‘angel’ we have encountered over these months.

‘Do not be afraid’.

A Scarcity of Miracles

‘Night falls
As darkness reappears
The madness and the fears close behind now
Faith calls me to question who I am
With neither myth nor man stand beside them....

...the scarcity of miracles we'd found’

                                From ‘A Scarcity of Miracles’ by Jackszyk, Fripp and Collins (a ‘King Crimson Projekct’)

 A true miracle is – by definition – an action or intervention of God which cannot be explained by the normally observed laws of nature. I am not going to attempt to get into a discussion on whether or not miracles do or ever have occurred beyond noting that I am a believer in both the possibility and the occurrence of such events. That said, I think that there are many far from reliable – even extremely dubious – claims of ‘miracles’ and I think that true miracles are much rarer occurrences than some suppose or claim.

But, as a Christian it seems to me that one cannot affirm (as I do) that God has taken on human flesh in Jesus, who rose again from the dead and so forth, without affirming the possibility of the miraculous. I could go on....

However, it is not my intention to begin a discussion on the nature or possibility of miraculous occurrences.

But nor am I simply thinking about ‘miracles’ in terms of the common colloquial usage when the word is often used to describe a beneficial event that is statistically unlikely but not actually contrary to the laws of nature, such as surviving a natural disaster, or a welcome coincidence or simply a ‘wonderful’ occurrence, regardless of likelihood, such as a birth etc.

I am (knowingly and intentionally) using the term ‘miracle’ loosely but not unthinkingly, and in that ‘loose’ use of the term I am about to contradict something I said in one of my posts a few days ago. Reflecting upon the difficult times we have faced in recent months I wrote ‘I have longed for miracles, but experienced none’.

I suppose what I meant was that there had been precious little sign of God at work in a way that would actually change or relieve our situation. It was not a complaint that there had been no divine intervention contravening the laws of nature, but rather that there had been no clear indication of an answer to prayer or a ‘coincidence’ of events that might indicate a divine response.

A ‘Scarcity of Miracles’, in other words.

But I was not being quite accurate.

While I cannot go into detail, there has been an astounding (almost unbelievable... perhaps – yes – ‘miraculous’) coincidence of circumstances that has given us incredible hope and has provided for us a way out of the worst of our situation. While I can’t tell the full story, it has shone such light into our darkness that it has had an utterly transformative effect. And it all came about due to an almost impossible ‘coincidence’ of events.

Now, as I have already said, strictly speaking a coincidence does not a miracle make! But in our context and given our prayers and taking into account the utterly incredible nature of the ‘coincidence’, its complete transformation of our circumstances and its dramatic effect upon us, I will settle for thanking God for this ‘miracle’.

Archbishop William Temple[1] once replied to his critics who regarded answered prayer as no more than coincidence, ‘When I pray, coincidences happen; when I don’t, they don’t.’

Quite.

---

[1] This quote has also been attributed to others. But the point is not who said it (or even who first said it)!

Exile

‘Now, in this faraway land
Strange, that the palms of my hands
Should be damp with expectancy’

                                                                                From ‘Exiles’ by King Crimson[1]

The theme of Exile casts a long shadow over the biblical text.

The history of Israel revolves around the twin focus of Exodus and Exile. At the Exodus, Israel began the process toward becoming a nation. The Exile, however, signalled the loss of Israel's status as an independent nation, and even after the return of the people to the land of Israel, they remained merely a political backwater in a Persian province

The importance of the theme of Exile for the Hebrew Bible has been long recognised. In particular, the Babylonian Exile of Judah in 586 BC, involved many factors including the destruction of Jerusalem, the cessation of the sacrifices, the end of the monarchy, and so on. The entire national and religious structure of the kingdom, which was thought to be ordained by God himself, came crashing down. This was their ‘Day of the Lord’, and it left them absolutely devastated.

Now, you would expect all of this to be a bleak period in the life of God's people: Jerusalem destroyed, the temple burned, the end of David’s dynasty, and the fruit and flower of the population deported. And it was. If you want to have a sense of what it felt like, read the book of Lamentations, or (more briefly) Psalm 137.

However, this was also an amazingly productive period of Israel's history; in effect it fostered the birth of Judaism. The people came to recognise that although their nation had been defeated, God had not been defeated. Indeed, God could be worshipped apart from native land, temple, priest, or monarch. This was a crucial insight. Without a king, Israel remembered that the Lord had always been their true king. A burned temple hundreds of miles away meant there were no sacrifices, but the Sabbath could become a time to worship and contemplate God's word in the synagogue. They realised that they had identity as a people which was not simply defined by occupation of a land or national boundaries.

The experience of the Exile began to cause a transformation of the Jewish religion within which the various forms of Judaism, and – indeed – early Christianity, developed. The theme of Exile remains important to the development of Judaism and Christianity even to the present day.

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel

Jesus entered into this context and saw himself fulfilling a larger story-line that was told in His Bible, which we know as the Old Testament.

However, Exile is not simply a matter of history. It is a recurring theme for people of faith. In our present day, many Christians in the Western world have returned to the Exile narratives of the Old Testament as a way of interpreting and understanding the decline and marginalisation of the church in our day. In another place I have written about some of my reservations regarding this identification of church decline with Exile. Nonetheless, there are still some important things to ponder. Just as Exile provided a context for the people of Judah and Israel to reflect upon the nature of their faith, reshape it and reform it, so perhaps we can see in the current situation facing the church a similar (God-given?) opportunity.

However, Exile can also be seen as a more individual experience. The words of the late Eugene Peterson connect with my own experience – and that of my family – over this last wee while;

‘The essential meaning of exile is that we are where we don’t want to be’

‘Repeatedly we find ourselves in circumstances where we are not at home’

                                                                                                                                                Eugene Peterson

Exile is not just geographical, but may be physical, emotional, spiritual.

But even when we feel in ‘Exile’, even when we are in that place we would rather not be (as a church or as individuals), even when everything that we have known, believed and taken for granted seems to be stripped away (as for those in Babylonian Exile) still it seems that there is genuine hope and expectation of a new thing emerging.

‘Now, in this faraway land
Strange, that the palms of my hands
Should be damp with expectancy’

                                                King Crimson

I have found in these last few months that even in my own wee ‘Exile’ – my time of being where I do not want to be, of finding myself in circumstances where I am not at home – I have nonetheless felt a strange, unspecific yet persistent sense of expectancy and anticipation.

Perhaps that is what hope is.

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel

---

[1] For those of you who may be unaware, King Crimson are far and away my favourite rock band. Their first album was released in 1969 which is when this 13 year old first heard them. Almost 50 years on they are still touring and I last saw them just a few weeks ago.

The Absence of God

Then about that time Jesus shouted, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’

Mark 15:34

Not a word we use very often: Godforsaken.

Is there a time and place when even God has had enough of us, when even the immortal invisible needs to take some personal time? 

Was God now hiding from Jesus... or was it just that Jesus lost sight of God?

When it feels like that, what’s the difference?

And if you believe that Jesus, somehow, was also God, this is a kind of self-abandonment - God taking leave of himself, forgetting himself. A kind of madness?

As darkness falls, confusion rises. Voices nearby drop away, disappear. Spectators lose interest. Now just the silent sound of hearts breaking, hope evaporating. 

‘Hello?’

No reply. 

‘Anyone there?’

Nothing answers. 

Just you and nothing.

Forsaken. 

Jesus Christ abandoned to his fate in the middle of history.

Foolishness.

The mad epicentre of all things.

Losing it. Always losing it.

‘You have to lose your life in order to find it’, he had said.                                                            

Martin Wroe

It may seem odd to offer a reflection on the crucifixion of Jesus in the midst of Advent. But, for me, it is not really that strange.

On the Cross, Jesus is taking upon himself and into himself that sense of abandonment and forsakenness that God’s people had been experiencing as they waited for God to redeem and rescue them, and just as it would have seemed to them that their prayers were not heard, no action occurred and God felt absent, so now Jesus was enduring these very things.

I have often preached on the gospel story of the storm on the Sea of Galilee when the disciples are in the boat and afraid. Not the account where Jesus is asleep in the boat and is awakened and commands the storms to be still, but the other one were the disciples are in a boat… the wind is getting up, the waves are crashing... a storm is blowing... and Jesus is not even there with them!

And how often do we feel that? The storms are blowing up in our lives and Jesus feels very absent.

Indeed, the absence of Jesus in the gospels is a very interesting study in itself. He is absent when the disciples are struggling – and failing – to heal an epileptic boy; absent when Lazarus dies and Mary and Martha are filled with grief; absent when this storm hits the disciples’ boat.

Where are you, Lord? Where are you when we need you?

Most of us find that in the course of our life journey and faith journey storms blow up from time to time... personal, circumstantial, spiritual, medical, emotional, financial, relational... whatever… and Jesus seems absent… sometimes very absent.

And Jesus himself – on the Cross – experiences that sense of abandonment: the absence of God.

‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’

In these last months I have often felt somewhat abandoned by God, and I have certainly had only the rarest sense of his presence in the midst of an overwhelming sense of his absence.

But, perhaps the most interesting bit of the story of the storm on Galilee concerns where it is that Jesus is eventually seen. Not in the boat with us, but out there in the very storm that is battering us. And – initially at least – he is unrecognised.

Like all of us who have faced storms in life, what I want to do in difficult and dark times is batten down the hatches and hope to find God right there beside me, speaking peace and making the storm go away!

Like children afraid of the dark we want someone to cuddle us and put the light on! 

But what if, in these experiences of doubt, of loss, of emotional turmoil, relationship tensions, God is – in fact – in the very midst of the storm and calling us not to keep low until the storm has past, but to face up to it, walk out into it, and find God in it.

God may seem absent and we may feel abandoned.  But maybe sometimes he is just not where we expect him to be.

The Sound of Silence

Hello darkness, my old friend

I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

–        Paul Simon

A few months ago I attended Paul Simon’s concert in Glasgow which was part of his ‘farewell’ tour. At the very end of what was a wonderful and moving concert, Simon sang ‘The Sound of Silence’ as the last song of the performance. For me it was an intensely emotional moment. I cried freely as he sang.  In part that was because of the beauty of the song, in part because it felt like it was taking me back to my childhood when I first heard Simon and Garfunkel sing it, in part because it was likely the last song I would ever hear Paul Simon sing live – the end of an era. But also it was partly because the idea of ‘darkness’ and ‘silence’ resonated with me just at that point. The difficulties that have afflicted our family these past months had just descended upon us, and two of the four bereavements we have experienced this past year had only just occurred.

I was in a fragile state.

I did feel engulfed by ‘darkness’ and in response to all of my requests, pleadings and railings at God, heaven remained silent. In a time of extremity, when a word of comfort or guidance is so desperately desired, silence is anything but ‘golden’.

Now, I know that the ‘darkness’ in Simon’s lyrics is greeted as a friend, and there is an ambiguity about the nature of the silence. But for me as I listened to him sing, the darkness was anything but a welcome companion and heaven’s silence felt like an assault upon me.

This is not a new experience for me and it is far from unusual for people of faith to experience darkness and silence.

Job said ‘I cry to you for help and you do not answer me; I stand, and you only look at me.’ (Job 30: 20).

And the Psalmist writes ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.’ (Psalm 22: 1-2)

For generations God’s people cried out to God for deliverance, prayed for Messiah to come, waited and listened...

...it was a long wait.

Why does God seem silent in times when we feel we need to hear him speak? Well, I am not sure. I still struggle a bit with that, I confess. Any suggested answers I could offer would end up sounding like a load of pious platitudes. Perhaps I don’t need to attempt an answer. Perhaps acknowledging the reality is enough.

But this is not the only reality. During these months of apparent darkness and silence there have been moments – brief, barely perceived, swiftly passing – when in the gloom, out of the corner of my eye, I think I have glimpsed God – just fleetingly; I have caught sight of his smile for a second. There have been moments when I wonder if I may have heard a quiet whisper of reassurance, then I have strained to hear it again, and it is no longer there. But these passing moments have been enough.... just.

Perhaps we are more likely to meet God in the silence, and when we come to the end of ourselves. It was true for Elijah when he encountered God in the sound of sheer silence after he had fled in fear, despair and defeat. God was not in the earthquake or fire, but in the silence. (See 1 Kings chapter 19).

Someone said ‘God’s silence is how it feels, not how it is’. And that may be true, but let’s not pretend that silence is not how it feels! Our feelings are not unimportant, our experience is not to be dismissed, our struggles are not to be ignored.

But keep alert too. For even in the darkness you may still glimpse him for a moment. Even in the silence, you may – like Elijah – hear a word.

There is an old hymn which once comforted me many years ago when I felt in a place of darkness and God seemed very silent.

‘Somewhere in the shadows, you’ll see Jesus,

and you’ll know him by the nail prints in his hands’

Joy to the world

‘Joy is distinct not only from pleasure in general but even from aesthetic pleasure. It must have the stab, the pang, the inconsolable longing.’

‘All Joy reminds. It is never a possession, always a desire for something longer ago or further away or still “about to be.”’

 –C.S. Lewis

There is something in the way C S Lewis describes ‘joy’ that resonates with me. I have never been entirely sure that I would call that which he describes ‘joy’. But I most certainly identify with that sense of longing, the pang of which he speaks, ‘a desire for something longer ago or further away or still about to be’. Oh yes, I know that.

I felt it yesterday as I drove through an area of frost covered trees, their delicate branches stiff and glistening in the low winter sun. As I gazed on the scene I felt that pang...almost like something vaguely remembered, or just out of reach, or deeply desired.

I suspect that most people feel that way at times. I think it is part of what all these Christmas TV adverts are attempting to evoke, whether by stirring up some nostalgic longing, or presenting an idealised picture of celebrations or family, or inviting us to enter into some imagined ‘perfect’ future.

These advertisers know what they are doing. They are connecting with that deep longing and yearning in us all for something almost remembered or hopefully reached for. And if I understand the point that C S Lewis was trying to make about he called ‘joy’, this universal pang of yearning within us, points towards something bigger and ‘other’ which is the true object of our yearning.

The season of Advent connects with this sense within us all. 

We recall the generations of waiting and watching, yearning and praying by God’s people for the Day of the Lord to come. It is of this that the prophets wrote. And we enter into that yearning and longing for the fullness of God’s rule to be established, when justice and peace and healing will finally prevail.

And in the midst of the personal difficulties and uncertainties with which we as a family have been wrestling these last few months, that yearning has ‘ached’ within me. Of course, it has had a very specific and personal focus with regard to comfort, resolution, direction, provision etc all related to our particular circumstances. But I sense also that there has been more; that this personal and specific yearning has connected with a deep and more persistent yearning within for the fullness of God, for God’s rule to be established, for the healing of the nations, for the final redemption of the world, for... well, for what? In the words of C S Lewis ‘for something longer ago or further away or still “about to be”’.

Of all human desires would this alone remain without the possibility of fulfilment? May not the very existence of this longing confirm to us that our hope is in something greater, deeper and yet to be?