John 1:1-5, “In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God, and the

Word was God. The Word was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through the Word, and without the Word not one thing came into being. What has come into being in the Word was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the deepest night, and the night did not overcome it.”

 

Two weeks ago, last Thursday, I was sitting in the fourth to last row of the PK Yonge performing arts center, waiting for the choir concert to begin. I had just scrambled to get Stella from Drivers Ed and had her dress and makeup bag and shoes all ready for her as we rushed from one end of town to the other. Tracy was bringing Remy straight from soccer practice. Judah would be coming from the gym. Somehow, miraculously, we all made it to where we were supposed to be on time, and it was time to enjoy the show.

I was not prepared for what would happen next.

 

My mother used to drive me bonkers with her constant praise about how much she loved it when I would perform with the various choirs I was involved in throughout my youth and early adolescence. — Church choirs, school choirs, madrigal groups, quartets, octets, all these different groups. I loved singing in these groups, but I used to think my mom was over the top in her declarations of how good we were. But now I understand exactly what she meant.

At one point during Stella’s performance, I leaned over to Tracy and said, “My life is now complete.”

 

I had come full-circle.

 

Can you think of the last time you were transported away by music? If you can’t, I have good news for you. Next week is our Lessons and Carols service, and I promise that there will be a few moments of transcendence in there for you. If you can, what were the circumstances? Were you nestled into the back of a performing arts center to watch your kid or grandkid perform, like me? Or did you catch Bella Fleck last Tuesday? That was amazing. Maybe you dusted off your favorite album of Christmas classics, or got caught up at a stoplight listening to Mariah Carey’s version of, “All I Want for Christmas is You.” Or maybe Stan’s beautiful tenor struck a chord of surprise in your heart today, and you felt the stirring spirit of the season, inviting you to wake into a moment of awareness.

 

Music has the power to release a hardened heart, and bring our attention to this present moment. Music speaks to our soulful selves, the selves that escape our ego’s control with its demands and requests and judgments. Music connects us with the cosmic moans of the universe and can transform our attitudes, our outlooks and even our identities with an ascendant scale or a timely resolution of a minor chord. When people sing together, like in a choir, their heartbeats will synchronize. To some of us, Music is a beautiful passageway to the Divine; and I agree with Howard Thurman when he said said, “there must always remain in our lives someplace for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself floats like breath upon the air and throws all the rest of life into a new and creative relatedness.”

 

This is the season for singing. And for creative relatedness. Radio stations have already made the switch to all holiday music all the time. You’ll find yourself humming along to new versions of Christmas classics as you wander the aisles of Publix and Home Depot.

And there are melodies intertwined with our holiday traditions that resurrect memories that stretch to generations far back. I remember plunking out Christmas Carols as a child using the same red piano book my father used when he was a child.

In those melodies, we remember, and we become aware of who we are, how we came to be here on a scale much grander than our immediate now.

Part of what makes this season sacred is our connection to the generations that came before us.. “In the beginning was the Word; and the Word was with God and the Word was God.” is John’s cosmic start to the fourth gospel, in reference to the pre-birth Christ. but I like to think that the word in the beginning was a melody which, when sung, can still synchronize our heartbeats as they did when first sung in the darkness at the dawn of time.

 

When I was in high school I sang in a madrigal choir; 16 singers, all acapella songs, with ancient lyrics and melodies interspersed with some holiday classics. The Christmas season was our busy season. We were in high demand. We’d be asked to sing everywhere from Goodwill gatherings to the lobby of the local hardware store. The most attentive and appreciative audiences, aside from our parents, were the residents at the senior citizen centers where we’d perform. It felt like everyone would come out to hear us sing; and so many of the gathered people would so be glad to see us, even before we sang our first chord. The crowd-pleasers were our rousing renditions of, “Joy to the World” or “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel.” People would gladly sing along with “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and “We Wish You A Merry Christmas.” But something extraordinary would happen when we sang the sweet lullaby of, “Silent Night,” and, “Lo, How Er A Red Rose Bloometh.” But the real moments of grace came with songs like “O Holy Night,” “We Three Kings,” “Sing We Now Of Christmas,” and “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” Those are the songs that have a minor key or a minor chord element to them. That is when I’d see the tears get wiped away, and I could feel the Ghosts of Christmases Past stepping out of the shadows to be remembered once again.

 

There is something special about a minor chord. When we hear a minor chord, it creates a feeling of discomfort in us. When describing songs in a minor key, people often will say, “sad” or “mysterious.” Composers will use a minor key to create a sense of urgency and anticipation in their music. They will tease us with occasional resolutions to a major chord, which people describe as “happy” or “warm,” but often returning back to the minor chords to keep the drama and the anticipation at the forefront. Still, we crave a resolution of the minor chord. We need it to feel at peace. *example?

 

Songs of joy and thanksgiving are lovely parts of the season, but we would be remiss if we overlooked the more somber moments as well. For many of us, Christmas brings a unique set of challenges. Not everyone grew up with hearths and happy homes. Not everyone will be gathering together around a table of plenty for a Christmas feast. Some will struggle to put gifts under the tree. Some will not have anyone to buy gifts for, or receive gifts from. For some, this season is a difficult reminder who is NOT here, rather than a celebration for those who are. And we should remember that in the world at large, the prisons are still full; the politics are still polarizing, and the hospitals don’t take the holidays off.

 

The mournful melodies of Christmas are keynote musical motifs that force our bodies to remember what our souls have never forgotten. That the light of the world is one that is born in a time of trouble, and in times of trouble what we most need is a call for hope, especially when the night feels so long.

 

Remember, it was the prophets from the Old Testament (the hebrew bible) where we first hear the calling for Emmanuel, which means, “God with us.” It was Isaiah who prayed to God for a king of peace, a wonderful counselor, a redeemer, a savior. It was Jeremiah who begged God for a new covenant, a New Testament, to reestablish their relationship to God as favored ones, which came in a time of captivity, corruption and forgotten faith. Ezekiel and Daniel and Micah are all quoted throughout the New Testament stories of Jesus to encourage the people to not give up hope in the story of God and God’s love for all of us. and that this peasant preacher, this baby born in a backwater town who offered out love and miracle for free could be the fulfillment of hope; hope that comes without the political power, without the swords and shields, without the prestige that everyone assumed a real leader would have. No. His strength came from his vulnerability and his power came from his willingness to give power to anyone who needed an extra measure of God’s grace. The prophets prayed to God for a fresh start, a new beginning. And that is what we get in this season of the winter solstice; the longest night; a night that will soon give way to more light.

 

The season of Advent is a time to pray for hope to begin again. These next four weeks are meant to be a time when we prepare our hearts for a fresh start.

 

Hope is a fascinating word. Hope holds a delicate balance between sorrow and joy. LIke a christmas carol with a minor refrain. It is all at once a dream of a tomorrow where sadness and toil will be forgotten, yet it is rooted in a place of need, where the brokenness we know cannot be ignored.

 

Sitting in the back of the performing arts center, watching my middle child perform was a full-circle moment for me. Because I could remember. I could remember the ill-fitting polyester tuxedo and the girls dressed in awkward school-provided gowns. I remember the scratchy cumberbund and clip on bow tie. And I remember looking out past the stage lights watching the people be moved by our moments of musical grace. And I knew there was something special taking place; but I didn’t know exactly what that was.

 

 

When I was a student singer, I didn’t know the importance of hope in the same way that I do now. Now that I’ve experienced these seasons of loss, and times of trial, the minor chords and melodies have a special resonance in my soul. And that makes these high school singers  all the sweeter to hear; because they likely do not yet know the depth of sorrow that we do, but they do know the joy. And that is the other crucial part of the chord of hope.The beautiful optimism and innocence of unfettered joy.

 

Now I have taken the place of my mother, beaming with smiles and wiping tears from my eyes, remembering so strongly what it felt like to be on the other side, and experiencing the boisterous pride my parents felt.

 

And I could see myself, too, 30 years from now in my wheelchair sitting front and center for the high school choir, brought out of school for their annual holiday performance, and I just know that I will cry then too.

 

Because hope is strongest when our despair and our joy can coexist, anc can synchronize in our hearts, and beat as one. Hope is a dream for what might be, after the darkness has faded away. “Hope,” said Emily Dickinson, “is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.” May we all have ears to hear it.