When I am sad, I sing, and then others are sad with me. (lol)
After silence, music comes closest to expressing the inexpressible.
"A-B-C-D-E-F-GWXY and Z" may be one of the first songs we remember, next to HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Early on we were mesmerized by the tunes of Mother Goose Rhymes or the dance moves our parents choreographed to help us fall asleep. Their lullabies all contributed to the magic effect music has on all of us.
Art, indeed, can express the inexpressible. One word in a favourite hymn moves us to tears and gives credence to the saying: "Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thoughts" Percy Bysshe Shelley.
When the world needed it God sent a heavenly choir to sing "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to men of good will".
When our hearts are young and brittle we find love songs to soothe us. The deeper experiences of life are expressed in opera or symphony. Music imitates real life and expresses what words cannot say.
"When two lovers meet in MayfairSo the legends tellSongbirds singWinter turns to spring"
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.Sometimes in real life there are "angels dining at the Ritz" (from Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square) and God sends a song when we need it most. I share an example from Linda Wegner's article "Dwelling in the Glory":
"I cannot forget the moment I experienced, in a new and profound way, the reality of holy ground. It was just days after surgery, and although I was eased by the constant infusion of morphine, I still groaned with pain. Sometime in that fog, I became aware of a melody, simple yet profound enough to lift my thoughts from my suffering to the source of such beauty.
"Symbolically, if not literally, I lifted my head and strained to hear. Like the swelling of a mighty tide, the music expanded in depth and harmony until the room reverberated with its richness. Its magnificence enveloped me and bathed me in peace. Struggling to full consciousness, I found myself singing, 'I am blessed, I am blessed.' From morphine-cracked lips, the song went on: 'Every day of my life, I am blessed.'
"Somewhere in the process, a nurse entered my room. 'Do you hear it?' I asked 'No,' she said once more, 'there isn't any music.' Her repeated explanation did nothing to diminish the wonder of the song.
"Then its significance sank in: from the heart of a broken but praise-filled child, God had extracted the melody, filled in the harmony, orchestrated the score and centred Himself in the performance. In joyous response, all heaven joined in.
"I learned in that holy moment that the place where He sings His songs, the place where He steps into our distress and the place where He covers His trusting child with His wings, is the place where His glory dwells."
Wegner's poetic description here expresses so aptly what happens in our churches when we join all heaven in praising God and at the same time feel God's loving wings covering us in the place where His glory dwells.
And when we join in that song wonderful things happen as Wegner describes here:
"Dwelling in the place inhabited by His glory, He sings over us; singing over Him, we rest in the place where He lives. There, as I worship and He sings, we're both at home."
