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'The Silent Symphony of Kindly Caring'
Read : 2 Chronicles 29: 24b–30; St Mark 14: 17-26; Revelation 5: 11-14 (NIV)
'When the burnt offerings began, the song to the Lord began also, and the trumpets, accompanied by the instruments of King David of Israel.' 2 Chronicles 29: 27
It's worth taking a moment to picture the scene. After a disastrous reign, when the country had been plunged into a catastrophic slump in morals and religion, a new, God-fearing King, Hezekiah, had come to the throne. He summoned the people to a solemn service of rededication in the temple, and a vast crowd had gathered, hushed, eager, and expectant, their attention focussed on the high altar where the sacrifice was laid out, waiting for the fire. They knew what that offering on the altar represented: it signified their readiness to offer their own lives as a willing sacrifice dedicated to the God whom for years they had forsaken.
And now, watch that solitary figure as he moves forward to the altar, carrying a lighted torch. The fire leaps up, and the offering goes up in flames. And suddenly, in that moment of breath-taking drama, the tense silence is shattered as there rises from the packed crowd a tremendous burst of triumphant song, and from the king's musicians peals of jubilant music. 'When the burnt offerings began, the song to the Lord began also, and the trumpets.'
That outburst of music was characteristic of Hebrew worship and it later became an inalienable part of Christian worship, and, of course, it is so much part of our worship here in St Cuthbert's. In the entry in his journal for the 17th March, 1870, Henri Frederic Amiel, the French philosopher, wrote, 'This morning the music of a brass band which had stopped under my window moved me almost to tears. It exercised an indefinable, nostalgic power over me; it set me dreaming of another world, of infinite passion and supreme happiness. Such impressions are the echoes of Paradise in the soul.' (quoted in 'Music In Church Worship' G Wauchope Stewart Hodder and Stoughton 1926 p. 31 note 3)
I hope there have been many moments for you, as there most certainly have been for me, when our organists and choir have transported you to that other world of supreme happiness, and brought echoes of Paradise to your soul. This Music Sunday gives us the opportunity to express our heartfelt thanks to Graham and his colleagues and to all the members of the choir for the inspiring way they lead our worship and inflame our devotion. Thank you so very much.
The Hebrews in our Old Testament Lesson must surely have felt something of the same spiritual uplift, 'when the burnt offerings began, and the song to the Lord began also.' Don't you find that timing extraordinary? - first the sacrifice, then, immediately, the song. That's a pattern that repeats itself again and again in the Bible, and no more strikingly than in today's Gospel lesson. Jesus offers himself as a sacrifice for the world, his body broken, his blood shed, and then what? Immediately, he and his disciples 'sang a hymn, and went out to the Mount of Olives.' There is something inexpressibly touching about Jesus singing in time and in tune with his men. He knew all that was coming, all the suffering and the sadness and the sacrifice - yet still he sang. First the sacrifice, then the song.
Is it not often like that? Here, for instance is St Francis of Assisi, devoting himself so sacrificially to Christ that it is said the very wounds of Jesus appeared in his flesh. And out of the throes of that suffering there came a great outburst of praise,
All creatures of our God and King,
lift up your hearts and with us sing
Alleluia!
The stigmata in his hands, and the Hallelujah in his heart! ('The Gates Of New Life' J S Stewart T & T Clark 1937 p. 39)
Or here are Paul and Silas, arrested in Philippi on trumped-up charges, put to the lash, tortured, and thrown into a dungeon. And what happened next? 'At midnight,' says the record, 'Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praise to God.' First the sadness, then the singing; first the sacrifice, then the song.
Sometimes the song that comes out of suffering is a song without words, without music even. We have been stunned with sadness and sorrow by a triptych of summer tragedies - Manchester, Borough Market, and Grenfell Tower. Manchester, to be sure, gave voice to a concert of song that defied terrorism and reinforced humane values. There were no similar songs in twice-hit London, no songs that you could hear, that is - but what about that magnificent upsurge of open-heartedness and generous kindness that spontaneously poured forth on to the streets and into the rescue centres - was that not music too? You could call it 'The Silent Symphony of Kindly Caring.'
The Queen, in a very special and unprecedented message yesterday, on her official birthday, said that 'in spite of it being traditionally a day of celebration it was difficult to escape a very sombre national mood.' And she went on, 'During recent visits in Manchester and London, I have been profoundly struck by the immediate inclination of people throughout the country to offer comfort and support to those in desperate need. Put to the test, the United Kingdom has been resolute in the face of adversity.'
Don't you catch the music in all of that? It has all the power of actual music so that you feel it blooding in your bones and your feet stride forward to keep time with its rhythm. 'When the burnt offerings began, the song to the Lord began also, and the trumpets.'
Don't forget the trumpets! This music, born of sorrow and suffering, is no sad minor melody. It is, as our text describes it, the song to the Lord - and the trumpets! And nothing can finally silence them.
| Rev Charles Robertson, June 2017 |
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St Cuthbert's Parish Church. 5 Lothian Road. Edinburgh. UK. EH1 2EP |
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