The last vestiges of a cold is hanging on stubbornly, so I want to pencil these words (metaphorically) before the cold meds kick in and kick me out. Friday evening found me, sniffles and all, in the sanctuary of a local church listening to the Moody Bible Institute Women’s Concert Choir and Hand Bell Ensemble. The music was beautiful, every word and phrase carefully planned. The attention to the details, the endings of the words, the focus on the director, it led to a wonderful overall creation of sound. But, in the midst of that beautiful collection of music, it was something else that struck me. The presence of the choir was like a sweet wind that cleared out the cobwebs of a musty place. You know that feeling when spring first has a nice warm day and you open the windows, the winter air is finally blown away and the spring smells and freshness comes in. This was the impression I had watching this choir as they performed their pieces.
The musicians, they have held a special place throughout time. They have heralded eternal moments with angelic songs, marched with trumpets, made the processional way with harps, lyres, and cymbals. Psalms 81 spoke of the song, “Sing for joy to God our strength; shout aloud to the God of Jacob! Begin the music, strike the timbrel, play the melodious harp and lyre.” Sing, shout, strike, play – these onomatopoeia type words can also be heard in laughter, prayer, and praise. It is not always the beautiful concert music that is so carefully planned and expressed that praise can be found. It can be in the coo of a baby, the sigh of a sleeper, the long smell at a fresh baked pie, the ummmmm of a savory bite enjoyed. These are all praise, they praise the Maker, the Provider.
Make music, sing a song.