SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT, Dec. 9, 2012
“Singing Our Faith” (Luke 1:68-79)
My intentions were good last December. On the first Friday, I would provide the residents of Elginwood with a true Advent experience. Since the choices in their hymn book, “Sing Your Way Home”, are extremely limited, I printed out the words for “Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus” and “Hark! The Glad Sound”. I chose one of my favourite passages in Isaiah, chapter 40, and the theme of comfort. This would be a real treat for individuals no longer able to attend worship in their own churches.
Guess what? It bombed. I’d like to blame the budgies who chirp enthusiastically whenever I speak or the distraction of all the comings and goings or the sleepiness of the people in the front row. But I cannot because of what happened afterwards. The pianist played “Joy to the World” as the closing hymn – my one break from Advent – and then launched into a whole series of Christmas carols. Residents began to sing. The front row actually woke up. Smiles appeared. Before long, the place was rocking. No one wanted to leave. The hope and peace, the joy and love of the season had arrived despite me.
I should have known. When it comes to services in Long Term Care facilities, it is not the sermon – no matter how well crafted; it’s not the prayers - however topical or heartfelt; it’s familiar hymns that speak. Even people with memory issues can often sing along. With Magnetic Resonance Imaging, we now know that memory, music and emotions all activate the same area of the brain. As a result, singing “Away in the Manger" may evoke memories from childhood of carolling through the neighbourhood or standing around the piano or from adulthood of watching one’s own children taking part in the Christmas pageant or who knows? All I am certain of is that when the carols began, the mood lightened and the energy rose.
While we may have a better scientific understanding of what happens inside our brains, the founder of Methodism, John Wesley, certainly appreciated the value of hymns as a vehicle for expressing faith. It is no accident that John Wesley wrote a few hymns and translated many while his brother, Charles, published 6,000 hymns. Methodists sing their faith. Raised in a United Church with strong Methodist roots like this one, I find it odd and unsatisfying when I attend a worship service based solely on scripture and prayer. Although, at the family’s request, I have led funerals without any music, I personally need hymns like “Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah” to shore me up when I face such an ending.
Given this tradition, it felt fitting whenthe group composing the United Church’s most recent statement of faith came up with “A Song of Faith”. We may find it long compared to our 1940 version, but there is something to be said for poetry versus prose. Listen, for example, to the opening of what is said about Jesus Christ. The 1940 statement reads: “We believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of the Father, Who, for us men and our salvation became man and dwelt among us.” The Song of Faith reads: “We sing of Jesus, a Jew, born to a woman in poverty, in a time of social upheaval and political oppression. He knew human joy and sorrow. So filled with the Holy Spirit was he that in him people experienced the presence of God among them. We sing praise to God incarnate.” A statement such as the first one can sound as if it demands assent. Agree with it or find yourself standing on the outside of this denomination. And indeed, historically, the church has used its creeds to divide true believer from heretic. In contrast, there is a beauty and spaciousness to the poetry of the Song of Faith that invites us to sit with the words and images and reflect on how they resonate with our own experience and understanding.
There’s something about singing our faith. Take the song of Zechariah also known as the “Benedictus” from the first word in the Latin translation. This is one of three songs, which the author of Luke includes in the first two chapters– the others are the Magnificat sung by Mary and the “Nunc Dimittis” or the Song of Simeon. Zechariah sings and invites us to join in.
At first glance, Zechariah may not look like an obvious partner for us. He is a member of the priestly class married to Elizabeth, a descendant of Aaron, the first priest of the Hebrew people. Twice a year, he spends a week in the temple in Jerusalem carrying out his priestly duties. Both Zechariah and Elizabeth know the commandments and all the rules and regulations that have grown up as a fence around Torah to protect it. They make every effort to keep them all and lead righteous lives. I cannot speak for you, but this doesn’t sound much like me. When I was studying at Emmanuel, I was taught that ministers have three roles: prophet, pastor and priest. It was the priestly role that gave me pause. It’s hard to identify with someone for whom the greatest honour is to be chosen by lot to enter the Holy of Holies, the room in the temple where God was imagined as sitting on a throne, high and lifted up, and there burn incense to carry the people’s prayers up to God.
But Zechariah and Elizabeth have a far from perfect existence: they have no children and in their society, the lack of offspring is viewed as a disgrace, a sign of God’s disfavour. They’ve prayed and prayed for a baby. No response. They’ve waited and waited. Nothing. Now, doesn't that sound like something with which we can relate? Each year as December 25th approaches, radio stations and shopping malls trot out their Christmas songs. Some are humorous, if in a dark way, like “Grandma got run over by a reindeer”. Some are designed to tug at our hearts strings like “Christmas Shoes”. But others express a deep longing for peace like “some day at Christmas, men won't be boys, playing with bombs like children with toys”. As we approach the birth of the Prince of Peace, as we listen to those children’s choirs singing “Let There Be Peace on Earth”, it feels all the harder to see the photos coming out of Syria of bodies and rubble, and hear the discussion around the possible use of chemical weapons by government troops against their own people. How long have we human beings been waiting for peace to encircle the globe, for more than a Christmas Eve ceasefire?
Zechariah knows about waiting. Elizabeth has given birth. Zechariah is still waiting: waiting for John to grow into a prophet like Elijah; waiting for liberation and peace for his people. In the meantime, Zechariah sings. The first seven verses are similar to the canonical psalms of praise to God and to the thanksgiving psalms of the Dead Sea scrolls. To be honest, psalms of praise were not my favourite part of the Bible when I was growing up. I struggled with the whole idea of praise. I would like to say it's all the fault of my Aunt Florence. I know she loved me, but she would never praise me. Praise she claimed would lead to a “big head” and there was nothing worse than a child with a “big head”. I suspect, however, that my problem with praise runs deeper. What kind of God would require much less demand praise? A God who bears too close a resemblance to a vain, self-centred autocrat. It was only as I came to realize that it is not God who needs our praise, but we who need to praise that my attitude shifted. As we sing, we are changed. As we allow ourselves to praise, our heads come up – an attitude of hope we explored last Sunday.
With heads up, we start to gaze beyond our struggles, our worries. With Zechariah, we may look to God as our deliverer or liberator. Joyce Rupp in her book, Fragments of Your Ancient Name, 365 Glimpses of the Divine for Daily Meditation picks up on both. For March 22nd under the heading “Liberator God”, she has this reflection from Edward Hays:
How often we find ourselves in a prison of our own making,
held by resentment and hostility, or cultural pressures to look good,
pressed by the need to be right, caught up in heartless criticism,
or useless apprehensions.
You free us from one prison cell, but then we move to another.
Help us to be fully liberated.
We listen to Zechariah’s song and we are immersed in the theme of bondage and liberation, one of the three macro stories that run through all of scripture. We sing and we are reminded that God wills freedom for all human beings whether newborn babes or youth like those who frequent Home Base, whether adults waiting for something to shift in their lives or elders who have given up hope. We sing and we hear God’s longing for our wholeness and fullness of life, whatever our circumstances, however less than ideal this “festive” season.
Zechariah sings. The final four verses, which may be a Christian addition to a hymn originally circulating among John the Baptist’s followers, sing of the special role of Zechariah’s son in the story of the Hebrew people, as the preparer of the way for the one who will come after – the “dawn” or “dayspring from on High”. Hear what Joyce Rupp wrote for December 5th under the heading “Dayspring from on High”:
You are the bright sunrise after obscure night,
The breaking of light after a bleak horizon.
You are the spreading dawn of something new ,
The vivid splendour of the horizon of hope.
You originate from an eternal source of kindness
Hidden in the deep fissures of ancient mystery.
You rise more resplendent than the blazing sun,
Showing forth light to all who wait in darkness.
You assure us we are able to find your peace,
If we but turn ourselves around toward you.
A powerful image especially for us in the northern hemisphere at this time as nights become ever longer. A strong promise in the face of all those situations, which would cause us to be afraid. A confident voice to counter those who insist war is inevitable, and anxiety is just part and parcel of our human existence.
Zechariah sings and we are invited to join in. Zechariah sings and we are reminded that God is indeed our Liberator who can and does bring us peace. “Christ the Saving One has come.” Thanks be to God.
Linda M. Butler
1