catchy tune, but what does it say?

    (Originally posted on Multiply.  This is from a long time ago, back when I was at Lindenwood University.  The lesson was memorable and definitely influenced the way I listen to music to this day.)

       

     I had previously pretty much gave a brief on the LCF lesson by the same title (but it was stolen by evil computer gnomes) but now instead I will tell about it with only a few particulars and –well, you will see.

            The discussion was about the messages that songs tell.  We listened to a variety of music, “secular” and “Christian” and discussed what the song said and what the Bible had to say concerning what it said. 

            It was interesting to note that even in secular music there can be found “echoes of the truth” (the world’s in trouble, something wrong with our eyes, we cannot save ourselves) while there are some “Christian” songs with a less than scriptural message (Everything is fine because God believes in you, everything matters if anything matters because you). 

    Point: consider the messages that you allow to be in your head.  What are you listening to?  What are they saying?  On the note of what are they saying–The two songs that were hardest to understand were perhaps the most strikingly dissimilar in word.  The first was bitter and vengeful (not a Christian song even in pretense) the last told how nothing mattered compared to knowing God, and asked Him to purify and renew the heart.  

            So I wonder, what am I listening to?  I can’t control what they play in the office, but what do I listen to on my computer or when I turn on a(n internet) radio?  Most of it actually lacks words, but not all the time.  What am I putting into my head?

 

(Right now, “Who I am Hates Who I’ve Been”   I’m sorry for who I was, I’m ready to change,)

Is it akin to Nostalgia?

What is it, when you find yourself in a place unfamiliar yet it feels like home? It is as though one was to go to the other side of the world and discover a path that feels oddly familiar, like you had been there before somehow, perhaps in a dream. It is like hearing a song of which you know the tune before you ever heard it.

The first time I remember this sort of experience was when I attended mass for the first time. From the first moment of walking in I noticed an utter difference to what was familiar in “going to church”. It was quiet. There was an awe-inspiring austerity and beauty. 

Instead of painted walls and industrial lights in a building that used to be a wellness center there were cinder-block walls, stained glass windows, and great wooden beams to a pointed wooden ceiling for a building built for the worship of God. Instead of a band around a stage with the drums center back was a place for the altar and a crucifix in the center back. Where the drums had been flanked by guitarists and bassist and fiddle off to the left, the crucifix was flanked by statues of the Virgin Mary and Joseph the Carpenter. Off to the left was a tall, small wooden table on which was a round metal case with a cross up top; the cross being the only visible part usually, as it was covered with a cloth. Instead of a long time of singing, a little scripture, and a long sermon, that might also be a long prayer service with lots of singing, was a structured service of prayer and scripture with a short sermon and the focal point obviously being Holy Communion.

Almost none of the songs were familiar, and yet, when the psalm was being chanted (as it was that first mass), it just fit. That first time, I don’t know that there was any choir or organ, but when I did become aware of it, I noticed that the choir loft was out of sight up and behind the congregation. This instantly made sense to me, to have the choir out of sight. The notes of the organ hovered above us inviting us to join in the song, but the eyes were left free to contemplate our crucified Lord.

I mentioned the quiet. People would talk about church being a house of prayer, I remember being prayed over to receive the Holy Spirit in a prayer meeting. The person praying was obviously trying to effect something, but it felt hollow. A friend of mine spoke in tongues at one such event. It was a common occurrence to hear the babble of tongues whether during “praise & worship” or during a prayer event. In contrast, when I walked into St. Catherine’s for the first time and it was quiet, it was obviously an actual house of prayer.

There was also this sense of questions being answered without words. The praise team up front had been a familiar feature of churches that I attended while growing up, but when I was asked at the previous place about playing my instrument with them, it suddenly seemed very questionable. Why were they up front? Why did they often seem to overshadow the preacher in a way? They might leave when he was preaching, but the instruments would remain in place; the drum kit in the center particularly stood out. The comparison between a concert and “Sunday morning worship” was too apt. So, when we went to St. Catherine’s and the organist and choir were all hidden away, it just seemed so obviously right. Here, the choir was serving as an aid to something higher and more important than themselves. Whether the individuals were personally modest or not is irrelevant, the placement of the choir was modest.

One would have to verbally ask and get a response to know what was the focus of the congregation in the former wellness center. As soon as I walked into St. Catherine’s, the crucifix proclaimed this central mystery of the gospel in one striking image—the incarnation and suffering of God. I would learn the messages of the windows later.

Going to mass was like nothing I had ever experienced, and yet I knew that it was good to be here, that it, in a manner of speaking, felt like home.

I am more accustomed to feeling like a “stranger in a strange land” wherever I am. Even so, when I go to mass, now more than ever, I know that in point of fact I am home; I am am where heaven and earth meet in the sacrifice of Christ. I am in the midst of the communion of saints adoring our Eucharistic Lord.