If the Gospel Was a Song

Music can say things we're not "allowed" to say. It is not polite, but yet it woos. It catches us unaware- of ourselves, of our backgrounds, of who we are supposed to be.

Tonight at Nam Van Lake a few hundred Macau citizens forgot for 5 minutes that they are conservative and shy and stomped their feet with good effort. DBR http://www.dbrmusic.com/news.htm kept the band building while he ran in circles around the audience to get us standing and clapping out the rhythm. I must respect the lack of respect the band so respectfully showed us to get us out of our shell, even if for just 5 minutes. (And the children in the crowd loved practicing their English counting!) 好有心机。记? I couldn't have worn my heart on my sleeve that long. I"m still not strong enough to fight like that.

But the music transported me...back to Haiti and it's conflicted memories, to the States (okay...I admit it, you're dangerously naive, but you're beautiful and your heart is large...and I miss you) and that beautiful city, Chicago...darn it...music suprising me on the 'L'; hearing the same guy play "Sweet Caroline" at the Jackson stop every night; the Chinese violinist and his grandaughter in front of the Water Tower...the variety...citizens because of a creed, a thought, and not of homogenity.

Music loosens our souls and lets us flow out of ourselves to mingle with other rhythms...to find ourselves in a new region- unexplored. It opens us up.

And I wondered... why doesn't the gospel do that. Why didn't Jesus write us a symphony instead of giving us the Word- language and music...the gifts of humans? I'm curious, really- why didn't He... and what would that song be? The crucifixion in jazz and discordant notes? The resurrection as Handel? But if there is redemption in music and resolution and salvation...if we open ourselves up today to music in a way that we don't do to words...words that seem to set up walls and bombard. Why didn't Jesus send us a song? All those words...preserved through the ages...but no music. I guess that's also our part...unwritten, always written, always inventing.

I wish he'd write a song for this city...a haunting melody of grace for the dark alleys where the prostitutes walk, an oboe solo for the prodigal son. Crashing rhythm that would drum the selfishness out of my students. Patient counterpoint to teach them discipline.

Music speaks louder than words. It may speak louder than Macau money...sometimes.

I wish Jesus was music. I wish he could get the stage for a night. I wish my life could be that song.