Most mornings my friend and I walk the streets of Fairfield, waking our sleepy bodies by walking to great conversation. Yesterday we both attended the fall performance of the Gettysburg Chamber Orchestra. It was an emotional experience for both of us. For me, the tribute to 9/11 brought memories of bodies jumping from those burning towers and my husband’s still warm, spirit empty body lying in his beloved chair, while she was caught up into her own memories and pain as she drank in the strains of the sometimes dark and sometimes lyrical gut wrenching music. She emerged from the concert energized and full to overflowing. I left broken and exhausted. The music was just too emotional and intense. I had no defense for the array of feelings the music tapped into..
Oh, the power of music.
Losing track of time or how far we were walking,this morning, we shared many of our musical memories. It didn’t take long until we began sharing our feelings about hymns and church music. She comes from a tradition in which the words of praise songs are projected up on a screen without a musical score and a praise band. I come from a tradition that only began introducing a piano or other instruments into our churches during my lifetime. Today most of our Mennonite churches use pianos, organs, and other instruments, but our centuries old tradition of line singing hymns and then moving to acapella singing with four part harmony continues to shape our choice of church music.
There is no right or wrong,. There are just different traditions, all amazing and soul enriching in their unique ways. There is power in music, obstacle removing power.
Music has this way of erasing differences and bringing disparate individuals into community, if for only a few moments or hours. There is something contagious and transformative about sharing a musical experience whether it’s singing the “Hallelujah Chorus,” “Rock,me, rock me,” or “Bridge over Troubled Waters. Pre Covid, thousands of us from little Adams County would come together on the 4th of July to listen to our Gettysburg Chamber Orchestra belt out patriotic songs, Sousa marches, and the finale of the 1812 overture with cymbals clashing, and drums booming and fireworks flashing in the sky. No on cared if they voted right or left. We’d all jump to our feet, reach for a stranger’s hand and sing, “God bless America” tears streaming down our faces.
There is power in music, wonder working obstacle removing power. Power to heal. Power to inspire. Power to begin feeling again. Power to tap into the secrets we hide from ourselves and others. Power to forgive. Power to reawaken love. After my husband died, I could not sing. The lump in my throat was too big and tears blurred my eyes. I factually found it hard to attend church because it was the music that made me come unglued. This Sunday, seven months since he died, was the first I was able to find my voice, shaky and feeble as it was. No matter how happy or sad, the combination of familiar hymn tunes and lyrics have this way of slipping past my defenses to help me heal. And for that, I say, “Praise God.”