Ephesians 4:1-6; John 7:37-38
This is the sound of one voice– one spirit, one voice: the sound of one who makes a choice….
What is the choice about which Nicola sings? I don’t know what the Wailin’ Jenny’s had in mind; I will share with you how I hear these words, especially as they illuminate truths from our scripture readings.
Last week, Jesus spoke in riddles to the Samaritan woman at the well, promising her living water. She didn’t fully understand what he meant; still, she recognized her own deep spiritual thirst and her longing for that living water. In this passage, Jesus cries out in the middle of the city, where everyone has gathered for a festival. He offers a similar invitation to come drink, and then he adds a twist: “Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.”
The implication of this twist is huge. The living water, the gift that enables us to survive and thrive in a spiritual desert, is found deep within our own hearts. It is a gift you have already received, Jesus suggests, you just don’t know it yet. If you dare to believe it is there, you can drink from it. If you choose to trust, it will flow from you like a river to water the desert; it will flow from you like a song.
This is the choice about which we sing: a choice to trust that God has given us living water to quench our thirst. It is a choice to trust we have something to share. It is a choice to use our lives and our voices in the service of healing and wholeness, to stand for justice and mercy, to bring beauty and hope to our world, to give of ourselves and our resources. It is a choice to sing.
This is the sound of voices two–the sound of me singing with you; helping each other to make it through…
Within each one of us is the Spirit of God, welling up to quench our thirst. That doesn’t mean, though, that we are self-sufficient. It doesn’t mean we can thrive in the desert on our own. Life is hard. The world around us is overwhelming. There are so many things that get in the way of that river of living water flowing freely: our doubts, our wounds, our regrets, our exhaustion. We need each other to wade into the river together to clear out those barriers so the waters can spring forth.
That spring of water becomes an oasis–a home, a place of rest–only when we do the steady, day-to-day work of planting and gardening around it. It is much more productive and much more fun to garden together. This is the sound of voices two: helping each other to make it through.
This is the sound of voices three, singing together in harmony; surrendering to the mystery…
There is plenty of science involved in singing, especially three-part harmony. There is the precise way the breath needs to move through vocal chords to produce the right vibration to make the sounds. There is the particular combination of vibrations that are pleasing to the ear. You can calculate it; you can study it; you can practice.
In the end, it is a mystery. The beauty of Nicola and Karen and Jane singing together in harmony is a sacred unknown, a holy gift we can nurture but we cannot control.
Likewise there is plenty of science–okay, very soft science–about what enables a church to thrive. There are studies and consultants and graduate-level degrees in it. And we know it is a mystery. We can feel it when it happens: when a glimmer of understanding breaks through our collective confusion, when we together refuse to allow cynicism to take over our lives, when someone reaches out to us at just the time we need it most, when we feel God’s healing spirit moving through our grief at a memorial service.
We cannot predict when those moments will happen, when the spring of God’s living water will burst forth. All we can do is open ourselves to the mystery. All we can do is let go of our expectations in order to treasure the gift. All we can do is surrender to the mystery.
This is the sound of all of us–singing with love and the will to trust; leave the rest behind it will turn to dust….
Every time I sing with the choir, I will myself to trust. I trust that the other choir members will also sing, that I won’t be alone in this risky business of putting my voice and my heart out there. There’s got to be love in our singing, for that mysterious sacred presence emerges out of love. Singing with love may or may not ensure that I am on pitch; without love, though, it’s just a lot of noise.
That beautiful line, “with love and the will to trust” applies to everything we do as a church. Each of us gives what we can–of our time and talent and money–because we choose to trust that others will give what they can. Otherwise, we are out there on our own–with gifts that may be beautiful but will fade when we run out of breath.
Sometime it is easy to sing, to act, to give, to speak with love and trust. Sometimes it takes an act of will–a choice to devote our energy and resources to this oasis of hope when there is so much else that demands our attention. Some of those other things that call out to us are important and life-giving; others are a mirage in the desert, leading us to what we think will be an oasis but in reality is just light shimmering on sand.
“Leave the rest behind,” we sing, “it will turn to dust.” Our song acknowledges the fleeting nature of our lives; it hints, though, that there is something lasting when we make music together. The sound itself fades and turns to dust; in the act of singing, with love and the will to trust, a transformation happens, a ripple of hope that continues long after the moment is gone. When we gather as a church, when we worship and work together, with love and the will to trust, we participate in something beyond ourselves, something that does not turn to dust, a wellspring of living water.
This is the sound of one voice; one spirit, one voice. A song for every one of us.
I love the way this song begins with one person singing about the sound of one voice, and ends with ten of us sings as one voice. The song points to the mystery Paul wrote about so eloquently: by the grace of God, through the movement of the Spirit, many individuals, each with our unique voices and needs, foibles and hopes and gifts, are made one.
This song does not belong to the soloists. It doesn’t belong to the choir. It doesn’t even belong to the church. This song is for every one of us–for every beloved child of God. This oasis of hope is not just for those of us gathered in this room; it too is for everyone. It is for the greening and healing of our world.
This is the sound of one voice.
This stunningly simple song speaks words of wisdom for our lives and for our church:
- We each can make a choice, to offer the gifts we have been given to bring beauty and healing to our world.
- Life is hard: if we are going to make it through, we need to help each other.
- Beauty and hope, healing and community are gifts to be treasured and tended, mysteries too wondrous to own or control.
- In order to care for this oasis, we make a choice to trust one another and to trust in the power of love.
- We are not alone. By the power of the Spirit, we are brought together and made one.
- The gifts we have been given are not just for us; they are to bring hope and healing to our world.
Let us sing–a song of hope for every one of us. Let us tend this oasis–living water for all God’s creation. Thanks be to God. Amen.