why do we sing?
why is it a natural thing for human beings to burst into melodic voice to express the most fundamental truths of our existence?
and why does everything else, be it conversation or words spent in articulation, fall short of what you're really feeling needs to be expressed?
and why should we be moved to the point of water flowing from our eyes and skin when music comes at just the right moment, for just the right reasons, from just the right mechanical instrument or voice, speaking to just the right part of our being or identity or soul or mind or emotional core or spirit or whatever call it?
and why is broken, stuttering language spent in the effort of articulating good things always more satisfying than conventional phrases?
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why do we stand around awkwardly with strangers, trying to speak of the weather and the price of gas and the funny thing that your friend did the other day which they could never possibly relate to, and then go into a room and sing powerful songs together and not give a thought to how awkward we should be feeling?
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what does music DO to us?
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today in port au prince, we visited the church body that our host, angie, regularly attends.
the music was a was very very very good catalyst for many of us to spend a few hours in adoration of our God.
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lately i've been frustrated by the psychological division that we make between times spent in musical worship of our God, and times spent eating sandwiches.
let me explain.
in our contemporary world, there tends to be an understood distinction between things 'spiritual' and things 'un-spiritual.'
if an old woman is strongly devoted to and outspoken about her faith or her church body or the need for missions or the ministry of prayer, people say, "oh, she's just very spiritual."
if there's been a powerful time spent in music and song and dance, be it a concert or a service of adoration and worship or an orchestral performance, it's easy to label such an experience as a 'spiritual moment.'
you probably don't feel the same about a moment spent eating a sandwich.
or pumping gas into your car.
or pouring a bowl of cereal.
or scolding your son. or little brother. or little sister.
or arguing with your parents.
or typing an email.
or getting dressed.
or balancing a checkbook.
or getting dressed.
or balancing a checkbook.
or writing this blog.
these moments don't seem to fit within the understanding of spirituality with which we've been raised, do they?
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so when we went into that church building and sang those songs in port au prince today,
we all felt something. and we'd like to call it 'spiritual.'
but what if we were to refuse such a delineation?
what if we were to be discontented by such a distinction; this distinction between things "spiritual" and "un-spiritual"?
changing a baby's diaper is spiritual.
singing the melody from the song "how he loves" is spiritual.
holding a child for hours is spiritual.
swaying to the power of a time of music and dance and tears and laughter is spiritual.
hitting the "CTRL" key on this laptop keyboard is spiritual.
hearing a pastor speak over a congregation is spiritual.
wiping the snot from a little boy's nose is spiritual.
carrying water for a family living in one of port au prince's numerous "tent cities" is spiritual.
buying an article of clothing to support an orphanage is spiritual.
clipping toe nails is spiritual.
eating a sandwich is spiritual.
talking with someone in the process of discovering who jesus truly is, is spiritual.
painting someone's face as a panda bear for a skit in an orphanage in haiti is spiritual.
standing in a parking lot at 3am, talking with a friend hurting from a tough break-up is spiritual.
playdough is spiritual.
thanks for caring.
-simon
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