Breaking in sounds so … criminal.
Unless it’s light breaking in, or insight, or a penetrating sense of hope.
February 1973, public restroom, Hawaii:
Pre-Luau, six friends wash up. Judy sings Ju – bi – late Deo (rejoice in God). We all chime in. Great acoustics, a 15th-century round—we sound like a choir in a soaring cathedral.
Later the luau bandleader says, into the mic, “We heard heavenly music … coming from the ladies’ room.”
(laughter)
We slide down in our seats.
“Would those angels please join us onstage?”
(crowd, rubbernecking, applauds).
“Everyone should hear you,” he adds.
Before an international audience we sing and sing—in Latin. The long-dead language rising, rising.
We finish. A person could hear a lei petal drop.
“We sing. Things become fresh,” Walter Brueggermann writes.
“But then the moment breaks.”
In this half-broken world “a song’s always breaking in,” my friend Barb says.
Listen for it.
And sometimes, be one.
When have you heard the sound of hope breaking in? What happened?
For us there was no birth cry,
the newborn bird is suddenly here,
the egg broken, the nest alive,
and we heard nothing when the world changed.
—Lisel Mueller (excerpt), “What the Dog Perhaps Hears”
Hear “Jubilate Deo” here: 15th century round, or perpetual canon, written by Michael Praetorious.
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Reminds me of a “magical musical moment” I experienced in Hawaii last May. We had stopped at a blowhole on our first day on Maui, and were standing by the rail, in awe of the power and beauty in front of us. Suddenly an Oriental lady next to us (Chinese, I believe) broke into song, her magnificent voice lifting above the crash of the waves through the blowhole. I tried unsuccessfully to catch it on my cell phone camera, but then gave up and just enjoyed the moment, enthralled with the union of music and nature.
Jeanette, I woke up thinking about you today and here you are. 🙂 Wow, what an amazing experience you had in Maui —— like a scene in a movie (vicarious goose bumps here). I’m applauding your decision to simply absorb the moment, commune, drink it all in. And then tell us!
Oh, to sing in an acoustic-perfect bathroom……no better place.
I like the idea of listening for God’s song–over us. As always, a beautiful word picture, friend.
Thanks, Jody! Breathtaking to contemplate, yes. So grateful for that Zephaniah passage. 🙂
I am GED instructor. I teach algebra, language arts, foundational skills, and cribbage. We are a nontradional population of students! To inspire and encourage my students, they are using the lyrics of a song they find meaningful, as a foundation to learn and practice basic writing skills. In our half broken world, songs are breaking in!
We are hearing them, singing them, dancing to them, talking about them, writing about them. The sound of hope is breaking in. Thank you Laurie, for sharing your song, your hope. Hope inspires hope
Roberta, talk about making a difference! That’s our future prospering under your guidance. What a creative, personalized way to draw your students more deeply and assuredly into our complex, beautiful language, by using songs they choose that speak to them. I’ll bet you could tell stories all day about breakthroughs and insights (and probably heart breaks, too) in lives under your care for a season. It’s so encouraging to hear of your work together! I am all smiles as I type this. Thank you!
When we experienced a breaking in, you ask. One morning at the piano, I was accompanying the words, yes, the words, to a hymn I loved as a teen. Decades later, following seasons of trial and blessing–horrors of hell and heights of heaven–I sang with the tune I played. “Morning is broken, like that first morning…” I rocked toward and away from the keyboard, with songful smile, throbbing with the assurance by faith, that God does indeed break in like the dawn of sunrise–with answers, relief, hope and fruition. I often pray for a “breakthrough” for this one and that one, remembering the joy and power of that moment when God broke in upon me as I worshiped with fingers and voice.
“… lIke the dawn of sunrise …” I see you at the keys, Niki, enveloped in light, your entire being engaged, simultaneously offered, and offering. What a beautiful scene to imagine. I too know those words by Eleanor Farjeon and almost catch hints of the melody, almost sense the merest creak of the bench as you rock, freshly, deeply assured of your Hope in all things. Beautiful.
Thank you so much for these beautiful, universal glimpses of things bigger than us. It like applying salve to my heart.
Robert, you are so welcome. I’m deeply grateful the glimpses (what an apt word!) resonate with you in healing ways. Blessings on your day!
Today. I heard the sound of hope… A U-Haul truck starting up. (What?!) Filled with Craig’s woodworking tools, bound for a new workshop with a wonderful spray room and dust collection system, Craig at the wheel, a small flotilla of auxiliary vehicles flocking behind him, loaded to the gills with every kind of tool needed for his new venture, half an hour’s drive east. The garage and carport emptied of the makings of a business, his woodworking dreams are coming true! (And I get to park my car undercover again, alleluia!) All this is said mirthfully and joyously! It’s been a long hard fight to imagine “what is next”. Aw, the sound of that U-Haul truck starting up! Hope bursts forth! Thank you, for the beautiful penning and punning, my friend! It is ALWAYS a delight to pause and contemplate your words.
Oh, Pacia, that is the BEST news! Your loving support and patience and persistence are such a vital part of this next stage. A life dream at long last not only taking shape, but launched—with Grace and a U-Haul! Wishing you both every success!! And what a gift to be free of scraping ice off your car windows before work every day. 🙂 Mirthful and joyous here too!
Laurie, who is the artist?
One Voice – Fairfield County Children’s Choir, December 4th, 2016 at The Klein Memorial Auditorium
I just noticed they’re performing in KLEIN auditorium. 🙂
Sorry…. no, I meant of the painting which illustrates this post. And wow! To hear your song in many renditions and beloved by the Church must be such an incredible blessing!!!!!!!!!!
so so humbling and gladdening and amazing, yes!
Lynn, it’s a photo I took in Canyon DeChelly—a wondrous place. Glad you enjoyed it!
Well, truly it looks like a painting. Amazing. Our daughter is a photographer, like you, and I marvel at people like you both. I used to make even old Instamatic photos look blurry!
Bet you’re good with your phone camera. I’m amazed at the quality of pictures one can take with one’s phone. Not mine (too elderly). What an ongoing pleasure it must be to view your daughter’s work!
As always: Beautiful. Poignant. Touches me on many levels, dear Laurie. Like you, I’ll sing anywhere, any time–at home at the grand, in church, on walks, in my car, in shopping malls, in our American Kantorei Bach chorus, and recently (well, now almost a year ago come March!) in Iona, Scotland. Like you, I found an acoustical gem of a place (albeit my find was an ancient stone chapel, not a ladies room), and I started singing. It would have been a boost to my ego to know that my one, small voice had the capacity to spill, swell, and soar past the ceiling as if *I* were a choir of angels, except I knew this was a God-given moment of holiness and awe at His presence and a preview of heavenly choirs to come. Imagine the acoustics of heaven! God truly did break into my heart at that moment, and my heart still resounds with its memory. I think of this verse from Matthew: “But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.” At that moment, in that ancient stone chapel, I was stealing away with God, and I was laying up musical treasures in heaven. I still am awed by the experience. And as for singing in public bathrooms? I’ve been known to do that too. One such time came back to haunt me (at least: I worked as a church secretary when I got out of college and couldn’t find a job teaching music. The bathroom (accessible from the hallway and whose wall butted up next to the pastor’s office) was my recital hall of choice. I used to sing a lot in there (I am a frequent user of bathrooms). Years later, long after I had left the pastor’s employ, I ran into him while out and about. After exchanging customary pleasantries, he looked serious and asked if he could ask me something–something about which he had always been curious. I didn’t know what to expect! “Lynn, do you remember that the ladies room was near my office?” “Yes, Paul, I remember.” And do you remember that you used to sing in there a lot?” He had my attention, but I didn’t like where this was going. “Yes, Paul, I remember.” “And do you remember what you often sang?” This time he had me stumped. “No, not especially. I sang a lot of stuff.” “Well, can you tell me why you always sang, ‘Rejoice, Rejoice,” from Handel’s Messiah, every time you flushed the toilet?!” Well, dear Laurie, would you have owned up to that?! That was a break-out moment for me. I just wanted break out of that conversation, stage left–quickly! 🙂
So look at what your lovely, lyrical post has triggered–bathroom banter! And before I stick my foot in my mouth further, perhaps I too best break out of your comment box now! 🙂
Love you,
Lynn
Lynn, you are always a gift to me with your stories and thoughtful (as well as exuberant) view of life. Those moments in Iona’s stone chapel are giving ME shivers … all these months and miles later. A spontaneous outpouring, the heart’s concert for One.
And the work story makes me laugh! Handel: music for all time, all places. 🙂
Poor Handel! Little could he have known where “Rejoice Greatly, Daughter of Zion” would land! 🙂 I love Lynne Dawson and Emma Kirkby. Praise God that they have talents that far exceed my bathroom singing!
https://video.search.yahoo.com/search/video?fr=yfp-t-s&p=rejoice+o+daughter+of+zion#id=1&vid=cb60d4feb61b665cac06f947f825fb75&action=click
Thank you for the link!
I love the idea that a small moment of song (or other) can be a ray of hope in the darkness. I also love both your longer and shorter formats. Thanks for the ray of hope!
Deanna, music is such an amazing gift. And I sure love singing in the same room as you! It continues to surprise me how powerful a song can be, how stirring, how challenging or tender, how penetrating at times.
Glad you’re enjoying both post formats. Thanks for letting me know, friend!
Loved this post, Laurie. I can imagine that scene in Hawaii. I’m so glad God insisted you all sing for the International audience. How beautiful!
Linda Jo, thank you for telling me. That day was one of those blessed times I opened my mouth at the right moment!
Laurie, this post left me smiling. I love the scene you created here. Love these glimpses ~
Carol, so glad the scene came alive for you. The band was wonderfully gracious and welcoming to give us a spontaneous slot in their set—culturally as well as verbally. Quite a stylistic stretch from 15th c Latin to languid hula tunes! We were so young, so embarrassed to be called out of the crowd. And then those melting moments of silence before the applause. Seemed like something really special occurred in the atmosphere there, for those few moments. I’ve never written about it before and it did my soul good to recall it.
I’ve heard the sound of hope break in through music numerous times in my life, including: on a bus filled with the (angelic!) singing of youth choir members, in the Church of St. Anne in Jerusalem (another edifice with ethereal acoustics), during the rendering of “God with Us” by Don Moen, on other occasions of God-enhanced worship when spirits tingled and tears flowed as we sang, as soloists sang more from their tender hearts than from their talented voices. Music has played an important part of my Christian experience. I’m SO thankful God endowed us with the ability to produce it!
Those instances sound deeply moving, Nancy. And you’ve been to Jerusalem!
Sometimes I think music has an invisible direct feed to my tear ducts. And heart. Thanks for telling me about those unforgettable times of hope breaking in and brimming over.
I agree: music does have an invisible direct feed to the tear ducts and hearts of many of us–a gift I greatly appreciate! I know you do, too.
Hope you and I both hear some music like that today, Nancy. Blessings on you!
Lovely musing, Laurie, thanks for this. I remember when my jr. high madrigal [and motet] choir teacher would take us out in the locker bay and have us try a freshly polished piece in the echoey acoustics, like Jubilate Deo. She’d sometimes open up the hall door too. I wonder how that landed in the pre-algebra classes down there.
Hi Bethany. Lucky you to sing madrigals! I can imagine the resonant harmonies ascending. Had I been present (and a younger student), I KNOW I would have earned a better grade in algebra. 🙂
That choir was an oasis in my school day. Bless you, Laurie. 😉 <3
And blessings on you as well. Hope the day gives you a reason to slip inside a song . . .