Virginia, Summer 2003
Red, white, and purple lights flashed from the front of the auditorium where the praise band was playing, shooting through the darkness of the auditorium where close to a thousand people raised their voices to God. All around me people's hands were in the air, and a few people were kneeling in the aisles, overcome. I felt a rush of excitement and power, like the Holy Spirit pouring through me.
My family attended a more traditional Baptist church back home. We were in Virginia on holiday and we looked for a church to visit. Finally my parents decided upon a large, non-denominational church--I don't remember the name. It was very, very different from our church back home. The people were younger; the paster was energetic and funny, and the music was powerful and overwhelming. Goosebumps went up on my arms and I felt like I could run around, shouting, full of energy and passion. I regretted leaving; I imagined what I might be able to accomplish for God if I experienced this every Sunday!
I know better now. At sixteen I was not disposed to tell the difference between the quiet, still Presence of God and the effects of youth, glamor, and very loud music. I've read the studies which link music to reactions in the brain, almost like a drug, stimulating feelings of sadness or joy, depending on the music. Is this the Holy Spirit, or just chemicals? I didn't take note of this in 2003, but I did notice one thing. The energy and power of these moments at church did not translate very well to power for my life. It's one thing to sing in church; it's another to love the unlovable and forgive the unforgivable. It's one thing to hear about change in church--it's another to actually live and experience it.
I do believe that God reveals himself to our senses, as He pleases, as our spiritual growth demands; I'm reminded of Bernini's The Ecstasy of St. Theresa. But how are we ever, ever to know that gentle touch if we bombard our senses with such overpowering sounds and lights and movement? Recall Elijah and the great and strong wind, the earthquake, and the fire that proceeded the still, small whispering of the Lord (1 Kings 19). The Lord is not in large things; you will find Him in silence.
The grace of God is most evident in my life right after celebrating the Sacrament of Reconciliation. This, of all sacraments, is probably the most humble, often celebrated in a stuffy closet in the back of the church with nothing inside but a kneeler and a crucifix. It is the process of absolute surrender to God, of our fears and weaknesses, how we've failed God and others. A large part of me hates confession and is terrified of it. I always spend time before the Tabernacle, imploring the help of Our Lord and His mother for the grace to make a good confession. It is very difficult to look unflinchingly at one's heart and to own up to what one finds there.
I say my confession behind a screen, anonymous, and rattle off my sins, stark and to the point, from a post-it note as rapidly as I can. Absolved, I return to the tabernacle and find myself with tears streaming down my face. Prayer is the lifting of our hearts to God. How precious are these moments and days right after reconciliation, when I can, without reserve, know that my heart is pure and lift it to God, quietly, humbly. That is the real power and grace of God.
The days following reconciliation are always a joy. It's easy, then, so near to the grace and power of God, to listen with compassion, to share with conviction and love, to pray without distraction. The wonderful thing is that the grace of God is there anytime I need it. And I will, as the weeks pass and little sins accumulate and my heart grows heavy again. This experience, and the faith and knowledge that I have concerning it, is how I know the grace of God. Music? It fades. The feeling fades, and with it, the desire to do good.
I am not trying to say music and prayer are incompatible. But I think we are cheating ourselves by becoming drunk on a style of music and mistaking it for the work of God. God gives grace freely, but in His ways, not ours. In the Sacraments He is gently and simply present to our senses. The world would have Him present in the inebriation of our senses, thus drowning the quiet honesty of our hearts. I do believe in music in church, but I think we should instead choose music that is sober, humble, yet beautiful.
"The end of all things is near; therefore be serious and discipline yourselves for the sake of your prayers." -1 Peter 4:7
"The delights of the ear drew and held me much more powerfully, but thou didst unbind and liberate me. In those melodies which thy words inspire when sung with a sweet and trained voice, I still find repose; yet not so as to cling to them, but always so as to be able to free myself as I wish. But it is because of the words which are their life that they gain entry into me and strive for a place of proper honor in my heart..." -Confessions of St. Augustine
My family attended a more traditional Baptist church back home. We were in Virginia on holiday and we looked for a church to visit. Finally my parents decided upon a large, non-denominational church--I don't remember the name. It was very, very different from our church back home. The people were younger; the paster was energetic and funny, and the music was powerful and overwhelming. Goosebumps went up on my arms and I felt like I could run around, shouting, full of energy and passion. I regretted leaving; I imagined what I might be able to accomplish for God if I experienced this every Sunday!
I know better now. At sixteen I was not disposed to tell the difference between the quiet, still Presence of God and the effects of youth, glamor, and very loud music. I've read the studies which link music to reactions in the brain, almost like a drug, stimulating feelings of sadness or joy, depending on the music. Is this the Holy Spirit, or just chemicals? I didn't take note of this in 2003, but I did notice one thing. The energy and power of these moments at church did not translate very well to power for my life. It's one thing to sing in church; it's another to love the unlovable and forgive the unforgivable. It's one thing to hear about change in church--it's another to actually live and experience it.
I do believe that God reveals himself to our senses, as He pleases, as our spiritual growth demands; I'm reminded of Bernini's The Ecstasy of St. Theresa. But how are we ever, ever to know that gentle touch if we bombard our senses with such overpowering sounds and lights and movement? Recall Elijah and the great and strong wind, the earthquake, and the fire that proceeded the still, small whispering of the Lord (1 Kings 19). The Lord is not in large things; you will find Him in silence.
The grace of God is most evident in my life right after celebrating the Sacrament of Reconciliation. This, of all sacraments, is probably the most humble, often celebrated in a stuffy closet in the back of the church with nothing inside but a kneeler and a crucifix. It is the process of absolute surrender to God, of our fears and weaknesses, how we've failed God and others. A large part of me hates confession and is terrified of it. I always spend time before the Tabernacle, imploring the help of Our Lord and His mother for the grace to make a good confession. It is very difficult to look unflinchingly at one's heart and to own up to what one finds there.
I say my confession behind a screen, anonymous, and rattle off my sins, stark and to the point, from a post-it note as rapidly as I can. Absolved, I return to the tabernacle and find myself with tears streaming down my face. Prayer is the lifting of our hearts to God. How precious are these moments and days right after reconciliation, when I can, without reserve, know that my heart is pure and lift it to God, quietly, humbly. That is the real power and grace of God.
The days following reconciliation are always a joy. It's easy, then, so near to the grace and power of God, to listen with compassion, to share with conviction and love, to pray without distraction. The wonderful thing is that the grace of God is there anytime I need it. And I will, as the weeks pass and little sins accumulate and my heart grows heavy again. This experience, and the faith and knowledge that I have concerning it, is how I know the grace of God. Music? It fades. The feeling fades, and with it, the desire to do good.
I am not trying to say music and prayer are incompatible. But I think we are cheating ourselves by becoming drunk on a style of music and mistaking it for the work of God. God gives grace freely, but in His ways, not ours. In the Sacraments He is gently and simply present to our senses. The world would have Him present in the inebriation of our senses, thus drowning the quiet honesty of our hearts. I do believe in music in church, but I think we should instead choose music that is sober, humble, yet beautiful.
"The end of all things is near; therefore be serious and discipline yourselves for the sake of your prayers." -1 Peter 4:7
"The delights of the ear drew and held me much more powerfully, but thou didst unbind and liberate me. In those melodies which thy words inspire when sung with a sweet and trained voice, I still find repose; yet not so as to cling to them, but always so as to be able to free myself as I wish. But it is because of the words which are their life that they gain entry into me and strive for a place of proper honor in my heart..." -Confessions of St. Augustine