Psalm 98--Sounds That Matter

The last several days have been sweltering hot. The heat has been grueling, scorching, blazing—almost unbearable. Yesterday I planted tomatoes in my garden—without a shirt on my back. By yesterday evening my back was as red as hot coals crackling in a bed of fire in the midst of a volcano. It hurt too—a rather annoying pain that prohibited comfortable sleep and left me longing for sheets made of ice from the arctic. I was foolish to be out without a shirt and I knew it. Just Monday I went out in the yard and tilled and raked the soil in preparation to plant my garden and the top of my bald head burned to a red crisp. I thought maybe things would be different yesterday. They were not. I hoped for a tan—instead I was burned. I guess you might say that 93 million miles is just a wee bit too close to the sun for the thin layer of cells we call skin. For a proper tan, I might do well to move to another planet and…no that would not work either.

___________________________________

I live beside a four lane highway called Route 20 or North Ridge Road. It is not a terribly busy road all the time but there are days and nights when the traffic is thicker than the blood coursing through my veins. It’s not that it really bothers me. One gets used to all sorts of distractions and eventually learns to filter them out so that what is really important may be heard with clarity and pellucidity. Some call this selective listening; I call it wisdom. If I were to spend all day long trying to decipher and quantify every sound that I heard I would surely go mad. There are some sounds that I am particular fond of and enjoy listening to. Let me share some thoughts with you.

I enjoy the sound of a breeze blowing through the soft summer leaves of the trees in my backyard. I love to hear their rustling in the wind. It is a sound reminiscent of applause—as if the trees are applauding something or someone. Why shouldn’t they? They have everything in the world to applaud: “He makes the clouds his chariot, and rides on the wings of the wind. He makes the winds his messengers and flames of fire his servants.” I suppose there is probably a good chance that when the wind blows through the trees, the trees, having heard a wonderful message from God, simply burst into applause. That’s what I imagine anyway.

I enjoy the sound of rain pelting the wet, or dry, earth. It’s like listening to a sparkler burn its way down thin wire stick towards the small hand of the delighted child who watches it. Or, maybe a little less esoteric, is when it sounds like a bowl of rice krispies, crackling and popping a bowl of cold morning milk. Splashing rain is definitely a sound worth listening to. It is well worth the wait during a long dry spell to hear rain at the end, or to see a cloud as small as a man’s fist rising on the horizon. Sometimes I simply sit or lay in the silent dark of the evening, after the kids are asleep, the television is turned completely off, and stillness has settled like dew, and listen to the rain bespattering the earth. Times of refreshing come from above when the heat crosses the thin line from comfortable and benevolent to afflicting and malevolent.

I enjoy the sound of the singing birds that populate my backyard. My backyard is shaped nearly perfectly. Along one side is a row of trees. Along the backside is a row of trees. The trees are tall and hide a plethora of birds from robins to orioles to sparrows to woodpeckers and although I am not certain I have heard a woodpecker singing, I am certain I have heard him playing his drums. There are hummingbirds and blackbirds and jays and cardinals and probably a finch or two. Down the road, a couple of houses away, there is a rooster that crows frequently. I can’t tell you which ones sing what or why. I only know that the nearly perfect shape of our yard, combined with the brick back wall of the church form a natural, oddly shaped amphitheater in which the bird songs echo all throughout the day. In the morning, when all is still, the cacophony of bird songs is a delight to my ears. Birds know how to worship and rarely hesitate to do so.

I enjoy the sounds made by a flowing body of water. It matters little if it is a creek, a stream, a river or a trickle of water falling through the metal shell of a downspout. I lived in a house one time, only once, that had a rain drain running through one of the walls. Every time it rained we were treated to a sound that resembled an old fashioned aquarium filter. We thought we were fish, and looked forward to the time when the roof to our house would be opened and some food dumped in by a large hand. For some reason that sound is so comforting and relaxing and reassuring. Probably this is the number one reason why fish are able to live inside glass houses filled with water without going insane. Fish that live in aquariums have a lot of faith. They have no idea if I will ever make them share space with a shark or if my benevolent hand will withhold from them their ‘frosted-fish-flakes’ and milk. Fish live by faith—especially fish living in aquariums. It is probably a good idea to live like fish—sometimes.

One last sound I want to tell you about is the sound of music. I know why the ‘hills are alive’ with it, it’s because music can be, and is, made without the voices of humans, without instruments, and without all the technical, electrical gizmos that we humans feel so compelled to employ. The hills are alive with the sound of music because everything makes music. We might even hear it if we take the time to listen. Listen to the birds singing. Crouch down beside a bee dancing on a flower and listen to his wings vibrating the air. Sit quietly at night listen to the crickets as they violin their way through the darkness. Raise your hands with the trees and break out in raucous, spontaneous applause. Walk beside a babbling brook and count all the different percussion sounds. Music is so wonderful because it is never inappropriate. Weddings, funerals, parties—you name the time and place and music makes an appearance; it is never uninvited.

Music creates order out of chaos; for rhythm imposes unanimity upon the divergent, melody imposes continuity upon the disjointed, and harmony imposes compatibility upon the incongruous. (Yehudi Menuhin (1916-) US-born British violinist. The Sunday Times, 10 Oct 1976)

Music seems to be that one thing that we can all agree upon. You know what is thrilling? When I listen to the birds, they are never out of tune. When I listen to the crickets they are never out of time. When I listen to the streams or creeks or brooks, they are never out of tempo. Everything blends together in a mystical, probably divine, harmony that humans can only create on pieces of line paper with thousands of tiny ink blotches that to the more culpable among us resembles a Rorschach test. But in the world without notation and clefs and flats and sharps, every instrument knows its part without even having to be told. It knows, it plays, and never skips or misses a beat. That is beautiful and something far beyond my comprehension—I, who must have and live by a written schedule and sometimes have to be told what to do and when and where. Yet we are at the top of the food chain.

Sing to the LORD a new song,
for he has done marvelous things;
his right hand and his holy arm
have worked salvation for him.
The LORD has made his salvation known
and revealed his righteousness to the nations.
He has remembered his love
and his faithfulness to the house of Israel;
all the ends of the earth have seen
the salvation of our God.

Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth,
burst into jubilant song with music;
make music to the LORD with the harp,
with the harp and the sound of singing,
with trumpets and the blast of the ram's horn--
shout for joy before the LORD, the King.

Let the sea resound, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it.
Let the rivers clap their hands,
let the mountains sing together for joy;
let them sing before the LORD,
for he comes to judge the earth.
He will judge the world in righteousness
and the peoples with equity.
Psalm 98 NIV)