Does Your Heart Sing?
Psalm 40:1-11
January 20, 2008
I know that this may sound pretty odd…maybe crazy to you. As I look back on my years in ministry, I can say that some of the most profound experiences I have had have been associated with death and dying.
I generally tend to lump people into two groups – those with faith and those without. It has been my experience that those without faith are the ones who have the most trouble with death. They are the ones who often are completely lost and alone and don’t really have the resources to manage their grief in a healthy way.
Of course, when a loved one dies, there is profound grief. There is a huge hole in people’s lives when someone is taken from them through death. Everyone, regardless of his or her degree of faith, suffers from intense grief and pain. But let me tell you two stories that I think illustrate the difference.
Back in the late 80’s, Toni was in seminary from Monday thru Thursday night. I was the primary caregiver for our children on those days when mommy was gone. I was the pastor of a small town church and got a call one morning from the funeral director. He said that he needed to see me. I told him that as soon as I got the kids off to school, I’d be over. He said, “No, I need to see you now!”
I told him that I would be there in a few minutes. So I took the kids next door and asked if they could wait for the school bus there.” Then I headed off to the funeral home. I got there around 8:00 am and was met by the funeral director and a deputy sheriff. They told me this story.
They had found a burning car out on a country road. Their preliminary investigations were suggesting that the driver had fallen asleep and had veered off the road and hit a tree. They had only been able to identify the driver through his dental records.
He had been identified as a local high school student. He was a senior and only two weeks away from graduation. There were three churches in town, but the family had no ties to any of them, so the funeral director had called me. They wanted me to go over to his house with the deputy in order to tell his mother.
This kid worked at a fast food restaurant in a nearby town that was a little larger than ours, and often didn’t get home until about eleven. His mother worked the night shift and it was not unusual for her to go to work before he came home. She would then get home in the morning after he had left for school. So now, she was sleeping and we had to go over to tell her that her son was dead. As I think back over my ministerial career, this morning stands out as the single most difficult I have ever experienced.
Six or seven years ago, an older lady began to visit the church in Shipshewana. She came with a Texas accent and southern belle charm. It turns out that she had begun spending her winters here with her family and then going back down to Texas for the summer. She wanted to become a member of our church, so I asked her for the name and address of her Baptist church in Texas so I could transfer her membership. She was adamant that she wanted to be a member of both churches, so I found an obscure paragraph in our Discipline that enabled her to become an Associate Member, or Affiliate Member, or something like that.
She got sick and I got a call from her daughter. “Would you please come to the hospital? The doctors say that she probably won’t live long.” When I got to the hospital in Goshen and walked into her room, her family was all gathered around her bed singing. She had died just a few minutes before I arrived and now the family was singing their faith. I joined them as we sang “Victory in Jesus” over and over again.
Both of these families found themselves in the throes of grief. Both families were in incredible pain. They had both lost someone they dearly loved.
I got a sense from the first family that they just couldn’t accept it. They didn’t know where to go or to whom to ask for help. They had no deep resources of faith to get them through the valley.
The second family was just as deeply grieved, yet there was something different about the way they handled that grief. They did so expectantly. They grieved, but knew that their mother’s death was simply a transition from this life into life eternal. They didn’t see death as an enemy, but openly sang “Victory in Jesus” confident that she had passed on into her Savior’s arms.
Those of you have had heard me preach funeral sermons have perhaps heard me say that death is the price of life. Regardless of when it comes, death is the reality from which none us can escape. When it comes, some of us go kicking and screaming, unwilling to admit its reality. Others receive death as a friend, knowing that it is the transition into the realm of eternity.
Have you ever heard of an organization called “The Threshold Choir?” The Threshold Choir had its beginnings in the San Francisco Bay area in the year 2000 and now has around 35 chapters across the United States. The closest chapters to us are in Chicago, Cincinnati, and Kalamazoo.
Each chapter of the choir has somewhere between 60 and 80 members. In groups of two or three, they go, by invitation only, to the bedsides of seriously ill people. They travel to private homes, hospitals, nursing homes, and hospices to sing a cappella to many people who are in the final stages of dying. They have a repertoire of songs that range from “Ave Maria” to “Swing Low Sweet Chariot.”
When they begin to sing, they often report that the heart rate of the dying person evens out and breathing becomes more regular. Often, they notice that the face of the dying person softens and he or she visibly relaxes.
The founder of the choir says that it often reminds her of the way a mother sings a lullaby to her child at the end of a long day. Here, she says, it is a lullaby at the end of a long life. When I read the story about this choir, the author of the article said that this was sort of a soundtrack for dying.
All of which leads to the question, “What is the soundtrack for living?” My guess is that each of us has a different soundtrack for living. Perhaps it is “That’s Amore” by Dean Martin. Maybe it is “Wake Me Up When September Comes” by Green Day. It could be “I Did it My Way” by Frank Sinatra. Or how about “These Boots are Made For Walkin’ by Nancy Sinatra? For us Baby-boomers, we might like “My Generation” by the Who; a song which includes those famous lyrics, “I hope I die before I get old.” For you Country and Western fans, maybe your soundtrack for living would be that great Willy Nelson anthem, “Whisky for My Men, Beer for my Horses.”
The guy who wrote the fortieth psalm seems to have a couple of anthems for living on his mind. He begins by singing something straight out of “Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen.” He tells the story of his troubles. He had found himself in the desolate pit. His feet were mired in a bog. We don’t know what his trouble was, but my guess is that most of us have had situations in which we too have felt mired and alone.
Suddenly, the psalmist’s anthem changes. He experiences a transformation. No longer does he feel stuck in the pit, but he is lifted up and has his feet placed on solid rock. And then he says that God put a new song in his mouth. The song in his heart turned from a dirge to a hymn of praise. I am convinced that Christians have a soundtrack for living. It is a soundtrack that acknowledges our sin and our trouble, but nonetheless lifts up the reality of God’s presence with us throughout those trials.
Nowhere are Christians promised a pain-free life. Nowhere are Christians promised freedom from personal tragedy. Nowhere are we promised that life will be an easy road and a greased track. But we are promised that through faith, we will not only survive life, but will overcome it.
In my opinion, one of the greatest hymns in our United Methodist hymnal is “How Firm a Foundation.” Go through that hymn line by line and you read things such as:
• Deep waters
• Rivers of woe
• Deepest distress
• Fiery trials
Those are certainly not heart-warming thoughts. But then follows the final verse: “The soul that on Jesus still leans for repose, I will not, I will not desert to its foes; that soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, I’ll never, no, never, no, never forsake.” That is a soundtrack of life for all of us.
Methodists have always been a singing people. Charles Wesley wrote thousands of hymns. The songs we sing are not shy about the reality of tough times. Just as the psalmist, we know that life can sometimes be hard. Things don’t always go as planned. There are both hills and valleys in our lives. Sometimes we may sing the blues. But, like the psalmist, our songs always end in praise.
What song is in your heart? What is your soundtrack for living? Does your heart sing with the knowledge of Christ? Have you learned, through pain and suffering, to trust Christ and sing despite your troubles?
Some years ago, I read a book titled, “Mourning into Dancing” by Walt Wangerin who, at the time was Writer in Residence at Valparaiso University. He tells the story of his boyhood home and the tree in his backyard. It was the place where he could go to think, to be alone, to read. One day while reading in his tree, a strong wind came up, knocked the book from his hand, and almost sent him crashing to the ground.
He was tightly clinging to the tree limb for fear of his life when he heard his father down below. “Jump!” his dad yelled. “Jump. I’ll catch you.”” “No,” little Walt yelled. But then the wind was so strong, he didn’t have a choice. So he jumped. He said that he felt that he was going to die, but then he found himself in the strong arms of his father. He dad had caught him. When the end seemed near, he found safety in the arms of his father.
Does your heart sing? What does it sing? What is the soundtrack of your life? Do you sing a song of praise and assurance? Can you sing out of your deepest fears and know that salvation and safety are there? Can you sing and believe in the strength that saves you?
