Sing to the Lord

There are any number of reasons you may have come to church this evening, voluntarily or otherwise. But regardless of the others, I suspect one reason is the music. No matter the frequency of your attendance, no matter your level of commitment to the Christian story, I imagine you’re familiar with many of the classic Christmas carols and enjoy hearing them at least once a year. Maybe for some of you, Christmas will really come down to that moment when we darken the sanctuary, light each other’s tapers, and sing “Silent Night.” And if that’s the only reason you’re here tonight, maybe it’s enough.

“Sing to the Lord a new song,” the Psalm for Christmas Eve declares, “sing to the Lord, all the earth. Sing to the Lord, bless the name of the Lord; proclaim God’s salvation from day to day.” Scripture loves to portray the praise of God in musical terms. “Sing to the Lord a new song,” yes, and “praise God with trumpet sound… with lute and harp… tambourine and dance… strings and pipe…. Praise God with loud clashing cymbals!”[1] Rejoice, choir and band directors alike!

The music of praise is not reserved for humankind, by the way, but resounds throughout the more-than-human world, too. “Let the sea roar, and all that fills it,” the Psalm for tomorrow morning will proclaim, “Let the rivers clap their hands, and let the hills ring out with joy before the Lord….”[2] 

And what would the story of Christmas be without the song of the angels? “It came upon the midnight clear,” did it not? “that glorious song of old, from angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of gold.” There it is again– singing accompanied by musical instruments! “‘Peace on the earth, good will to all, from heav’n’s all-gracious king.’ The world in solemn stillness lay to hear the angels sing.”[3] It’s as if neither Earth nor heaven can contain its joy at the arrival of the Christ child, and that joy comes forth as music.

We Lutherans sing every week, of course, which is rare, when you think about it. Unless you’re part of a community choir or performing arts group, your singing is likely restricted to your shower and your car– that is, until you come to church to make a joyful noise with fellow members of the assembly. And more power to you when you do! As Martin Luther put it, “I am not satisfied with him who despises music… for music is an [outstanding] gift of God…. It also drives away the devil and makes people cheerful…. I place music next to theology and give it the highest praise.”[4] So by all means, sing to the Lord with joy!

But sing in the absence of joy, too. If Christ is born the Beloved Heir of “heav’n’s all-gracious king,” Christ’s kingdom on Earth looks nothing like we might expect. The baby Jesus is wrapped not in luxury, but bands of cloth, and laid not in a gilded crib, but a feeding trough. When he comes of age, he will rub elbows not with governors and high priests, but with outcasts and sinners. And for his defiance of the social and religious and political order, he will wear not a crown, but a tangle of thorns, and be lifted not on a throne, but a cross. And at the moment of his worst pain and loneliness, just before he breathes his last, Jesus will sing, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Is it any surprise that his final refrain is the verse of a Psalm?[5]

There is something about music that resonates deep within the human spirit and touches the core of our being; song has a way of articulating profound and abiding truths, expressing elation and desperation and every feeling in between. It’s the impulse of the soul, a “welling-up shout that cannot be denied,” to borrow the words of the late composer David Maslanka. “I am set aquiver,” Maslanka once reflected, “and am forced to shout and sing… helpless and torn open by the power of the thing that wants to be expressed.”[6]

So sing to the Lord a new song again this evening, friends, no matter the condition of your heart. With all the peoples and with all the Earth, indeed, with all the hosts of heaven, sing to the Lord. Proclaim God’s salvation from day to day, and especially at Christmas.

And when you do, I pray that you rediscover the power of song to capture the sacred story, as did Laurence Lee and his childhood friends when they set out on a winter’s night to sing carols in his native Cotswolds in the English countryside. As Lee recalls, eight of them braved the cold at Christmas that year, stopping first to sing “Wild Shepherds” at the local Squire’s home, where the old man listened patiently, then dropped two Shillings in their box and scratched his name in their log book.

Confident that the Squire had set the standard for the community’s generosity, the boys made their way across the length of the frigid Slad Valley, singing off-key and filling their collecting box nonetheless. Finally, they approached the last house high on a hill, “the place of Joseph the farmer.”

[Excerpt from “Carols in the Cotswolds,” The Book of Christmas, p. 237]

[1]Psalm 150:3-5.

[2]Psalm 98:7-8.

[3]Edmund H. Sears, “It Came upon the Midnight Clear,” ELW Pew Edition #282.

[4]What Luther Says, Vol. II, 980.

[5]31:5.

[6]Program Note, Symphony No. 4.