Music

I like classical music. I’m not an aficionado, but have learned to listen for themes and variations. So one evening, alone in the hospital, I found the TV music channel and began to listen to a Saint Saens Symphony. What happened next could easily be attributed to the fact that I was loaded with pain killing drugs. You can make up your mind about that.

The presence of Jesus came into the room and settled in the chair next to my bed. He did not acknowledge me at all; he simply sat with his eyes closed and listened to the music. So Jesus and I sat in the twilight and listened to Saint Saens together. I found it a bit disconcerting. But my theology has taught me that while Jesus is divine, he is also fully human. So there is no reason why he could not enjoy human art at a level beyond my comprehension, able to discern between pure beauty and the sense of longing that pervades all art since the fall. And as divine, he fathoms the physics of music: why hair on a string, or pursed lips on a tube, or a vibrating reed can reach the human mind and enter the emotions. And moreover, as divine, he himself is the agent of the music brought forth before the worlds were created, when the morning stars sang together. August Rush revealed more than he knew when he said, “Music is all around us; all you have to do is listen.”

But if Jesus is the agent, his Father is the author and source of the joy and music of all creation. He drew up a plan with a billion blueprints, handed it to the Son, and said “Make it so,” And the Son made it so. And because of the plan, the Son obeys, praises, and loves the Father. So Jesus and I sat in the twilight and listened to Saint Saens and loved the Father together.

When the music was done, the presence faded. But I heard a small voice in my spirit: “You haven’t heard anything yet. Be patient.” And I began to think about the hosts of just men made perfect, able to sing and make music in a sinless state, one in which music would no longer strain in longing, but find its fulfillment—when music will find music. I then considered myriads of angels, finally freed from the obligation to be messengers and protectors of the fallen race, and loosed to chords and variations impossible to imagine. At that point I grew short of breath. I had reached too high. The best Christian this side of death could not stand in that glory. I sank back down into the twilight and pain, and to the world in which “I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.” And I will be patient.