AND SO WE SING

Remember your first Puccini opera? The way the music lifted you right to the rafters. The way you thought for a second that you had grown a couple of inches taller. You were amazed. "That huge, beautiful sound comes from that!?" you though as you looked at the soprano.

Maybe you haven't had the pleasure of Puccini. Maybe you’re thinking of the first time you heard Kind of Blue. That sound! You weren’t sure how to define the particular emotion...but you could feel your insides shifting. You couldn’t hold still.

Not a Miles fan? Never heard of Giacomo Puccini? (You're missing out.) Still, you know what I mean. Maybe you're partial to driving while singing along with Carrie Underwood at the top of your lungs. (You're not alone. You can be in a club with my sister.) Coldplay sung 'til your voice hurts? The Beatles in the morning? That sound!

I'm making an obvious point I hope we can agree on: Singing is cool, isn't it? Music, singing, has the capacity to remind us of the biggest, the best, the most beautiful, the right. And even when it aspires to less than this greatness, it awakens something in us.

There’s more.

Did you know that the bible says "sing" 107 times?[1] “Sing praises to our God,” it says. “Sing praises to our King…Sing for joy…Sing, O barren women.” Why this scriptural obsession with singing? Here’s my opinion:

When we sing about God or to God we use the greatest stuff of earth to remind us of the greatest stuff of heaven.

So, there you have it. Stereoreel. We make music. But more than that we make music in honor of the creator of the universe. He compels us, motivates us, and inspires us.

That’s all real nice. But, (you think to yourself) these pretty words hide a problem; we’ve taken on an impossibly difficult task. I mean…have you seen the stars tonight, how they shimmer and shine so bright?[2]

Can a song reach that high? Have you seen the creator? The one who made the stars. They say he shines too. What can a song give to him?

(Thoughtful pause…)

The only reasonable explanation we have to offer: We are his children.

The other day my child drew me a picture. It wasn’t the world’s best picture. I mean, as pictures go your child may be able to do better. He’s probably not going to get any commissions soon. The Metropolitan Museum of Art probably isn’t interested. It was in crayon and chocolate.

But it’s from my kid. I guess that’s why I like it. I don’t care that it’s simple. I don’t care that the dude has legs coming out of his head and chocolate for ears. I like it that way.

We’re pretty sure God feels the same way about our music. We’re doing our best, but understand that no matter how great our songs sound they’ll never sound better than the stars singing together in the morning.[3] So, we offer you these songs. Humbly, because (in the grand scheme of things) they’re not what they should be; but confidently, like a kid proud of his latest creation.

And so we sing. Caleb (and the rest)

1 Based on an informal biblegateway.com search.

2 Thanks, David Crowder.

3 Job 38:7.