A Lament for Music

I don’t like to talk about things I am not doing because of COVID. I prefer to talk about how I am keeping busy, how I am staying ok. It’s much more constructive.
But it isn’t always true.
Last week, I loaded up the church livestream on YouTube, and they were singing. Not only were they singing, but they were singing a song that has soul-deep meaning for me.
I lost it. It was the first time I cried about the loss of ability to sing in church community.
Yes, I know that many people are back to church and many people are singing together, masked or not. As a person with asthma and autoimmune disease, I cannot be among them without a COVID vaccine.
I am ordained clergy. I am also a person for whom music has played a central role in making a connection to God throughout my life. I cannot read the church curriculum. I did not have a complete Bible in a format that I could read until I was an adult. I cannot see the artwork in the sanctuary or the videos on the screen…
The lyrics in the music help me to connect with God. The sound of the instruments and the voices of the people in the congregation help me to connect with the community in worship. I hear the joy in the sound of their singing Church of God heritage songs. I hear the thoughtfulness in their songs of lament. When someone sings a special, I hear their interpretation and my soul calls out as they testify with their heart and soul in song.
As I listened on YouTube, I felt the depth of my disconnectedness. I could listen, but I could not join together in song. I was not a part of the community anymore. Only God hears me when I sing. Ironically, I am now in better respiratory health than I have ever been.
My tears were bitter and physically painful. My husband said, “We should not have done this. What can I do?”
I told him that it was necessary. I needed to grieve. In order to stay well and safe, I gave up the thing that connected me to God and community, the thing that made me most able to worship. I needed to grieve what that meant … and I don’t know when I will know the depth of what it means.
Music has been the message behind so many turning points in my life! Not just music, but music sung in a community worship setting. Music was central in my call to ministry–in fact, I thought that it would be the thing that I did as ministry. But God does not always stir me when I am in front of people.
This morning, I sent a message to someone in which I shared the story about Kevin’s and my wedding in the ICU. I tried to tell it briefly. But every time I tell the story, I go to the same places in my memory: sitting in church with my guests who had come in from out of town, singing together the song by Matt Redman:

You alone can rescue, you alone can save
You alone can lift us from the grave,
You came down to find us, led us out of death.
To you alone belongs the highest praise.

The song was new to me. As I sang the first verse and chorus, I wrestled with God. Kevin had been confessing his poor self-care habits to me in the hospital. We wrote our wedding vows before he even knew he was sick, intending to honor life and help each other keep good habits as a part of our life together. Was it too late? Did God abandon Keevin? Was this song just about Kevin’s spiritual life in the hereafter? Did God care about what was happening in that ICU? Or was I going to lose Kevin before we had a chance to start?
The longer we sang, the more I felt that the song was meant for me to pray.

We lift up our eyes, we lift up our eyes to the giver of life.

We kept singing it…. Since that day, whenever this song has been sung at church on days when I have been there, the bridge with these lines has been left out. But on that day I needed it. I needed to lift up my eyes to the Giver of Life! Over and over and over! I need to petition God for Kevin’s life. And when done, I needed to praise. I could not have put it in good, flowery prose, especially on that day. But the song does.
I don’t know the solution for my heart right now. But I know that my heart hurts for the connection that is gone. My heart wants to sit in a room and sing with people again. And my mind understands that it cannot happen for a long time.

About Sarah Blake LaRose

Sarah Blake LaRose teaches Biblical Hebrew and Greek at Anderson University School of Theology and Christian Ministry in Anderson, Indiana. She is one of three blind academic scholars who received the Jacob Bolotin Award from the National Federation of the Blind in 2016 in recognition of innovative work in the field of access to biblical language texts and tools for people who are blind. In addition to her work as a professor, she provides braille transcription services specializing in ancient languages. Her research interests concern the intersection of disability, poverty, and biblical studies.

About Sarah Blake LaRose

Sarah Blake LaRose teaches Biblical Hebrew and Greek at Anderson University School of Theology and Christian Ministry in Anderson, Indiana. She is one of three blind academic scholars who received the Jacob Bolotin Award from the National Federation of the Blind in 2016 in recognition of innovative work in the field of access to biblical language texts and tools for people who are blind. In addition to her work as a professor, she provides braille transcription services specializing in ancient languages. Her research interests concern the intersection of disability, poverty, and biblical studies.

One comment:

  1. Sarah, thank you for sharing your heart…for “opening my eyes.” So many of us are grieving the loss of community, especially with church family and the tremendously important part music plays in our lives, especially in worship. In our family, gospel music is especially important, as are Church of God heritage songs…just this week Andrew messaged our family members some heritage songs being sung at Campmeeting 2003! We were in tears as we listened and grieved, and yet were thankful for the huge impact our movement’s music has had on our lives….💕

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