Last week I was in
Geneva for a few days related to my role with the Innovation Fund. I
arrived mid-afternoon, so I quickly took a bus and headed for the historic Old
City, where I soon found myself at Calvin
Auditory, a small chapel next to the old cathedral that was long ago stripped
of its religious symbols and whitewashed inside as a result of the confrontive
preaching of John Calvin, the great reformer. Entering this unassuming former
hotbed of the Reformation, I stumbled into the rehearsal of a dozen women who
were preparing for a concert of sacred choral music, a style I've grown to love
more each year. Inside this small and spare, almost tomb-like,
auditorium, the lovely Latin phrases wafted all round me, as I sat quietly on
the back row, trying not to be expelled from their private session.
I think of Calvin, not
because I was ever much of a fan, but because I owe a debt to him and to other
theologians, Catholic, Reformed and Orthodox. I netted it out today to
Janet, as we sat on a bench enjoying a little picnic on a hillside at nearby
St. Michael's Abbey, before walking the Stations of the Cross there (including
a powerful encounter I'll save for next Good Friday).
"Theology was my
gateway drug," I announced to her. It's true: My faith needed to get past
the gateway of my brain before my heart could truly become enveloped in the
love of God in Christ. I needed to believe that it all more or less made
sense to me intellectually in order to ally the doubts that would revisit me
regarding this somewhat radical path I/we had taken.
But now that I am
hopelessly in love with Jesus, theology has become less important to me; almost
an annoyance at times. You see, I no longer have to understand how -- or
even if -- the whole theological
house of cards fits together just so. In fact, I rather believe that if I
could understand all that God is about, I've probably invented that god.
I find that nowadays my
doubts are actually about my theology, not about God's care for me or my love
for Jesus. And I'm even finding some strange inexplicable comfort when I
face those doubts head on and don't try to resolve them. There's an
honesty about it, which I hope makes me more approachable and more willing to
listen to others. I read a devotional the other day where the author, a
"contemplative," demystified that term by equating it with
"nonjudgmental listening." I liked that; these days I enjoy
contemplating other people's viewpoints. I'm not afraid of doing so, I
suppose because my bedrock of faith feels solid, that its foundations are set
firmly in love, not in my limited understanding.
So instead, I'm finding
a new gateway drug these days: sacred music, and language that is poetic enough
to allow in some mystery. And so it was that after traveling the Stations
today, I went for a bike ride up Trabuco Creek Canyon while listening to a few
sacred songs performed by the Westminster Chorus*, one in Latin, one Russian
Orthodox, and then in English "Oh Love That Will Not Let Me Go."
This last piece is a perfect illustration of my new gateway to communion
with God, and a beautiful exclamation of love’s antiphonal call back to Love,
and of the impact of Good Friday and Easter Sunday.
I’m pasting a YouTube link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZiZ9xXoZ1Mk, which I encourage you to listen to while meditating on the
lyrics below.
O Love That Will Not Let Me Go,
Lyrics by George Mattheson
O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.
O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.
Eastertide blessings,
Cory
March 2013
* Not to be
confused with Westminster Abbey or Cathedral (though they won "Choir of
the World" in 2009 in a UK contest), the Westminster Chorus is a group of
over 100 young men from Orange County, CA. All are under age 35, and
they've won every international barbershop competition they've entered since
2007-- they are the future of barbershop singing, but they do so much more… http://www.westminsterchorus.org/ They are worth any chance to hear them
perform. The album is featured on their
website, or buy it here: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0041990H0/ref=dm_sp_alb By the way,
the other two sacred songs I mentioned are from the same album: Bogoroditse Devo and Lux Aurumque.
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