I have listened to John Rutter’s “Requiem” at least a hundred times, but always in my auto, where the glorious tones of his music and the words of the Psalms and of the “Book of Common Prayer” have to compete with highway noise. I have this habit of latching onto something—often music—and not being able to let go of it. Perhaps it’s the other way around. The music won’t let go of me.
It is Advent, the season that celebrates the birth of Christ, and at this advanced stage in the journey of a Christian, I just learned that Advent is really concerned with the end of times and preparing us for death. That realized, I have played the Rutter “Requiem” over and over in the course of the last few days, on the trip up that I just made to Tulsa to visit old friends, and today on the return. I tried to listen to other CDs as I made the 450 mile drive home, with only modest results. I found myself inserting and ejecting and finally returned to the Requiem.
Lately I have been reading a book titled “Emily Dickinson and the Art of Belief.” And just this morning, as I sat in the neighborhood Panera having coffee and a bagel, I was reminded of ED’s struggle with her religious upbringing—a struggle that she did not resolve completely before her death. Much of her poetry reflects her concern with God, mortality, salvation, eternity.
Last night I watched the movie “Shadowlands” with my Tulsa friends. The movie, which examines the relationship between C. S. Lewis and the American woman who captured his heart late in Lewis’s life, portrays the struggle that Lewis and Joy Davidman Gresham faced only shortly after they married. Truth in this instance is clearly better than fiction. Lewis, known among other things for his writings on Christianity, pain, grief, loss, the struggles of human kind, had his own faith tested to the limits. Because of Joy Gresham’s courage, he was able to endure the loss of her and become a father to her young sons after Gresham’s death. Her own journey had taken her from Judaism through Communism and ultimately to Christianity.
As I listened to the “Requiem” tonight for the umpteenth time, I followed the text that I had printed off the internet earlier this evening. Piece after piece, the words and the music tugged at my heart, reminding me of the strength that can be found through faith. The Psalms and the Prayer Book text around which the Requiem is built truly and deeply point the way of our faith journey. “Be strong, and He shall comfort thy heart, and put thou thy trust in the Lord.” (Psalm 27) “Trust in the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy…” (Psalm 130) “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me.” (Psalm 23) “In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succour? I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.” (from the burial service of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer). To know God’s love, all we really have to do is turn to Him “and He shall comfort thine heart.” How easy and yet how difficult.
I do believe that life is a gift, and that the blessings we receive are gifts as well. Music and words are gifts and blessings. It brings me such joy to listen to John Rutter’s gift. Of all the times that I’ve heard the “Requiem,” the lush sounds of music and voice that usually move me to tears become more complete by reading the text on which the Requiem is based. When I’m angry over the politics of the church—after all, we all are just human beings trying to work together—I want to remember the beauty of the Book of Common Prayer, inspired by Gods’s word, written by man to glorify God and Christ. And I want to remember the words at the closing of Holy Eucharist Rite I, “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord.” I want to remember that life itself is a gift. I want to be reminded when I’m feeling smug about my accomplishments or any of the things for which we so easily take credit, that these are gifts. And I want to be reminded when I see someone in distress that “there but for the grace of God go I” (attributed to 16th century Protestant martyr John Bradford, who was later burned as a heretic). When I find myself passing judgment on someone else I want to remember the prayer attributed to St. Francis, “Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.” I want to feel responsible in some way for the other beings with whom I share this planet.
Harold Hollis (December 23, 2005 - Normangee, Texas)
It is Advent, the season that celebrates the birth of Christ, and at this advanced stage in the journey of a Christian, I just learned that Advent is really concerned with the end of times and preparing us for death. That realized, I have played the Rutter “Requiem” over and over in the course of the last few days, on the trip up that I just made to Tulsa to visit old friends, and today on the return. I tried to listen to other CDs as I made the 450 mile drive home, with only modest results. I found myself inserting and ejecting and finally returned to the Requiem.
Lately I have been reading a book titled “Emily Dickinson and the Art of Belief.” And just this morning, as I sat in the neighborhood Panera having coffee and a bagel, I was reminded of ED’s struggle with her religious upbringing—a struggle that she did not resolve completely before her death. Much of her poetry reflects her concern with God, mortality, salvation, eternity.
Last night I watched the movie “Shadowlands” with my Tulsa friends. The movie, which examines the relationship between C. S. Lewis and the American woman who captured his heart late in Lewis’s life, portrays the struggle that Lewis and Joy Davidman Gresham faced only shortly after they married. Truth in this instance is clearly better than fiction. Lewis, known among other things for his writings on Christianity, pain, grief, loss, the struggles of human kind, had his own faith tested to the limits. Because of Joy Gresham’s courage, he was able to endure the loss of her and become a father to her young sons after Gresham’s death. Her own journey had taken her from Judaism through Communism and ultimately to Christianity.
As I listened to the “Requiem” tonight for the umpteenth time, I followed the text that I had printed off the internet earlier this evening. Piece after piece, the words and the music tugged at my heart, reminding me of the strength that can be found through faith. The Psalms and the Prayer Book text around which the Requiem is built truly and deeply point the way of our faith journey. “Be strong, and He shall comfort thy heart, and put thou thy trust in the Lord.” (Psalm 27) “Trust in the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy…” (Psalm 130) “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me.” (Psalm 23) “In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succour? I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.” (from the burial service of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer). To know God’s love, all we really have to do is turn to Him “and He shall comfort thine heart.” How easy and yet how difficult.
I do believe that life is a gift, and that the blessings we receive are gifts as well. Music and words are gifts and blessings. It brings me such joy to listen to John Rutter’s gift. Of all the times that I’ve heard the “Requiem,” the lush sounds of music and voice that usually move me to tears become more complete by reading the text on which the Requiem is based. When I’m angry over the politics of the church—after all, we all are just human beings trying to work together—I want to remember the beauty of the Book of Common Prayer, inspired by Gods’s word, written by man to glorify God and Christ. And I want to remember the words at the closing of Holy Eucharist Rite I, “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord.” I want to remember that life itself is a gift. I want to be reminded when I’m feeling smug about my accomplishments or any of the things for which we so easily take credit, that these are gifts. And I want to be reminded when I see someone in distress that “there but for the grace of God go I” (attributed to 16th century Protestant martyr John Bradford, who was later burned as a heretic). When I find myself passing judgment on someone else I want to remember the prayer attributed to St. Francis, “Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.” I want to feel responsible in some way for the other beings with whom I share this planet.
Harold Hollis (December 23, 2005 - Normangee, Texas)
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