c. 2006 Religion News Service
(UNDATED) Church folks fight endlessly over which has the greatest authority: Scripture, tradition or reason.
The answer, of course, is “none of the above.” The authority closest to our hearts is music.
No matter what the Gospel of Luke says happened at Messiah’s birth, for example, we know that it was a “silent night,” a “midnight clear,” when the “little town of Bethlehem” found its “dark streets shining.” We know for sure that “angels bending near the earth” sang “sweetly through the night,” and “all the faithful” _ even lowly “shepherds” and despised “sinners” _ came to “behold him.”
Same at Easter. The Gospels tell different stories of Jesus’ resurrection. The church has added layers of interpretation. But we know that it was a “happy morning,” when Jesus “burst his three days’ prison” and “the victory of life was won.”
What is our Christian hope? That “we shall overcome,” that, in the face of life’s tragedies, “it is well with my soul,” that God listens when I am “standing in the need of prayer,” that the “lost” are “found,” that God will “melt the clouds of sin and sadness,” and that “time’s ever-rolling stream” won’t be the final word.
To whom is God’s “amazing grace” given? Religious moralizers draw lines and define entire categories of humanity out of favor. But we know that “all people that on earth do dwell” can come to God, especially the “wretch,” the “frail children of dust,” a “great throng” carrying their “little light” and falling “on their knees.”
What is the call of faith? Not to build a multi-billion-dollar institution. It is to “have done with lesser things,” to “stand up for Jesus,” to “walk as a child of the light,” to “carry everything to God in prayer,” and to fashion our lives to be “peace flowing like a river out into the desert.”
Is this sound theology? You bet. When life is difficult, I want to be “leaning on the everlasting arms,” not debating a church doctrine. When my soul is “sin-sick,” I want that “balm in Gilead,” not a scholarly definition of sin. I don’t care about religion’s requirements for absolution. I want to come to Jesus “just as I am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me.”
I know, you see, that “I am tired, I am weak, I am worn.” My plea isn’t for more dogma or more parking places, but something more real: “through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the light, take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.”
No matter what the custodians of religious tradition say, my cry is: “Help of the helpless, O abide with me.”
I remember one Sunday. The larger church was sagging under debates over sexuality and power. My parish and our city were dealing with change and challenge. As people came up for Communion, our organist drifted softly into the tune of an old-time hymn.
Suddenly, the entire assembly began to sing, as the scales of self-righteousness fell away and people reached for higher truth: “And he walks with me, and he talks with me, and he tells me I am his own.”
Long after theologians have filed their reports, partisans have condemned every heresy, and church leaders have perfected our institutions, the people of God will be “gathered at the river” that “flows by the throne of God.” There, no matter what is declared officially true, they will sing, “Yes, Jesus loves me, Yes, Jesus loves me, Yes, Jesus loves me.”
KRE/JL END EHRICH
(Tom Ehrich is a writer, consultant and leader of workshops. His book, “Just Wondering, Jesus: 100 Questions People Want to Ask,” was published by Morehouse Publishing. An Episcopal priest, he lives in Durham, N.C. His Web site is http://www.onajourney.org)
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