The blind lady played the tambourine. A man shuffled forward using a walker. A shy little girl stepped to the front. And the lady who seemed a little out of touch came alive and beamed as brightly as an evening star. The impromptu choir at 61st Avenue United Methodist Church had formed and they were ready to lead a rousing rendition of Swing Low Sweet Chariot on the Saturday-evening-before-Palm-Sunday worship service. And sing they did!
Bodies came alive. Energy filled the room. Folks swayed and some, ever-so-slightly, allowed themselves to dance. This congregation of people knows hard times. Some live on the street. Most struggle to get through each day. For them, life is not kind.
But when the Rev. Paul Slentz asked for a song request and “Swing Low” was given, the place came alive. He invited anyone who wanted to be in the choir to come forward. Normally there is no choir. And ten or so people made their way, some haltingly because of physical limitations, to the front of the room. The pianist hit the keys and the music gushed forth.
They sang with as much energy as I imagine those who shouted encouragement to Jesus in Jerusalem did two thousand years ago. One lady in particular beamed with joy. It was a transformation from her earlier downcast manner. Then it had seemed as if she were detached from the world but now her face was one big smile.
This morning as I re-read Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott, I happened upon this description of her experience in worship when Renola, an African American lady embraced Kenny, an emaciated young man dying of AIDS, from whom Renola had kept her distance.
Lamott writes that during the singing of “His Eye Is On the Sparrow,” Ranola watched as everyone stood but Kenny. He was too weak to stand. She melted. She went to his side and “lifted up this white rag doll, this scarecrow. She held him next to her, draped over and against her like a child while they sang.”
And Lamott puts into words what we felt last evening at 61st Ave. UMC. “I can’t imagine anything but music that could have brought about this alchemy. Maybe it’s because music is about as physical as it gets: your essential rhythm is your heartbeat; your essential sound, the breath. We’re walking temples of noise, and when you add tender hearts to this mix, it somehow lets us meet in places we couldn’t get to any other way.”
We’re broken and battered, some more than others. Sometimes our wounds show, sometimes not.
Swing low sweet chariot, comin’ for to carry me home. Sometimes I’m up, sometimes I’m down. But still my soul feels heavenly bound.
Our hearts beat for that heavenly place we call home. Safety from the storm. Respite from the struggle. Sweet sounds without the noise. Last evening at 61st Avenue United Methodist Church, the noise quieted, hard times were forgotten and tender hearts came home.