Singing Home

It was hard not to have a tear.

It's even harder to distinguish whether the tear had materialized because of sadness or joy, because both are found in equal proportion.

I heard people singing this morning.

Sure, I hear music on the radio. I hear heavily manipulated voices resonating beautifully, reverbed to perfection, highlighted by dulcet backing vocals. These songs play well through speakers and I tap my hands on the steering wheel to the beat.

But nothing compares to human voices surrounding you in unison, singing the song of home.

We had staff devotions and prayer at the school this morning. The staff, lead by a group of teachers, sang songs of hope, songs of lament, songs of joy as they were designed. I wasn't really prepared to be moved by it, nor was I completely aware of how much I missed it. I realized that I'd taken group singing for granted.

Throughout history, people have always sung, and they've done this for a variety of reasons. Recently, most singing is done for entertainment; we plug a playlist into an app (or now, the app knows us better than we know ourselves and chooses for us) and we passively enjoy the music that someone else sings to us.

Before this, though, singing almost always took on a different purpose. Not for entertainment, but for remembrance.There is something intrinsically beautiful and deep about whatever place you call home. There is a profound echo in our modern perspectives that, if we just listen closely, we can hear home sung for us.

Call to mind the Sound of Music if you've ever seen the movie. When the von Trapp family are about to leave Austria, what do they sing? They sing a song of home. For many, this is a scene that resonates deeply, a desperate longing to return to times and home before.

Think about the Israelites in exile...

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat done and wept when we remembered Zion.
there we hung up our lyres on the poplar trees, for our captors there asked us for songs,
and our tormentors, for rejoicing:
'Sing us one of the songs of Zion!'

How can we sing the Lord's song on foreign soil?
If I forget you, Jerusalem, may my right hand forget its skill.
May my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth if I do not remember you,
if I do not exalt Jerusalem as my greatest joy.
(Psalm 137:1-6  CSB))

They needed to remember home, so they sang about it. They didn't want to forget.

What about the people of the Reformation? They fashioned hymns to talk about the great things that God has done in the world and will continue to do. These hymns, a final end to strife and war, injustice and sadness, they spoke of a people longing for 'home' - the eternal place of God.

And the Spirituals sung by slaves in agony? Who cannot be moved by these lyrics by Thomas A Dorsey?

Precious Lord, take my hand
Lead me on, let me stand
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn
Through the storm, through the night
Lead me on to the light

Take my hand, precious Lord
Lead me home
When my way grows drear
Precious Lord, linger near
When my life is almost gone
Hear my cry, hear my call
Hold my hand lest I fall

When the darkness appears
And the night draws near
And the day is past and gone
At the river I stand
Guide my feet, hold my hand

The people sang to be reminded of a home they could never experience again other than the one that God had planned for them. These are the words of humanity.

As we have entered a new age, a new era (and I will not say a 'new normal') singing home is all that we can do. We cannot return to the way before, but in singing about it, we are transported to the feelings of it and the memories can sustain us until our Precious Lord leads us home.

Sing loudly into the darkness. Sing as the dawn comes.