Sarx

Nathan blogged about the new teen torture device that uses a pitch so high that old people can’t hear it.

Then he links to a cool source for a ring tone of the same noise. In other words: you can leave your cellphone on in class, because that old windbag of a teacher can’t hear it. I took the test: I can hear the “39 and younger” tone. But I can’t hear the “30 and younger” tone.

Today at church was like that:

When I sat down there was a whistle - much like the “39 and younger” tone, but it was so loud as to be audible even when everyone was singing and the organ was playing. Todd will tell you from his own experience that my Wabbity ears are a bit too strong. Before the service, I tried to trace this sound to its source - and I asked several people none of whom could hear anything. Clearly their ears were either too far gone, or else they’d already tuned out the thing. I found it after some searching, in the choir loft. One of the younger folks acknowledged that there was, in fact, a sound: seems something got stuck in the pipes.

Lo, another reason to loathe a pipe organ.

By the time the service started I had a headache. This was furthered by the bombastic playing of the organ. I realise our organist plays no louder than any other organist: that’s the problem. All Organs in Churches Should Be Burnt and their pipes sat outside to rust into intricate art forms. Thus people would be free to sing their praises to God.

Anways…

By the time the Gospel was chanted, pretty much the only thing I could hear was the high-pitched whine of the broken organ. My mood was not helped when the organ was powered down for the sermon and the whistle made a slow descent through the scale until it was audible to everyone, even the most aged. But now there was silence, at least.

Fr Steve’s sermon spoke of the idols we all have. And I know that one such idol is my own perfectionism. Clearly, St Andrew’s isn’t perfect and, from the time I sat down the high-pitched whine tortured me with the temptation to just up and walk out. My headache would be ample justification. I could come back after the organ was fixed or destroyed, which ever came first. I continued to wrestle with this demon through the creed and through the prayers of the people. As the peace was given and shared… I heard the Organ power back up… and no, I wasn’t happy.

At the announcements, Mother Sarah said there was only one important annoucement: and that was to invite everyone to come on Thursday night to see me received in to the Episcopal Church. Of course, but this time I was wondering why the hell I just didn’t walk out and go to a Quaker Meeting in silence.

Then we sang the offertory hymn…

Come down, O love divine, seek Thou this soul of mine,
And visit it with Thine own ardor glowing.
O Comforter, draw near, within my heart appear,
And kindle it, Thy holy flame bestowing.

O let it freely burn, til earthly passions turn
To dust and ashes in its heat consuming;
And let Thy glorious light shine ever on my sight,
And clothe me round, the while my path illuming.

Let holy charity mine outward vesture be,
And lowliness become mine inner clothing;
True lowliness of heart, which takes the humbler part,
And o’er its own shortcomings weeps with loathing.

And so the yearning strong, with which the soul will long,
Shall far outpass the power of human telling;
For none can guess its grace, till he become the place
Wherein the Holy Spirit makes His dwelling.

And yes, I was crying something hard and fierce by the end of that sermon in music. I sang the last verse from memory because I could no longer see. And holding my hands aloft I prayed the Eucharistic Canon with Mother Sarah, tears pouring down my face.

I won’t say I was cured of my Idolatry, but, like John Wesley, “My heart was strangely warmed.” I didn’t hear the whistle for much of the rest of the service. It may have still been there. I know I sang all the louder on the final hymn.

I still have a headache - I mean it was a real event. I still think Organs a useless prop (capable of some astoundingly beautiful music, yes, but not needed in worship and, unless carefully managed, damaging to it). But I realised at the end, that it’s not about the music or the lack of it any more than it is about one’s ability to sing. It’s the worship that is the important thing: not the form, but the content. And there is no content at all “till he become the place Wherein the Holy Spirit makes His dwelling.”

I ask your prayers.