Weeping at the Grave

Last night our choir had its last regular rehearsal before the orchestra joins us this weekend for our annual Christmas concert. We are excited, and the congregation looks forward to an annual event that brings tradition and beauty together in celebration of the holy season of Advent.

I observed the faces of singers who sang through an hour's program with an aspect of concentration and intensity, all wanting to do their best as, once again, they express their faith through musical effort. For that hour they suspend the elements of their daily lives, and exist in a world of work and beauty and faith.

There is a member of our choir whose job it is to keep up with the personal and unique aspects of the lives of the choir's members, and express our love and care when a member faces difficulty. I think that most choral singers feel so connected to one another through their musical endeavor that most choirs elect a person for a similar task. In our choir a particularly gifted person has a constant finger on the pulse of her colleagues, and accurately senses when someone might need an extra touch of care.

Last night, after our rehearsal, she asked me how I felt a certain singer was coping with the upcoming Christmas season, since it is the first Christmas since the loss of her beloved spouse. She wanted to be sensitive to the difficulty most people conceal during this time of year. It can be an emotional and challenging time, and those of us who feel that difficulty often feel guilt, since the marketing world tells us it's a season of unrivaled joy.

As I thought about this choir member's sensitive expression of care toward another member, I was reminded of a sentence from the Orthodox Burial Service: "Weeping at the grave creates the song, Alleluia." It seems to me that the ecstatic Christmas joy we hear about in commercials and marketing ploys is best reflected in brief commercial jingles and sentimental songs about chestnuts and sleigh rides. But if we want to express the reality of the human condition, we need musical expressions that derive from real human situations. When we sing at Christmas, we sing with voices and minds that have lived another year, and have experienced more of the joy and sadness that life offers. When we sing this year's "Alleluia," we reflect that joy can emerge in the story of the Word becoming flesh, even though the flesh is weak. We look up from the grave and sing a more knowledgeable "Alleluia" than before.

It is incorrect and shortsighted to treat this season as if bells are ringing and store windows are shining and joy is all around. The Biblical story reflects that when the Christ child was born, infanticide was carried out, and many families stood around many graves, paying an ultimate price for the threat presented by the anticipated Messiah. We continue to see the death and tragedy in our modern lives as unjust, and we probe for answers to our existential questions.

And then our true friend, the liturgical calendar, calls us to remember that we are not alone. Weeping is not wrong, it is prelude. The sounds that are coming from our throats will evolve, and shortly they will be transformed from wail to "Alleluia." Once again, deliverance will have come in the form of a new baby, surrounded by unlikely stories, and promising hope.