The Sneeze at the End of the Song

It is Good Friday. Christians all over the world are returning to reflect upon the part of their faith that is hardest to take. When a news report makes us aware that modern DNA testing proves the innocence of a person whose recent years have been spent on death row, or, even worse, a person who has been executed, it is sad. And then we keep moving through our day, relatively unaffected by the tragedy. We have a hair appointment or a soccer game. We can't stop to watch the news.

Good Friday asks us to be still and contemplate the death of the Innocent. Executed under a kind of capital punishment that makes modern methods seem antiseptic and perversely humane, the Innocent is not just put to death. He is put to OUR death. It is a lot to contemplate, so most of the time we make the same decision. We keep moving through our day.

The church offers services during Holy Week that are designed to call us to contemplation. The church lovingly says to us, "Stop moving. The day will wait." In the words of the mystic, George Herbert, "You must sit down, says Love..." Those of us who make the music of worship have the opportunity to participate in the reminder service the church offers. Hopefully we are more artful than the little pop-up window on the computer, reminding us that in fifteen minutes we have an appointment. Hopefully the singers' reminder calls the worshiper to realize, "You have an appointment. Watch to see once again why this is important and true.
This is the day to re-visit why you are grateful. You must sit down, says Love."

Last night, at the Maundy Thursday service, the volunteers of the choir came in large numbers to offer their best singing, reminding their sisters and brothers of their appointment at the Lord's Table. We waited until just before the re-enactment of the supper, and sang one of our favorite pieces for the occasion. Each voice sang with commitment and passion, and the understated beauty pointed the way. I was deeply moved as I conducted, and I exercised the prerogative of holding the last note for several beats, wanting to give the invitation to the Table an extra moment to reach every recipient.

As the final note ended with my "cut-off" gesture, a loud interrupting sneeze came from the congregation. It was the kind of sneeze that comes in the spring, allergic to the pollen that is keeping the freeze-threatened plants alive. As we laughed about it later, we shared the frustration that our beautiful rendition was a little spoiled by the explosive sneeze. It was a common musician's frustration, because we take our work seriously, and we want every sound to emerge as if coming from a professional recording, through expensive headphones.

I thought later how misappropriated our frustration was. I thought about disciples arguing over who got to sit at the host's right hand. I thought about racing for a hair appointment or a soccer game. I thought about Jesus looking up from the foot he was washing to say "God bless you," to the person whose sneeze had interrupted the service.

And I thought that church musicians who wish for their rendition to come out perfectly are exactly right in their motivation. But church music only happens in the midst of a group of people who are deeply human; sins, allergies, appointments and all. The sneeze at the end of the song is part of the musical perfection. It is the part that says, "Come to me, all of you who are weary and heavily burdened, and I will give you rest. There is no need to worry if you have missed your allergy medication, just come. Your appointments will wait, so join us. The music is beautiful, so join the song. Wipe your nose, then help me wash these feet. You must sit down, says Love."

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'
Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'
'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
So I did sit and eat.
- George Herbert (1593-1632)