We were having such a good time that it was easy to overlook the news reports coming from Japan. It took a couple of news cycles for me to realize the depth of the tragedy that had befallen the northeastern section of Japan, and was spreading throughout the panic-stricken region. It has now been several days since the first tremor, and the situation grows worse and worse.
Ironically, the centerpiece of the ACDA convention program was the performance of Mendelssohn's "Elijah" by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, conducted by Helmuth Rilling. If you are familiar with this musical monument, you are aware that the presentation of the biblical story reaches its denouement when the fearful prophet looks for God in fire, wind and earthquake. But, as reported in 1 Kings 19:11, God was not in the earthquake. It is hard to imagine what could have been more poignant than last week's performance of these words as set by Mendelssohn.It takes the most amateur of historians only a few minutes of cursory reading to discover that calamity is inevitable. And, inevitably, humans are surprised by it. We live with an imaginary immunity from the unexplainable, and we seek meaning in the random. The obscene sounds of the self-righteous have already begun to blame the earthquake on God's vengeance against some group or another. But while these voices add to the sound of the calamity, other quieter voices bring the soft sound of grace.
The ancient Hebrew stories of the prophet Elijah were passed down from generation to generation as a reasonable antidote against those who for thousands of years have claimed to hear God's voice where it didn't exist. Elijah was afraid, and the calamity all around him made it worse. But after the earthquake, wind and fire, God chose to speak in a still, small voice. I'm no theologian, but it seems to me that this is more than a metaphor. If those who are rightfully afraid during this growing calamity want to hear God's voice, perhaps it can be heard in the quiet efforts of people around the world who extend aid, and in the fervent prayers of their neighbors on their behalf. It can be heard in the reactor workers who heroically stay at their post in spite of the threat of radiation. It can be heard in the hospitality of those in other parts of the country who welcome their newly homeless neighbors into their homes.
Mendelssohn's "Elijah" was performed last week in the composer's native German language. The work received its premiere, however, in Birmingham, England in 1846, and was performed in an English translation. At the point in the story where the earthquake, fire and wind have passed with no sign of God, the translator says, "And in the still voice onward came the Lord." I think it's possible to look at the Red Cross, or the other responders, or the faithful who are praying, and say, "onward came the Lord." To which we can only respond, "Even so, Lord, quickly come."
