June 14, 2026 – Third Sunday after Pentecost
Psalm 150
Colossians 3.12-17
Charms to Soothe the Savage Breast
Third Sunday after Pentecost
I always get a frisson of delight when I can share with others the pleasures of music. Some of you met my cousins Holly and Paul from Dallas last weekend; they spent five days with us, and took particular note of my morning routine, which includes a cup of coffee, the morning paper and listening to my favorite classical music station, WMNR. Holly remarked how much she enjoyed it and resolved to check out the Dallas classical station on her return. A trustee of one of my former congregations also picked up on my listening habits and mentioned how classical music made his morning commute much more tolerable. Even though the morning traffic on my daily commute up Route 9 is seldom a stressful one, the other morning I became so wrapped up in Antonio Vivaldi’s Gloria I almost missed Exit 8. Music – music of any type, not just classical – can do that for you. It was the English dramatist William Congreve who famously wrote, “Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast.” When my girls were growing up they teased me that I always had music going around the house, and as many of you can attest, in my office as well, because no matter what kind of day I’m having, music helps keep it bright and balanced.
This is one of the many reasons I look forward to music appreciation Sunday when we honor dear Karli and celebrate our wonderful choir, because music does the same for all of us. It helps us keeps things balanced and in perspective; it speaks to us not only in word but also in melody and spirit; and it keeps the dialogue going between ourselves and God, because as we have observed regularly, when we sing, we pray twice. Music does not just have moods, it also bears a certain substance to us; it speaks to us on levels we can identify, and on levels we cannot.
We know that Jesus both prayed and sang the psalms, since the psalms are the prayers and hymns of Israel. A couple weeks ago we noted how Jesus uttered the words of Psalm 22 from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” But as I was listening to Vivaldi the other morning, a thought came to me that I’ve never considered before. I remember my dear grandmother Froggatt, who loved to sing. She sang in the chorus at the Meriden Senior Center, but what I remember most is her going around the house, doing her various chores, always, always singing, or at least gently humming under her breath. It helped her get through the day, and I imagine it made her work a bit easier. When Jesus offered those words of the twenty-second Psalm on Golgotha, we have always assumed he was praying: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? But what if Jesus was singing? The 22d psalm is clearly marked for singing; the supertitle reads, “To the choirmaster: [and it also suggests a tune by which it is to be sung] according to The Hind of the Dawn.” What if Jesus was either singing, or quietly humming that familiar melody to himself as a way of finding comfort in those painful final moments of his life? If music can soothe the human breast, surely the psalms can be a comfort in the hour of crisis. On more than one occasion I have stood at bedside with a person in his or her final hours of life, and in those moments when there is little one can say, the words of the 23d Psalm are unfailingly comforting, and meaningful. Now, this isn’t “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” we’re talking about here, but it seems just as likely that Jesus was as comforted by music in those last moments as by prayer. “Let everything that breathes praise the Lord.”
Music has the power to transport us to a place beyond the senses. It gives expression to wordless feelings and desires, and while it is principally human, while allowing for the songs of the birds, crickets, frogs, whales and other music-makers of creation, it also has a connection to the divine. The scriptures are filled with songs of the angels, from the “Holy, Holy Holys” of the seraphim in Isaiah, to the nativity’s “Gloria in Excelsis” which gave Vivaldi his inspiration, to the veritably Handelian “Worthy is the Lamb” in Revelation. It is so much a part of who we are as human beings that Willam Shakespeare was moved to suggest, in the Merchant of Venice, “The man that hath no music in himself, / Nor is mov’d with concord of sweet sounds, / Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; / The motions of his spirit are dull as night / And his affections dark as Erebus; / Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.” Mark the music. Well, I wouldn’t go quite so far as the Bard, to say that the person who does not appreciate music is not to be trusted. But I will say that the person who does not think there is anything to be missed in music’s absence will nonetheless find an expanded experience in its presence.
I used the word frisson at the start of the sermon; it is French for the word “shiver,” and describes that moment when a piece of music or art or other experience causes a sudden chill, or shiver, the goosebumps you feel when a special song comes on or you view the favorite scene in your favorite movie, or when you see the Mona Lisa for the first time. In clinical terms it is defined as a psychophysiological response that briefly causes skin tingling, goosebumps, and sometimes pupil dilation, triggered by emotionally charged or rewarding stimuli. I happened to me again just last month when Debbie and I heard our daughter Blythe singing with Boston’s Longwood Chorus, a chorale comprised entirely of medical, health and wellness professionals. It was partly the hauntingly ethereal music they performed, partly because she is my daughter, but a good deal of it is due to how much I enjoy making music, and so grateful that she can enjoy the same experience. And this is part of what you and I experience regularly on Sunday mornings. To hear the variety of musical pieces Karli and our choir bring to us – your gifts, your dedication, your musicality, and yes, your faith as well, which you freely share with us, is a true gift. At our sermon talk-back last week we spoke about the power of shared experiences, and singing together is one of those things we don’t always get to do in life. But to share music with all of you, not just to listen but to share in our hymns and other opportunities – Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head, anyone? – is a real gift, church is one of those rare places it happens regularly, and our church is a place it occurs with both regularity and deep joy. Karli and choir, on behalf of everyone in this church, Thank you for this gift you bring to us week in and week out. We appreciate you more than words can say.
It is true that what music can bring out in all of us is good, because whether it elicits gladness or grief – and you and I have known music to do both – it puts us in touch with a part of the human soul that few other experiences can reach. For it is the love of God for each and all of us which, as Paul observed, “binds everything together in perfect harmony… Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly… as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs with thanksgiving in your hearts… Thus whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God our Creator through him.”