Singing Our Way to Hope
Reverend Janet Parsons
Gloucester UU Church
March 15, 2020
A period of time spent wandering in the wilderness is one of the oldest and most common themes in storytelling. It is the idea of a quest: a journey into uncharted territory, where a typically young, unproven person encounters hardship and eventually finds their way out tested, mature, and ready for all the challenges of adult life.
We see this idea of a quest throughout literature: in epic stories such as the Odyssey, in the Bible, first with Moses and the quest of the entire Israelite nation to find their home, and with Jesus in the desert. Think about the tale of King Arthur, and the rites of passage among Native Americans known as Vision Quests. In our literature today, we have Harry Potter, who ended up living in hiding for a year as he prepared to confront the forces of evil in the magical world.
All these quests, all this time spent in the wilderness, are, of course, metaphors. And the fact that the quest remains one of the most common themes of literature tells us that it is one of the most fundamental realities of the human condition. These stories of quests are metaphors for growing up; for facing all the challenges of our human lives. They are about growing as moral and ethical people, learning about who we are, and what we are capable of.
But stories come to an end. Myths and epics and quests reach a resolution; the hero emerges from the desert, or returns home to his loving wife, stronger and ready to lead people, or arrives back at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But in real life, there isn’t that kind of tidy ending. We spend our entire lives moving in and out of the wilderness. We spiral, loop back around, never in quite the same place, but always moving between safety and risk, stability and growth.
Because of the threat of the coronavirus, we are facing together into a new kind of wilderness. In some ways our society has been here before; there have been pandemics before, and other crises. Just in the 20th century we had to confront two World Wars, a devastating flu epidemic, and a Depression. More recently we have weathered great changes to our way of life caused by terrorism. We are challenged to master ever-changing technology. We are facing an enormous threat to the life and health of our planet. We struggle to maintain our health as we get older, adjusting our expectations as our bodies change and as illnesses affect us. We are in and out of the wilderness.
I share this to offer to you what perspective I can as we move forward into this uncharted territory. It is good to pause for just a moment and consider how resilient the quest of a normal human life can make us. Perhaps we do not think of ourselves as resilient, but we are. I invite you to think about times in your life that you weren’t sure you could navigate. We all have them. And yet, here we are.
This month we have been talking about Wisdom, and how we can attain it. There are many answers to that question, but growing in resilience is certainly one way to become wise. Resilience helps us to maintain perspective, to know how to sustain ourselves and to know what is important.
This week we have seen some really unwise actions by people; government officials. Insisting on shaking hands, and people acting as though there will never be food or supplies in grocery stores again. We’ve seen people responding to this looming crisis by showing off some of the worst of human behavior – thoughtless hoarding, which causes hardship for other people. And yet, as our second reading, the poem Lockout, described, people are beginning to demonstrate their resilience and wisdom and compassion. They are beginning to offer us hope.
Right here on Cape Ann people have been reaching out on social media to offer to bring supplies to elderly neighbors, or to buy breakfast and lunch supplies for children who might not be able to access free meals in the schools now that they are closed. These actions show us the goodness that we are capable of, the compassion.
One story in particular has caught my attention and given me more hope than any of the others, more hope than the sight of crocuses and snowdrops blooming. Perhaps you’ve seen the video online of all the Italian people, quarantined in their houses, singing from their windows and balconies to each other. Song fills neighborhoods in some cities. Just think of all these complete strangers, who must be understandably frightened and worried, singing to each other, reaching out with their voices into the night to connect with others who they cannot even see. The resilience and compassion is remarkable.
This past Wednesday evening I dropped into choir rehearsal to ask the choir members a question. I was trying to decide what to do about the service this morning, and wanted the choir’s input. I thought that perhaps they shouldn’t sing, because they would have to be in somewhat close proximity and they might not want to take the risk. Everyone at the rehearsal said that they wanted to sing. Just like that – they wanted to sing. And Willie and Kerry and Ann also wanted to be here today, to make music.
We talked earlier about the basic human drive that is represented in epic stories: those quests and trials, and how that is a universal theme of human existence. And there is another universal human need, and that is music. Across all cultures, all traditions, from the beginning of human history, we have made music. And right now we are singing in the face of fear. It’s an act of defiance, of courage, of resilience, and it gives us hope. Music makes another basic human need possible, and that is connection. We are here this morning because of our need to connect with one another, to offer each other love and hope as we stand at the edge of the wilderness.
Until we can be all together again in this sanctuary, I hope you will be able to sing, to listen to music, to find ways of connecting with others as we venture forth into the wilderness. I leave you with these familiar words that we often sing: “Through many dangers, toils, and snares, we have already come. “Tis grace that brought us safe thus far, and grace will lead us home.”
May you be well, and full of hope.
Amen.
