Psalm 46:1-3
“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. Selah.”
As a musician, I always found it much easier to count the rhythms of the notes I was playing than to count out the rests. It seems like it should be easier to not do anything, but knowing when not to play was a challenge to learn. Unintentional solos are embarrassing so I learned a few tricks for how to avoid them if I happened to lose count. One was to rely on a cue from the conductor and another was to listen well to the ensemble and know how my part fit.
The psalms are a collection of songs, and though we no longer know the melodies that accompanied the words we do know a little bit about the rests. Selah in the psalms is believed to be an indication of a pause or a rest in the song.
I spent a lot of time staring at a blank screen trying to compose my thoughts for a reflection today. In light of recent events, I didn’t feel comfortable just ignoring the conversations that need to happen in our nation. Yet I also don’t feel comfortable speaking into them just yet. As I prayed about what words I have to contribute while deleting as many words as I tried to write, I knew I needed to walk away for a while. Literally. I went for a walk.
As I walked, I found myself pondering selah and received it as a gift. In music, if you play when you’re supposed to rest it can ruin the performance for everyone. Similarly, when it comes to words, there is a time to speak and a time to remain silent (Ecclesiastes 3:7).
Today, it is not my turn to speak.
I will watch the Conductor, waiting for my cue, and in the meantime I will listen to the words of those around me to learn how my part fits in. The symphony feels a bit chaotic right now, and I suspect that there are many who have continued to play though the score says they should be silent and listen.
I am observing a moment of silence.
I am silent so I can listen to the voices that have been silenced for too long, who aren’t willing to wait anymore, who are screaming to be heard.
I am silent and listening to my own breath, remembering those whose very breath was taken from them.
I am silent and praying for an end to covid-19 and police brutality. I’m praying about my own privilege and what it means to be anti-racist rather than simply non-racist. I’m praying silently because I don’t have words but I know the Spirit intercedes for me.
Please join me in being slow to speak, unless the Conductor gives you a cue, so we can listen well and learn to create a beautiful and diverse symphony together.
Well said,
Thank you! <3