Holy muttering

Here is a non-incident for you if ever there was one.

I was attending the first in what is hoped to be a series of theology lectures at my old seminary alma mater. It was a rather solemn occasion, with the dedication of a chair to a retiring professor. There was a welcome and announcement by the Vice President for Academic Affairs. And next on the program was "special music."

The first tune was the beautiful and familiar "Ich will dir meine Herze schenken" by Johann Sebastian Bach, and the soprano sang like an angel. The second was "The Lord is my Rock," by Camille Saint-Saens.

It was in about the middle of this second song that I noticed what I was doing: I was in that strange mode of listening that is opaque to the meaning of the words being sung, a sort of hearing while not hearing, a sort of being vaguely entertained by the music and words, but not penetrated to the heart.

I was appalled when I caught myself because it is a manner of living that I have repudiated of late. I roused myself mid-way and began earnestly to mutter silent responses, like "Thank you, Jesus, for being my Rock." I don't know how many others in the room were infected with a like deadness. But as for me, let me never again hear the word of God in any form without worshipping.