Editor's Postlude: The Wonder of Singing
On Thanksgiving Sunday, we began worship with “Now thank we all our God.” As the first note came out of my mouth, I found myself caught in amazement. Counting the number of times I have sung would be like counting the stars. Yet, at this moment, I was caught up in the wonder of it all. Out of my mouth came a sound we call singing. I was suddenly aware of the number of complex processes that have to happen to make that note: neurons firing and motor-control networks activating while airflow is managed and emotion, language, and memory centres are engaged. Then the right muscles must be triggered to pitch the note and adjust the volume, while somewhere the lyrics are added. This happens as part of a singing community, where we all come in together on a certain note, coordinating with musicians and other singers. It is truly amazing.
Possibly, humans have been singing for 530,000 years. The horseshoe-shaped hyoid bone in our throat—the only bone not connected to another bone—as well as the lower position of the larynx make singing and speech possible. Charles Darwin speculated that our language abilities began with singing. Imagine a Homo erectus, Homo neanderthalensis, or early Homo sapiens mother rocking her baby and naturally beginning to croon a wordless lullaby.
For humans, the act of singing is such a basic action, something we don’t even think about unless we have lost the ability to do so. There is no human culture that does not sing. Singing is ancient and universal. It serves emotion, evoking sadness and joy, comfort and protest. It can be frivolous or serious, spontaneous or structured, sombre or active. It can be both entertainment and a way of passing on tradition and culture. It is an art, and it is play. It draws people together and creates bonds within families, communities, and nations. It can call us to dance or to sit silently and weep. It can make a repetitive task less boring. It is vital to ritual and to worship.
I explained my wonder to a friend, and they didn’t get it. They attributed the feeling to my being a better singer than they are. But I’m not. I can mostly hit the right pitch if I’m singing in unison with another person or the piano. So, this experience wasn’t about my abilities as a singer. This was a spiritual experience, a mystical moment that is hard to describe.
This amazement at being able to produce a certain note at a certain moment with certain words in community with others led me to think about the astonishing bodies we have and what they do for us every day. I think of the diversity of human bodies, and all the incredible ways that people and bodies adapt to their situations and contexts. I think of the hurt and damage done to human bodies through violence, abuse, and prejudice. I think of those who have given up singing because someone told them they couldn’t sing. It makes me want to sing in sorrow, in protest, in hope, and in gratitude.
“Make a joyful noise” invites Psalm 100. In multiple psalms as well as in the books of Isaiah and Revelation, we are directed to sing a new song to God. Paul tells Christians to sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs and make melody within our hearts (Ephesians 5:19). In Colossians, we are encouraged to sing with gratitude (Colossians 3:16), and James reminds us to sing our cheerfulness (James 5:13). Jesus and his disciples sang together before heading into the garden where Jesus would be arrested. Paul and Silas sang in prison.
Singing as individuals and in community is embedded in our lives as followers of Jesus. It is so basic to what we do in worship that I think we forget just how truly amazing it is. As I contemplated the wonder of it all, I was drawn to praise our Creator God, who set in motion this wonderful ability. I found myself joining hymn writer Robert S. Lowry (VU 716) in declaring, “My life flows on in endless song…how can I keep from singing?”
Susan Lukey, Editor
