By Abbey Adcox
Before the music begins, we pause and listen. A singer waits for the signal. A bell ringer holds still, hands ready. Those of us in the pews turn toward the sound that will bring us together. We may have come from different mornings, but for a little while, we give our attention to something shared.
St. Basil, a fourth-century pastor, wrote about the songs of the church. He described worshipers singing back and forth, listening for one another’s voices before joining together. He believed singing could quiet troubled thoughts and draw people toward one another. Basil called a psalm “the work of angels, a heavenly institution, the spiritual incense.” I love that he could speak of music in such lofty terms while attending to the ordinary act of people singing together. His words remind me that music is a prayer, one we offer to God and receive from one another.
I remember this when I hear music at Wilshire. Children sing. Youth lift their voices. Bells ring. Winds play. The congregation answers in song. Some of us learned to sing here, our voices shaped by this place. Others have offered their gifts in choirs and ensembles or have sat quietly, receiving comfort in listening. The music carries our history, even as it changes with every new voice.
Today’s anthem, “The Music of Living,” invites us to learn not to fear the sad songs. That feels like a gentle welcome into worship. Some of us come ready to sing. Others arrive carrying sorrow or worry, needing to listen first. There is space for all of us here. As the music begins, we can receive what another voice offers and offer our own when we are ready.
Worship this morning will hold bells and breath, spoken words and silence. We may hear them differently, yet we still share them. Perhaps today you will lend your voice to someone nearby. Perhaps their voice will help carry you. May we listen with room in our hearts for what others bring and make space for the first note and whatever follows.