God is Not in the Music

     After my return to the Church in the early 2000's, I established a particular Easter tradition. At that time living by myself in Houston, away from my family, I elected to spend Easter alone, unless any of my really close friends were also alone, in town, and available for a nice dinner out.

     On Easter afternoon, in the quiet solitude of my apartment, I would put on my favorite CD of Handel's Messiah, as performed by the Monteverdi Choir and the English Baroque Soloists under the direction of John Eliot Gardiner. I'd sit on my couch, perfectly still with eyes closed, not moving a muscle for the entire length of the oratorio, which is over three hours. In this way, I reflected on the life of Christ, from Isaiah's prophecy of his birth to his eternal reign in Heaven as told by John in Revelation. Handel's music, far from being a distraction, or so I thought, only served to deepen the experience. Glorious as it is, inspired by God as it must surely have been, it illuminated the Scripture texts for me, compelling me to listen not just with my mind but with my heart. In that nascent phase of my spiritual life, it was the most prayerful way I knew to spend Easter Sunday, after Mass.

     In the monastery, Easter Sunday is of course very special, as is all of Holy Week. The communal celebrations of the day override any private, personal devotions. As for the rest of the year, listening to music in general is not an everyday indulgence, but one that's reserved for the evening meal every Sunday, which is also communal. In other words, private listening is rare. This was, admittedly, a great sacrifice for me, and most especially on Easter, when I sorely missed listening to Messiah.

     The afternoon of Good Friday in the monastery is the most intensely prayerful, most spiritually powerful time of the whole year. From noon till three, all the nuns shut themselves in their cells for silent prayer and meditation. There is no sound, save the birds in the woods. No sound – including music. My first year there, I asked my novice directress if I could, through headphones, listen to Messiah in my cell during those three hours. My request was denied. "It's a very holy time," she told me, "and we spend it in silent prayer, with absolutely no distractions." I was heartbroken. She just didn't understand, I thought, that for me music is prayer, that for me music is God's voice in another guise.

     It took me a good while, maybe a year, to realize that she was right. I had mistaken mood and feeling for meditation and prayer. Music may help to put me on the track, but it is not the track. It may turn me towards God, but it is not God. It is a gift, but it is not the Giver. As a religious in formation, it was vitally important for me to learn the difference. Just as God was not in the wind or the earthquake (1 Kings 19:11), he is not in the music – but in the still, small voice that is heard in the core of one's soul.