Not so Bellowing

In contrast to the obvious housekeeping disadvantages and occasional loneliness, living and working a solo life does have its positive side. One of the things I enjoy every morning is the unbridled opportunity to read the Bible aloud to myself at some length. Now, this isn’t to claim for myself any outstanding spiritual quality. I simply made a New Year Resolution to follow a daily scheme of reading through the whole Bible in the course of a year. It’s a good discipline in any event, and being able to read it aloud somehow makes it more special.

Occasionally, through the accumulated exhaustion of long days, I find that the concentration of reading three or four chapters non-stop leaves me quite drained. In such a state the other morning, it occurred to me just how refreshing was the silence. Instead of following up fairly promptly in prayer, I simply sat in my favourite armchair, eyes closed, and let God’s presence flow over me.

I was reminded of Jesus’ words of warning recorded for us at Matthew 6:7-8, “they think that by their many words they will be heard. Do not be like them.” How easy it is for us in our prayers to be the originators, babbling away, bombarding God with our own thoughts. How often do we forget that prayer, like any other conversation, is two-way, and that it is at least as important to listen – possibly more so?

One of the happiest experiences of my late teenage and early adult life was singing in the local church choir. Mike, our organist and choirmaster – RSCM trained – knew how to get the best out of us. We were intensely schooled every week, men as well as boys, and we soon realised the significance of the closed fingertips, the raised palm and the lowering of that hand the other way up. These signs brought from us what he called ‘the colour’ of the piece, and made our contribution to the worship all the more effective.

A favourite hymn was ‘Dear Lord and Father of mankind,’ which comprises just the final verses of an epic poem by John Greenleaf Whittier, set to Charles Parry’s beautiful tune Repton. This tune is normally not set for four-part singing, and so that concept of colour was essential to bring out the finer points of the hymn, and prevent it sinking to the level of a blousy folksong. We were especially so encouraged for its last two lines, which echo Elijah’s experience described in I Kings 19, beseeching the Lord to “speak through the earthquake, wind and fire, O still, small voice of calm.” I shall never forget the way the bellowing basses would gracefully give way to the gentle tenors for those last five words!

When Lent comes round every springtime, it's an opportunity to make a special effort to focus more particularly on the Bible - to listen anew to that still, small voice.