Sing On, Holy Spirit

In the genesis account of CS Lewis’ epic, The Chronicles of Narnia, Aslan the lion, the allegorical Triune God, softly enters into the quietness of the dark void so as to call the world of Narnia into existence.

And he does so…by singing.

I have always cherished this image of a God who finds pleasure strolling among the groves of the world’s gardens humming an old and sacred melody to himself. The song being so powerful that the effect of its intonation was to impart life.

As the story goes, in the fullness of time, this same God stepped onto the world’s stage in quite visible garb. This did not alter his whimsy; for he still loved to walk through gardens—olive groves to be precise—while humming his beloved melody. The issue was, now, people heard Jesus of Nazareth voicing the deeply secret tune. And it both mesmerized and frightened them. For they remembered it, in part, though they knew not how. And that terrified them! For he sang it as one who had authority, not like their teachers of the law.

Distrusting what they could not understand, the world ridded itself of this Jesus and his discomforting song. But in an upper room of Jerusalem, not long after his supposed crucifixion, tongues of fire danced upon the heads of a newly birthed family; the fire danced to a nameless melody. And in yet another act of astonishing grace, God bequeathed his precious song into the hands of humankind.

Unfortunately, ever since that day, the song has never been sung quite right. There will be moments of the formerly pure notes resounding in a corner of the earth, but the next bar will be misread. That because it is an exceptionally difficult song to learn, much less to sing. Only the pure in heart, only the holy, know precisely how to read the sheet-music of this melody. And unfortunately, there has only been one human qualified enough to do so. Thus, the Holy Spirit has spent the last two thousand years teaching his family how to sing God’s precious and sacred song.

The Wounds from the Song

I grew up, and am training to be a pastor, in a very Charismatic church. Charismatics are simply those who love to sing God’s song quite loudly and confidently. Most of us are well-meaning and striving to sing faithfully. But inevitably, we sing it the best we’re able; that is to say, full of missed notes and piecemealed stanzas. Yet regardless of how well it is voiced, the song is still always potent and frighteningly powerful. That is the ill-fated effect of anything so pure. It must be handled carefully. For when sung faithfully, the Kingdom of God descends and hearts are drenched in rest and grace.

But when sung undiscerningly, it wounds.

And, though I was greatly discipled by my Charismatic community, I bear upon my soul the wounds from undiscerning and brash renditions. And I suspect many of you are the same.

The natural reaction to being hurt is to protect the wound. That’s why when we injure our arm, we cradle it close so as to preemptively shield off future hurt. But when the wounds are spiritual, we build a cast in other ways. For me, I became very cynical toward the work of the Holy Spirit. As one example among many, I remember a Sunday service where in the middle of a song, a man approached the microphone and let loose a passionate message full of debatable theology, to which the congregation applauded and wept. Ashamedly, my first instinct was to roll my eyes and sigh in my heart, “Here we go again.”

My cynicism about the Holy Spirit was scar tissue. It was hardened places in my soul from where I had been wounded from having to watch everyone but Jesus attempt to live by the Spirit, when no one but Jesus knew how. I wasn’t really mad at my brother or sister at all. I was mad at God for handing over his song without teaching us how to sing it!

“I see only a reflection as in a mirror… I know only in part.” (1 Cor 13:12).

That was the issue! It was the “knowing in part” that made me so bitter toward God. Because it was the other part—the unknown part—which was the direct source of all my wounds, and yours. For where humans don’t know, we guess. And historically, we’ve been wrong. That’s what I couldn’t understand about God’s methods. Why would he only give partial revelation, especially about something as potent and potentially mishandled as the Holy Spirit? Today, right now, are there not a multiplicity of interpretations regarding how the Holy Spirit works? And since we’re all so feeble in our faith, we constantly wonder, does that denomination actually have it right? God, am I doing this wrong?

This is all God’s fault. He just gave us his song without teaching us how to sing it. Seeing in part, that was the source of my cynicism. It protected my wounded heart from further pain at the hands of another improperly wielded, “I feel the Holy Spirit saying to me…”

The Song Renewed

But as God’s stories usually go, one night this past summer, he melted my embittered walls. And like Job, I was left with my hand over my mouth, for I spoke of things I did not understand.

It was a night no different from any other. Three of my friends and I were sitting in the backyard talking and praying. Though Jesus had not responded to invitations in seasons prior, for some reason, this night, he did. The Spirit showed up. Right in the middle of our conversation, the breath of God filled our space. It was terrifying. But God, smiling, said, “Don’t be afraid.” Gently whispering to my soul, like a kiss, he prompted me to ask my friends to lay hands on me and to pray. “Pray for what?” I replied.

With a laugh full of love, the Holy Spirit answered: “Pray that the last bit of cynicism in your heart about me would be taken away.”

I repeated the words to my friends. We stood in a backyard in the fading twilight praying for the purging of any bitterness or anger toward God’s confounding methods of working in the world. We prayed that my heart would stop judging others for attempting to walk in the Spirit the best they could; that it would stop accusing God of things I could not see.

We prayed that my heart would be sensitive to the Spirit’s voice and free to obey, like Jesus of Nazareth’s was.

Before I knew what I was doing, I opened my mouth and sang, for the first time, without any fear or cynical thoughts. Exhausted from years of bitterness toward God, I just sang, “Thy will be done, thy will be done. I give up, Jesus. I’m so tired of fighting you. If you want to use broken people, then use me. If all we can see is in part, then that’s enough. I trust you.”

And in the eternal moment of that night, the Holy Spirit harmonized with our voices. Upon our heads tongues of fire danced again. They danced to the very first melody they ever knew.

Life in the Spirit

“The wind blows where it wishes and you hear the sound of it, but do not know where it comes from and where it is going; so is everyone who is born of the Spirit” (Jn 3:8).

We don’t understand God’s ways. His Spirit moves like the wind, unpredictably and without explanation. But bitterness and cynicism keep our hearts hard. And a hardened heart is unable to feel the brush of the wind against its cheek, or hear a gentle whisper in a clamoring world. Any hardness of heart toward God’s work is a place where we have yet to surrender our fullest selves to the fact that we will only ever know in part. It is a place where we cannot yet accept that the Spirit will work, but not explain to us why. It is a place where we think we know better than God. Therefore, it is a place we are not yet free.

To truly sing Aslan’s song in the way it was begotten to be sung—notes that reconcile, bars that melt animosity, chords that inspire forgiveness and hope—is to sing it entirely free. Free of yourself. Free of fear. Free of control. To be completely free in your heart is to surrender control of what the Holy Spirit will do to those who hear you singing. Or the control of what the Holy Spirit will do to you when you sing.

For just because God’s song has been sung poorly before, does not mean it’s not the most exquisite melody—the life-giving melody—when sung faithfully.

And he wants to sing it faithfully, through you.

Sing on, Holy Spirit…sing on.