This morning’s opening hymn:
While angels delight to hymn you above,
the humbler creation, though faltering their praise
with true adoration shall sing all their days.
The humbler creation: that’s us. And sometimes our praise is faltering indeed.
Sometimes it’s hard to sing. Not the music, necessarily, although sometimes it’s a challenge to learn new music, and sight-reading skills aren’t always up to the task (which is why we take music home to practise!). But beyond that, sometimes it’s just hard to sing. We’re tired, or worried, or sad. We come to the cathedral without the energy that singing both demands and then replenishes.
That’s on an individual level, but the same is true for our community. Sometimes life gets on top of our us; sometimes the storm around us makes it too dark to see the music. Our community becomes tried, and disheartened, and singing asks us for more than we feel we can give. Our praise falters — we are the humbler creation, indeed.
Sometimes it’s hard to sing, but God is in broken singing as well as the joyful strains of heartfelt praise. God is in the weeping and the anger and the soul-deep fatigue which we all — individual and communities — experience and come through at one time or another. The same hymn, after all, tells us that God’s path at times is on the wings of the storm.
We don’t have to like the storm. We don’t have to pretend that we’re not tired, or disheartened, or ready for a break. All we have to do, this humble creation of God, is to keep singing, knowing that God loves our broken notes as deeply as our beautiful ones. Keep singing, all of us, knowing that the love of the One to whom we sing surrounds and sustains us. Just keep singing — and the God of the storm will do the rest.