There is a power in music that is beyond our comprehension. Even those who are lost in the dark recesses of dementia can find relief as they escape to carefree days with the help of music. They may not know their names or the names of their children, but they sing along and tap their feet to the beat of the music. Music enters our souls at a different level. Music ignites the memories of long-forgotten days.
When my brother Karl Olsen sings, I often find tears welling up in my eyes. In a similar fashion, on the few occasions that I have sung in church, I have noticed people crying!
This morning I was driving toward Whidbey General Hospital to see Darrell Dyer. That is when it happened. A song came on the radio, and the next thing I know, I was crying. I liked the song. It had played during a particular season in my life. It was a family vacation for the Lindus sorority. We loaded up the car for a long road trip to Sun Valley.
In an attempt to make the miles pass more quickly, Felicia read chapters of Harry Potter to the girls. Then, with eight hours of road behind us and four hours to go, our oldest daughter, Jenna, decided to introduce us to the Dixie Chicks. The singing continued until we arrived in Sun Valley; and, in some ways, the singing has never stopped. The memory is precious. I give thanks to God for that moment in time. The song came on the radio and I cried. I cried for what had been. I cried for opportunities not taken. I cried for what will never be again.
Life is fleeting. The years pass by. The days once lived never return. The moments so sweet and bittersweet slip silently into the pages of history. They are remembered for a time and then they are forgotten; no one is left to tell their story. Music has a mysterious power, a power that is beyond our comprehension.
This Sunday is All Saints Day. It is a unique Sunday in the life of the Church. Fifteen candles will burn on the Baptismal font as we remember those who have died in the past year. Fifteen times we have stood at graveside, fifteen times we have dried each other’s tears, fifteen times we have come face-to-face with our own mortality. I suppose that is what was really happening as I drove to the hospital. My reflection in the mirror is different than it was when I arrived at TLC some 26 years ago. Time waits for no man. We are dust, and to dust we shall return. The candles will one day burn for us.
I expect to cry this Sunday! I expect to cry as Karl sings and as the images of dear saints are projected before me. I expect to cry and that is good. I would invite you to come and cry with me.
My love to you,
Pastor Jim
