O, love that wilt not let me go.
When melody and lyric conspire together, I often can’t stop myself from hitting repeat again and again and again. And again. O, love that wilt not let me go. Listening is sacred and when I take the time to take-in someone else’s heart and voice, I find my way. I never know what will sound the glory down, but when something lands in just the right spot, it is both reunion and homecoming.
In the past few weeks, I have soared on close harmonies tethered to the here and now by lyrics that bear out this truth—that the sacred shows up in the known and unknown alike. When a song catches me, I try to sit still long enough to catch up. I never know what I’m chasing until it plays out in a part of me long ago – or sometimes more recently – forgotten. I wasn’t raised to honor the body electric or sacred, but sometimes we remember things we aren’t supposed to know. Arms lifted and hands raised, my ancestors join in for some front porch rejoicing. I don’t always know what to do with the earworms that take me by surprise. But when I let go of the doing, Spirit shows up. And that’s a lesson about learning and liturgy and life itself. One more time for ears still trying to hear?