Song of the Soul

A sermon Offered by Rev. Tim Kutzmark
March 19, 2006 • Unitarian Universalist Church of Reading

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Sing!
If not forever, through the night.
If not alone, then together.
If not in tune, then with a hearty sound.
But Sing!
—Unknown

Have you ever had a song? 

Think back.  Isn’t there a song you once heard that touched you in some way? 

We all have them, don’t we, that song that caught in our heart and we couldn’t let go of?   Not a silly song, but one that meant something, one that spoke to us—maybe a song we heard on the radio, or sang as a child, or danced to as a young adult on that special night.  Is it a camp song, or a college song?  Is it a song someone sang to us, or whispered into our ear?  Could it be a hymn we once sang in church, reminding us of a strength that could hold it all?  Is it a song we once shared with another person, a song that became ‘your song?’   Is there some song sung in the universe that once touched us deep at the core of our being?

Jack Kornfield, the celebrated American-Buddhist teacher, tells this story (adapted):

There is a tribe in Africa that believes each person has their own individual song, the song of their soul.

Before a child is born, before a child is even conceived, the mother leaves the village behind, and goes deep into the wilderness, into the desert.  There she sits and waits and listens—listens to the rhythm of nature, the rhythm of her heartbeat, the rhythm of day and night, the rhythm of the Great Mystery that moves within and around her.  If she listens long enough, they believe, the universe reveals to her the song of a child—a child whose time it is to come into the world.  The woman returns to the village with the song, and teaches it to her husband.  That night, as they make love, they both sing the song together, singing the song to the child they are conceiving.  All through the pregnancy, the woman and the man sing the song to the child as it grows in the womb.  On the day of birth, the entire village gathers around the hut, and the father teaches every person in the village how to sing the song.  At the moment of birth, the newborn is welcomed into the world by the entire village singing the song of that child’s soul.  As the child grows, their song is always sung to them.  As they wake, as they move through their day, their song is sung to them.  If she falls while playing, someone will help the child up, wash away the tears, and sing that child her song, reminding her who she is.  Everyone knows each other’s song.  At every key moment in life—coming of age, the first hunt, marriage—the song is sung by the entire village to mark the moment. 

If as an adult, the person does wrong or goes astray…the entire village gathers round the individual, and rather than condemning or punishing them, they sing the song over and over, recalling that person to their best selves again, singing that person back to the wholeness of their one true nature.

When at last, the time comes for that person to leave this world, the entire village again gathers around the hut, and they sing for this person and their life.  After the person has died, the song is sung one last time over their grave.  And then, as the notes fade away, the song and the person are released back to the universe from whence they came.  The song is never sung again.

What if someone had listened for our soul’s song?
What if someone had sung that song to us, with tenderness, inviting us to be exactly who and how we needed to be?
What would it feel like to be known in such a deep way?

The idea of life being orchestrated to a kind of music is nothing new. 

The thought that the cosmos is held in harmony with music took famous form in the sixth century BCE in Greece.  It was then that mathematician Pythagoras theorized that the universe was built upon sound mathematical order, an idea he borrowed from the Orphic mystery-religions of his time. According to the 1995 book entitled Music, Science and the Natural Order of the Universe, “Pythagoras distinguished three kinds of music” in the world.”  First there was “musica instrumentalis, the ordinary music made by plucking” the guitar, blowing the horn, hitting the drum.”  The second form of music was “musica humana, the continuous but unheard music made by each human organism, especially the harmonious (or inharmonious) resonance between the soul and the body.”  The third form of music was “musica mundana, the music made by the cosmos itself, the music of the spheres (p.30)." Pythagoras believed the movement of the planets, stars, and other objects in the solar system created this music.

The great astronomer Johannes Kepler echoed this idea of our being surrounded by universal music.  In 1619 he wrote: “The heavenly motions are nothing but a continuous song . . . (perceived . . . not by the ear); . . . music . . . in the immeasurable flow of time.” (The Harmony of the World)

Modern science now agrees with this poetic wisdom of antiquity.

Scientists now tell us that every “[object] in the solar system [has] specific vibrations, specific frequencies . . . each planet has its own note.” (Martin Lass, “Music of the Spheres”, 1998, internet)

If our planets have a note, so, too, do we human beings.  Quantum physics says that what we perceive as physical matter is actually smaller and smaller particles of moving energy.  We, and all material things, are composed of strings of energy, energy that is vibrating.  These vibrations create waves that our senses ultimately perceive as solid.  But each of those waves is actually immaterial, and each wave has a sound, undetectable to the unaided human ear.  These sounds, these notes interact to create larger waves of energy, bigger notes, until the whole of our being vibrates one energy, one sound into the world.  

Unitarian Universalist poet Lynn Ungar writes:

Listen.
Every molecule is humming its particular pitch.
Of course you are a symphony.
Whose tune do you think the planets are singing as they dance?

To say we are literally music, music created by all the parts that compose our being, is to speak a truth, psychologically as well as scientifically.  To say our life is a song is to speak the language of science and of spirituality.

Nicaraguan poet and priest Ernesto Cardenal invokes both when he says:

In the beginning was the Song.

When all was night, when
all beings were still obscure . . .
a voice existed . . .
a song in the night.

And for that reason all things sing.

Its rhythms are the equal,
Repeated seasons.
The beatings of the heart.
Day/night.  The going and
Returning of migratory birds.
The cycles of stars and corn.
One single rhythm in planets, atoms,
Sea,
And in the mind…..
That is music.

That begs of us a question.  Are we in rhythm with the universe?

That begs of us a question. What note are we adding to the harmony of the earth?

It begs an even more basic question: Have we ever heard our own song? 

Martin Lass writes: “What would our music sound like when we are angry?  What would it sound like when we are in love?  When we are asleep?  When we fight?  When we talk to others?  As we weave and wander through our lives, we are weaving melodies in the cosmic symphony.  Within that symphony, each one of us has a unique song . . . We Sing our Song whether we are aware of it or not, whether we wish to or not.”

How do we become more conscious? 

How do we hear our own soul’s song?  We hear it when we listen to memory.  We hear it when we remember those songs that once moved our hearts and minds. We hear it by piecing together, note-by-note, word by word, the experiences that have shaped our life journey.  We hear it by joining these fragments into a whole that sings forth a path.

How do we hear our own soul’s song?  We hear it when we listen to the pulse of this present moment. Perhaps there is a new song or an undiscovered song, waiting to be sung into our life.  Is there a song being sung right now that could awaken the fullness of our emotion?   Is there a message we need to believe in right now?

How do we hear our own soul’s song? We hear it when we listen for the future, by coming to know that the song of our soul has not yet been fully written.  There is still more to come.

I have a friend who listened to her life.  She listened to memory.  She listened to the present moment.  She listened for the furture.  After a time she discerned that her song was the Hollywood classic “Singing in the Rain:” 

Singin' in the rain
Just singin' in the rain.
What a glorious feelin'.
I'm happy again.
I'm laughin' at clouds
So dark up above.
The sun's in my heart
And I'm ready for love.

Now this person has had a hard life, a lot has happened that hurt and disappointed.  She’s lived through storms, and knows more are coming.  Still she can look at me and say: “I’ll be damned if I’m going to hide under an umbrella of pity and whining.  Some days the rain that falls is from my own tears.  But then I remember that I can get up and move myself into another day.  I remember there is also so much goodness raining down on me.  I like to think I’m like Gene Kelly hanging on that light post, and I’ll jump off in the puddles and splash anyone who tells me to look at life in another way:” 

Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place.
Come on with the rain.
I've a smile on my face.
I'll walk down the lane
With a happy refrain,
And singin', just singin' in the rain.

She pauses for a moment, then says, “We can choose the song of our soul.  I chose my song because I need to remember how to keep “Singing in the Rain.’”  I chose it not because I can do it, but because I need this song to be my prayer, the hope of my heart.  I want this song to become my future.”

If we don’t choose our song, and choose it carefully, how will we ever claim, at our core, who we truly are, and how we want to experience life?

If we don’t know our song, how will we be able to bring ourselves back when the forces of fear and uncertainty pull us from our center?

If someone else doesn’t know our song, how can they sing us back to wholeness when we have forgotten who we are?

For you see, we can become the singers of our soul’s song.  We can become the song-bearers for each other.  It doesn’t matter what our voice sounds like, high or low, fast or slow, on key or in the key of our own individuality.

What matters is that we allow the Spirit of Life, the Great Mystery, to compose herself in us and among us.  It matters that we choose to become part of the great Universal Symphony.

Only then, only then, we will truly be able to say:

Take me to your home,
Take me to your children and your hearth
And the quiet places in your soul,
Where fiends and angels bargain dreams
And hopes from dust rise to speed the night.
Just take me in
As you would the traveler in a storm
Or a ship wrecked sailor, even thief,
My silences and harmonies are yours
To listen and create,
Take me in,
I won't betray your faith,
And we will live together while the clock ticks
And the wolf howls,
I will sing your song.
(“Music” by Mike Palter)

May it be so.  Blessed Be.  Amen.

© Copyright 2006 Rev. Tim Kutzmark