Don Friesen
Noel Regney, a Frenchman who lived most of his adult life in North America, passed away in late November. If you don't recognize the name, you would certainly recognize the song he wrote in 1962. Walking home to his Manhattan apartment Regney saw two mothers with their babies in strollers. "The babies were looking at each other and smiling," he said, "and all of a sudden, my mood was extraordinary." He hurried home and wrote the lyrics, based on his vision of a newborn lamb. His wife, Gloria Shayne, wrote the music, the Harry Simeon Chorale recorded it, and the song sold more than 250,000 copies in a week! Bing Crosby's 1963 version sold more than a million copies.
The song was "Do You Hear What I Hear?" Regney, an arranger, composer and conductor, wrote the song as a clear and plaintive plea for peace at the time of the Cuban missile crisis. His favourite version was Robert Goulet's, for when Goulet came to the line, "Pray for peace, people, everywhere," he almost shouted the words. Said Regney some years ago, "I am amazed that people can think they know the song--and not know it is a prayer for peace. But we are so bombarded by sound and our attention spans are so short that we now listen only to catchy beginnings." ("Noel Regney, a Songwriter of ‘Do You Hear What I Hear,' Dies at 80," The New York Times, December 1, 2002)
Bombarded with Christmas Sounds
We are bombarded by stimuli at Christmas time. The sound level seems to rise at this time of year. One of yesterday's comic strips (Betty) caught my eye because it showed a row of church pews in the last panel. The preceding eight panels showed a woman in various malls and other locations, surrounded by Christmas festivities and bric-a-brac, and in the last panel she's sitting in an empty church and telling the minister, "I just need a place to get away from Christmas for a while."
What do we hear at Christmas time? Do you hear what I hear? I hear hordes of people milling about in the malls, getting pushier and pushier as the number of shopping days decreases. Above the din I hear the blast of Christmas carols, or some semblance thereof, and somewhere in there I hear the ringing of Salvation Army bells, reminding me that in a city as wealthy as our own the homeless have to rely on loonies and toonies.
It's a noisy season, and even in the less noisy confines of my car I hear the silent shouts of drivers as they try to manoeuvre through traffic, cut off by a more aggressive driver, their flailing arms punctuating the shouts that I can almost hear. I do hear the harsh sounds of confrontation as people use their car horns to argue over a parking place.
Do you hear what I hear? I hear the quiet pain of those who have lost a loved one and are facing their first Christmas without him or her. I hear the silent sighs of those who are dreading Christmas because it accentuates their loneliness. I hear the divisive sounds of family conflict as the stress of this holiday season takes its relational toll.
I also hear arguments about what to call this season. Is is the "Twelve Days of Giving"? Is it a "no-name" holiday? A headline in The Ottawa Citizen, for example, told me that it intended to publish a "list of holiday concerts," but it never identified the holiday! (Luciano DiNardo, "The holiday no one dares name," Ottawa Citizen, November 27, 2002, A15) I hear arguments about what to name the tree on which, for some reason, we hang some kind of ornaments this time of year and under which we place some kind of presents, addressed to whomever, from someone. ("It's A Christmas Tree: Mayor Mel," City of Toronto news release, November 22, 2002; Rondi Adamson, "Yes, politically correct professionals, there is a Christmas," Ottawa Citizen, date?, 2002)
I don't blame that woman in the comic strip for seeking refuge in church; there's a lot of noise out there. Above the nuisance noise and far more troubling is the loud rattling of sabres--the sounds of war! Governments welcome "faith-based initiatives" with respect to domestic poverty but are quite deaf to any faith-based initiative that opposes war against Iraq. Though the strong majority of Christian leaders oppose such a war; though the church protest of the imminent war is significant, both in its breadth and its early clarity, compared with other recent wars; though an attack on Iraq could set a precedent for preemptive war, further destabilize the Middle East, and fuel even more terrorism, the sabre rattling is drowning out any voices of dissent. (Jim Wallis, "Is Bush deaf to church doubts on Iraq war?" The Boston Globe, December 9, 2002)
Can You Hear Anything in the Wilderness?
Our reading from the prophet Isaiah begins with the familiar words that Jesus quoted when he visited the synagogue in Nazareth: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor," and so on. (Luke 4:16-21) However, the context in which this good news was announced was anything but good news. Firstly, it was addressed to "to the oppressed," to the "brokenhearted," to "captives," and to "prisoners". (Isaiah 61:1) It was addressed to those "who mourn," (61:2), to those covered with the "ashes ...of mourning," and those suffering from a "faint spirit". (61:3)
Isaiah's words are addressed to those who returned from exile only to find their homeland devastated; verse 4 refers to them as "ruined cities, the devastations of many generations." (61:4) In fact, the latter phrase, "devastations of many generations," may indicate that the exiles--some of them--had already been back for several generations and still the re-building of the nation was not done. The length of time it took for the returned exiles to rebuild the cities of Judah certainly disturbed Nehemiah (Nehemiah 1:1-4) and other prophets (Haggai 1:4).
Can we hear what Isaiah heard? When he looked around he heard the cries of the poor, the whimpers of those who had been oppressed so long they didn't even know how to handle freedom. Isaiah heard the plaintive cries of the brokenhearted, the dispirited talk of long-term prisoners. He heard mourning and lament and discouragement, for the devastation overwhelmed those who had looked forward to coming home.
I get somewhat the same impression from our Gospel reading, where John the Baptist is struggling to be heard. John was a colourful figure, to be sure, and he did capture the imagination of many but his voice is described as a voice in the wilderness. (John 1:23) It's a prophetic designation but it also conveys the idea that he isn't getting much of a hearing--a little like the old philosophical chestnut about a tree falling in the forest, and if no one is there to hear it, does it actually make a sound?
John is described as a witness (John 1:7), there to testify (1:7 and 8) to someone greater than he (1:27), but there is not a little confusion about this. Attention is focussed on John, but people are not even sure about him! Is this Elijah? Is this some other prophet? Is this indeed the Messiah?
There is a striking phrase in verse 26. Though the crowds keep pressing John to reveal his identity, John keeps pointing to someone else. "Among you," says John, "stands one whom you do not know...." (John 1:26) An enigmatic answer, to be sure. As one of our hymns phrases it, he--whoever he is--comes to us as one unknown! ("He comes to us as one unknown," Hymnal: A Worship Book, #498)
No Ear May Hear His Coming, But ...
It is hard to hear a voice in the wilderness when you don't expect to hear much there. It's hard to hear a divine message with a Galilean accent when one is listening for it in a more cultured voice and in more elegant turns of phrase. It's hard to hear a witness testify to someone who is hard to recognize. It's hard to hear a word of hope when you are surrounded by desolation and despair. It's hard to hear a prayer for peace among the din of bombs and missiles hitting the enemy! It's hard to hear a word of grace amid shouts of hostility and vengeance. In fact, one of our Christmas carols tells us that "no ear may hear his coming...." ("O Little Town of Bethlehem," Hymnal: A Worship Book, #191)
It takes a sensitive ear to hear Christ's coming amidst the many sounds the Christmas season has accumulated. In John Keats' (1795-1821) poem, "Ode to a Nightingale," Keats describes his frustrated inability to attune himself to the nightingale's inspiring melody:
Listening is hard work, perhaps an art, certainly a cultivated skill. Apparently you can tell if a person is listening to you if you watch his or her eyes. The attentive listener blinks at least once every three or four seconds. If you're talking to someone and they blink every ten seconds or longer, chances are they're thinking about what to have for lunch!
It takes a sensitive ear to hear Christ's coming--a sensitive ear, an attentive ear, a disciplined ear, an ear attuned to wonder and to the unexpected, for who would have expected the Messiah to come as a child? But then, who would expect any joy in the midst of the desolation and despair that forms the backdrop for our Isaiah reading? Yet there, in the midst of poverty, oppression, captivity, broken hearts and faint spirits, we find "good news," hands ready to "bind up" the brokenhearted, voices ready to "proclaim liberty" to captives, "release" to prisoners, and an eagerness to proclaim the "year of the Lord's favour". (Isaiah 61:1-2) There is "comfort" for those who mourn. People are handed "garlands" instead of ashes, the "oil of gladness" and a "mantle of praise". (61:2-3) The ruins are giving way to new construction, ruined cities are being repaired! (61:4)
Our reading from Isaiah ends with a song of thanksgiving! "I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, my whole being shall exult in my God; for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation, he has covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. ...the Lord God," says Isaiah, "will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations." (61:10-11)
Our call to worship from the Psalms has a similar tone of joy and exultation. Speaking out of a context similar to that addressed by Isaiah, the psalmist says, "When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. ...our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then it was said among the nations, ‘The Lord has done great things for them.' The Lord has done great things for us, and we rejoiced." (Psalm 126:1-3)
Says our Christmas carol, "How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given! So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of the heavens. No ear may hear his coming, but ..." But! "No ear may hear his coming, but in this world of sin, where meek souls will receive him ...the dear Christ enters in." ("O Little Town of Bethlehem," Hymnal: A Worship Book, #191) May we, as we enjoy the festivities of Christmas, listen carefully for his presence among us. May we hear his song of love and peace, and hum along.
"Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--
To thy high requiem become a sod."
All quotations of Scripture, unless otherwise noted, are from the New Revised Standard Version.