A Melody with Cannons

A Melody with Cannons--September 1, 2016

"So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation." [2 Corinthians 5:17-18]

It's like the 1812 Overture.  Grace, that is.  Grace has this way of making us new, transforming all we already were while somehow keeping us recognizably the same.  I am, day by day, in a state of being born all over again--a new me, every day, and yet still me.

That's why I say it's like the 1812 Overture.  You surely know that famous piece of music by Tchaikovsky (it gets played a lot on the 4th of July, in movies and pop culture, and is of course well known for being one of those few pieces of classical music written with a part for actual live cannons to play in the music itself).  If you can't recall the music in your mind, go ahead and Google it right now.  Watch or listen on YouTube; go ahead, I'll wait....  

So anyway, there is this melody at the very beginning of the piece which is actually a hymn from the Russian Orthodox Church--it's called, "Spasi, Gospodi, Iyudi Tvoya," which in English means, "O Lord, Save Thy People." Anyway, at the start of the piece, this hymn melody is carried by the strings, and it's lovely but in a sort of somber, haunting way.  Then comes the strife--the tension in the music as Tchaikovsky plays out the conflict between his own Russia and Napoleon's French forces, with the war being described in the music itself.  And then, finally at the end of the piece, the old hymn melody comes back--but now it is sheer triumph.  It is the same melody from the beginning--so in a sense, it feels like the music is starting over. But at the same time, nobody would mistake the mood at the end for the mood at the beginning.  The brass belts out the melody, while church bells are playing in the background, strings are fluttering, and it's clear there story has reached victory and vindication. The sadness is gone from the melody, and now there is only, well, glory.  They are the same notes, but they are transformed, too.  We are back at the beginning, but at the same time it is like a whole new thing is happening.  It's like a whole new creation.

That's what the Christian story is all about--the way God starts over with us, yet in such a way that we are still "us," even while we are transformed.  That's what forgiveness is about. That's what reconciliation is about. That's what resurrection is about.  God takes the "old" us, including whatever is broken, whatever is sinful, whatever is estranged, and whatever is dead in us, and starts over with us--a new beginning that somehow holds onto the "me-ness" of me and the "you-ness" of you.  The melody is the same, but somehow we are different--like God takes the broken, dissonant harmonies from before and makes them sound triumphant... like God takes all we are and have been through, and redeems those things, so that they are not lost or erased, but part of the beauty in the end.  If you take just the last two minutes' worth of the 1812 Overture, you will hear the "triumph" part, but it will have lost its connection to all the turmoil that has come before.  That's not how God starts over with us--God doesn't pretend that all we have been through in life doesn't matter, but rather God takes those things and uses them, building them into the transformation.

Like I say, in a sense, that's what happens in a million different ways throughout our life in Christ.  Forgiveness is not when we pretend the wrongs of the past didn't happen--it's when they are named, and then there is the choice not to be bound by those past hurts any longer, on either side.  Reconciliation--between friends, family members, anybody, even between us and God--does the same: the old estrangements or disagreements can be named, and then rather than bailing out and making a new friend with someone else, the old relationship becomes new again, starting over.  And when God does the same with a human life itself, we call that resurrection--it's not that God makes a new "blank" person and slaps your name on it after you die, but that God raises you up, you in all your you-ness.  All our lives long God is starting over with us, beginning again with us.  It's like coming to the end of a piece of music and hearing the same notes from the first measure, and yet hearing them in a whole new way.

This whole month, we'll be taking a look at the different ways that happens in our lives--the ways that grace starts over with us. Not that grace replaces us with a new model, like some sitcom character buying a new fish and as a replacement for the one he overfed and hoping that his sister won't notice.  But rather that grace takes us with all of our drama, our brokenness, our world-weariness and the wear on our tires, and transforms us while holding on to what makes us... us.

And even though that new creation includes life beyond death in our great Easter hope, it is happening now already, in you and around you.  It happens day by day as you and I are born all over again, starting over without forgetting where we have been.

Today, how will you and I sing the same melody but in a new key, with a new harmony, as new creatures starting over again on an ordinary Thursday?

Lord God, make us over again today--make us new creations.