July, 2009:

Written at the back of the sanctuary during the song service for Peter Dyck (March 29, 2009):

It is a tradition among our people to gather and sing on the evening of someone’s death. Songs are sung in both German and English from old, worn black (German) or green (English) hymnals that have inhabited our pews for decades. With only a piano to accompany the singing, the combined voice of God’s people in this place is the loudest instrument in the room.

These informal, agenda-free gatherings don’t need to be initiated – it is assumed that when one of the saints passes, the living saints gather to sing. Singing, the reading of scripture, and sometimes sharing are the only things that will happen; there is no agenda, no “service plan”, no sermon, and no offering.

As we sing “It Is Well With My Soul” I hear four harmonious parts rising from assembly. We are here to mourn the passing and celebrate the life of Mr. Peter Dyck, a man I know by reputation more than anything else. I knew of him when I was a child, but having only recently returned to this body of believers, I have missed a lot of their history.

By all accounts, that is not the common experience of those in attendance. I have heard it said in many ways that Peter Dyck was a pillar in this church – a member, an elder, a lay pastor. I have heard him described in the most respectful of terms: a mentor, a pillar, and a man who was faithful to the gospel – regardless of the cost. As I begin my own journey as a pastor in this body of believers, I hope to earn the honor of having the same things uttered at my own funeral.

Joining in Similar Sorrow

But why the response of singing to all of this? Music is connected to emotions. Music is cathartic – yes, even without drums, bass, guitar, and volume at 11. On a day when it is sometimes difficult to speak, to come up with new words to say, the familiar words of these songs, put deep into our hearts early in our lives, flow out of us, but with a strange, fresh relevance. It is a well-know fact (by me especially, as a songwriter) that more often than not, songs are written during times of great sorrow, sadness, and darkness. And sometimes we don’t understand the words of a song until we can join the author in a similar sorrow.

Singing together is also a foretaste of eternity. One component of our heavenly praise will be singing around the throne. This creates for those of us who are left behind a sense of the greater reality that our passed loved one is now experiencing.

But I observe that in this room, in the sanctuary where I spent the first 10 years of my life that people don’t sing like they used to. It seems to me that people once sang much louder, that they filled room with song – not with pitch perfect performance, but with vigor and enthusiasm and confidence. And now it seems that a lot of people have forgotten how to express themselves in song.

Nonetheless, when someone is torn from the fabric of the church body, singing dresses the wound and prepares it for healing. When all these voices are joined together, the one newly absent voice hardly seems absent. Still, this is the loudest singing I’ve heard since I came back here.

The service ends with the song “My Jesus, I Love Thee” and a congregational prayer – “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

After the service, the family stands at the sanctuary exit where they are embraced and consoled by those in attendance. I remember all of this happening when my grandfather died – he too was a member of this community.

I remember wanting my sorrow to be private, not wanting to share my trauma with anyone else. But eventually I joined in the singing and I remember shedding a lot of tears. I’m sure this was very good for me.