Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus

During the last two months, the choral society with which John and I sing has been working on Dvorak's Requiem, and our concert was, unfortunately, yesterday.  Those who know us well know that we believe new covenant Christians are joyfully to keep and celebrate Sunday, the Lord's Day, as the basic equivalent of the old covenant Sabbath.  That's why I put in the word "unfortunately."  Sometimes the legitimacy of a given activity on the Lord's Day isn't too clear, and that was true in this case.  If we'd been singing in a church service instead of a concert, it would have been a clearer "no" to me.  Surprising?  See, I definitely don't believe in worship "by proxy" as some have put it.  We know that the early Christians in the New Testament sang in worship, but the Bible doesn't say that other people, like a soloist or choir, sang on their behalf.  In fact, the privilege of direct access to the throne of God which we all share as new covenant believers seems rather contrary to such a notion.  This particular issue kept me from seeking to join any of the choirs in college, but it wasn't an issue here. 

If singing in our concert had completely interfered with attending the stated meetings of our church, it would have been a definite "no" to me as well.  We did end up singing in our concert, and this may be the area where we compromised most.  Though the concert started at 4 pm, it didn't finish in time for us to make it to the evening service, and all we could do was catch the bulk of the sermon by listening in online.  We're commanded, as Christians, not to forsake the assembling of ourselves together (Hebrews 10:25) and John and I did toe the line yesterday.  Hmm.

It would have been a clearer issue, still, if we'd been singing show tunes instead of Dvorak.  But this is deeply religious music.  Yes, it is the music of a tradition steeped in darkness, but there are precious shards of Scripture light beaming brightly through the Latin in places.  I didn't put in the work it would have required me to translate it all, but at quiet times in rehearsal last week when the soloists were singing, I worked at some of the phrases.  They were deeply moving, perhaps because they gained meaning for me word by word and couldn't be rushed over.  In some places I was overwhelmed with gratitude that we are free from the vain practice of praying for the dead.  But hearing the soloists as we approached the Sanctus turned my heart for another reason. 

A week ago on Sunday night, Pastor Andy was preaching on the glory of Christ from Isaiah 6.  As he preached, I could just about envision the seraphim--those lofty, splendid, and altogether real beings surrounding Christ's throne.  But I could not come close to seeing the King of Glory Himself in my mind's eye.  What can it mean that the train of His robe fills the temple?  I do not know if we're intended not to be able to picture Him or if my own mind is just too feeble.  The song the seraphim sing is "Holy, Holy, Holy is the LORD of hosts, The whole earth is full of His glory!"  Pastor Andy pointed out that nothing else, not justice, not love, not grace, is attributed to Christ with such repetition in the whole Bible.  Holiness is the very essence of His being. 

"Sanctus," we know, means "holy."  In fact, half of the Sanctus movement of the Requiem is the Latin translation of the seraphim's song of praise.  (The rest is "BLESSED IS HE WHO COMES IN THE NAME OF THE LORD; Hosanna in the highest!" taken from the gospels.)  That sermon and the seraphim filled my mind as I gazed up past the gothic stone arches at the light streaming through the stained glass windows in the chapel.  Holy, Holy, Holy, truly holy is He!  Somehow, thinking on Christ caused me to forget how high the notes were, and they flew out of my mouth nearly involuntarily.  And that, I think, is a little glimpse of what heaven may be like.