Tomorrow, December 14, will mark the 30th anniversary of the premier of Philadelphia, a film based on the HIV/AIDS crisis that seemingly took over our national attention at the time. I remember wanting to watch the movie simply because of the lead actors in Tom Hanks and Denzel Washington, but instead, I was actually reeled into the story. Hanks plays a lawyer who was terminated by a most prestigious firm, who were doing their best to hide their actual reasoning. Washington plays a fellow attorney, one of the last willing to take on the case. In the end, art as a whole is often meant to serve as a mirror on our human condition, compelling us to dig deeper than the bare surface of living we’re often most comfortable staying.
Every once in a while, we can point to a specific moment to explain why a certain song sticks with us. We can remember exactly where we were; perhaps, even the exact day. This is the case for me when it comes to “Isaiah in a Vision Did of Old” (ELW 868). I had just made it to the big-kid choir on the college campus. It’s not that I had that great of a voice, to be honest. It was probably more so becase my vocal range could hit a few of those bassiest bass notes, at the time, and choir directors tend to appreciate that to give them more options in selecting certain pieces of music. One of the biggest “events” this choir participated in was the Reformation worship in the evening on the last Sunday of October.
I never heard this hymn until I got to seminary, one of those “higher level of institutions” that is meant to broaden your horizons or something. I had my standard way of haphazardly reading the Bible until college. That’s when I started to take into account what the Scripture meant for the people thousands of years ago, and how that context, not to mention literary and story-telling styles, cannot be overlooked when we consider what it can mean for us today. Seminary was meant to take that whole application process to a level of communal depth, not just for individual congregations, but shaping the wider church to play a role in helping bring God’s dream to a deeper reality in the present time, as if it wasn’t meant to be completely off-limits to a distant heaven.
I honestly cannot tell you where or when I first heard this hymn, but it has stuck with me for several years now. I chose it as the first one to be played and sung as people came up to receive Communion during my ordination: “Thine the Amen” (ELW 826). I wasn’t overly comfortable getting so much attention that day. It turned out to be rather draining, quite honestly. Ministry as a whole, not just with pastors, but for all of us, can have that tiring effect. That isn’t to say some of us have our moments of appreciating being recognized for what we’ve done in the sacrifice department (some of us pastors have our rather egotistical moments, too).
Sometimes, I worry about the church as a whole being bogged down in hopelessness, being convinced our best days are behind us: those days when we had to get to the sanctuary so many minutes before worship commenced. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a seat for us. As if there was more God to be awed over, then, more Jesus flowing through our hearts, more Holy Spirit rushing through the church building. As if our happiness and joy can only be found looking back as opposed to looking forward; not so sure what God could possibly do with our current resources. Sure, God could pull off a universal-altering Resurrection inside a tomb of nothingness, but this?
