God.

I listened to Messiah the other night straight through.

I mean, I listen to the recording, three records, six sides. I listen one side over and over, and then flip the record.

But this is in person, with other people. People we know. Our daughter in the middle of it, on the line between chorus and orchestra.

I got to hear it straight through, apart from the annoying clapping from people who thought expressing their feelings was more important than hearing the words.

“All we like sheep have gone astray. We have turned everyone to his own way.” It’s a phrase from Isaiah, understood in an agrarian culture, and echoed in every place humans gather.

The chorus “All we like sheep” is written by Handel, performed by chorus and orchestra, as 18^th century musical chaos. (I qualify that because, as you know, 20^th century musical chaos is cacophony. Noise, though I appreciate it). This is more like well meaning people looking everywhere, bouncing back and forth, throwing words and music fragments across the stage.

Until. The sentence is finished. “. . . and the Lord has laid on him the inequity of us all.”

The pitch descends. The weight of that burden slowly falls. The heart of the drama. The chaos of our hearts gathered into the slowed beating heart of Jesus, stopping. You lived it. And died it. I have seen it, the dying part anyway.

And then people clapped.

I was so frustrated. Don’t they hear what I hear, God? Why do they have to ruin everything with their focus on performative clapping? Can’t they listen the way I do? You know?

But you do know.

Sorry.

Amen.