That's why I sing

Dhóxa Si to dhíxandi to Fós,
Dhóxa en ypsístis Theó,
Kai epi ghís iríni, en anthrópis evdhokía…

Going to and coming from the mailbox, where I dropped off my November election ballot, I sang this ancient Greek chant, not too loudly but naturally, and with gusto. The weather was cool, evening was still light, the wind hadn’t picked up yet to play with the golden autumn leaves, which the gardeners hadn’t any intention of raking up for another week. I sang the chant over and over again—it is about two blocks each way—with the short hymn, ‘Símeron sotiría to kósmo ghégonen’ between each reprise.

Walking abroad and singing aloud, especially Greek chants, is what I like to do if I must walk alone. Sometimes I sing while riding my bike, but then, I sing French songs, like ‘Marima Kabalingué, ma petite amie d'Afrique, a promis de servir Dieu, chaque jour d'un cœur joyeux, désormais sur cette terre, se soumettra pour lui plaire …’

Why do I sing? Well, how can I not? I am alive. I am following behind the Living God who has not considered it beneath His dignity to become a man. I sing because He sings.

To sing and chant in the open air, just as reading the Word of God aloud in open places, opens my soul, enlarges me so that as small as I am, I can take in the whole world, transfigures me so that as particular as I am, I can scatter myself widely and be all things to all men. What was never mine only, but always the gift of the Most High, I feel my song offers to everything and everyone I pass. I used to stop singing at the approach of strangers, but no longer. If a smile can heal, a kind word encourage, what of a song?

The Good News of Jesus Christ, His victory over sin and death, His resurrection which takes on its true meaning and glory when it is reflected in us, His living images, this is what gives Voice to my heart. This is what puts wind in my sails, what drives me joyfully before it to the uttermost East, as I sing with Noah in the ark, with Moses and Miriam treading the Red Sea ‘with unmoistened foot’, with Paul and his companions taking ship to evangel new lands.

I want to sing notoriously like Patrick of Ireland, ‘I arise in vast might, in vocation of the Trinity, belief in a Threeness, confession of Oneness, towards the Creator!’ and solemnly like Francis of Assisi, ‘Most High, all-powerful, all-good Lord, all praise is Yours, all glory, honor and blessings, to You alone, Most High, do they belong, no mortal lips are worthy to pronounce Your Name.’ Not without good reason says the holy apostle, ‘With gratitude in your hearts sing psalms and hymns and inspired songs to God.’ (Colossians 3:16).

Still I haven’t arrived at what I wanted to say.
It’s something like this…

When I am singing in praise of Jesus, whether the song is a Greek chant, a modern hymn or song, whatever it is that my heart wants to offer out of the gladness I feel in knowing and being known by Christ, I can feel and know, not just believe, that every word that God says is true, that His most Holy Scriptures, and all the profound and beautiful lives lived in that House whose door is low and humble but whose roof is high and veiled in mystery, all are true, pure, mighty, eternal, and full of grace.

It was a humble errand I went on, to mail my election ballot, walking down an ordinary street to deposit it in a plain, blue mailbox. I am just everyday people, nobody special. To the world, I am just a number. What the world cannot see is Who is walking with me, what they cannot comprehend is the Source of my joy.

And there are hearts out there as hungry, as thirsty, as mine. The Living Bread that is given for me can feed more than me, more than five thousand. The Living Water quenches all thirst, and forever.

That’s why I sing.