Make A Joyful Noise: A Homily for Ingathering

Rev. Peter Friedrichs

September 13, 2009

This past summer, Irene and I spent a week in a cabin on a small lake in Maine. This spot is everything you think of when you hear the words "a small lake in Maine." Shimmering, clear water. Tree-lined, rocky shores. Deep blue skies with puffy white clouds. Star-filled skies at night. Loons, calling plaintively to each other. Peace. Quiet. Tranquility.

We've been to this place the past few summers and each time we visit we notice, in this particular spot on this small lake, how well sound carries. Although they're several hundred yards away, we can hear the talking and the laughter of the families on the far shore, and I'm sure they can hear us as well. And sounds don't just carry. They echo. A dog would bark and we'd hear it reverberate off the trees and hills around us, making it sound like a canine conversation. The bullfrogs singing at dusk sounded like a full chorus as their croaking echoed up and down the lake. And the cries of those loons haunted the waters long after they had stopped calling to each other.

I may have been more tuned in to the echoes this summer after our trip to Salt Lake City earlier in the summer. There we visited the Tabernacle at Temple Square. The Tabernacle is the building where the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sings. It's a beautiful, large concert hall with wood paneling and a domed roof that seats about 8,000 people. Every day they offer free organ recitals there, and I attended one while I was taking a break from General Assembly. Before each concert begins, the organist demonstrates how well sound carries throughout the hall. Built in the 1870's before amplifiers and microphones, the Tabernacle is considered as close to acoustically perfect as any room in the world. I sat about half-way back from the stage and listened as the organist stood up front, turned his back to the audience and said a few words in a normal speaking voice. It was amazing to hear every word. He then took a sheet of newspaper and slowly tore it in half, and it sounded like he was standing right next to me. Finally, he took a pin and dropped it on a table, and we could all literally hear the pin drop. Of course, when he finally sat down and played the first chords of the 11,000-pipe organ it just about blew us out of our seats!

So, as I say, I was perhaps "tuned into" sounds and how they carry when I was sitting on the shore of that lake in Maine. But the echoing really caught my attention the whole week. We know that an echo is the reflection of a sound bouncing off an object and returning to its source. In this case, sounds carried easily across the water (because there is nothing to get in their way), and the hills and trees surrounding the lake reflected them back to us. And because we were surrounded on all sides by trees and hills, the sound bounced back and forth across the lake with amazing clarity and repetition. It didn't make any difference what the sound was - a screen door slamming, a baby crying, a loon calling, a frog croaking - all these sounds reverberated across the cove.

Since that time on the lake in July I've been thinking about the sounds we make and the things we do, and how they echo and how they linger. What we say and, more importantly, what we do, has a lasting effect for a long time after we've spoken or acted. We've all been in the situation where we've said or done something that we wished we hadn't, and we've had that sinking feeling when we realize we can't take it back. Once it's out there, it's echoing around, and we cringe knowing it. As the saying goes, you can't un-ring the bell. You can, of course, apologize and try to help heal the wounds you've caused, but it'll never be like it never happened. But the same goes for the good things, too. An encouraging word, a friendly smile, a helping hand can make a difference far beyond the time and effort it takes to offer them. The echoes of our words and our deeds will bounce around us in ways we can never anticipate. Folk singer Dar Williams puts it this way:

In our story today you heard about how we find the principle of the Golden Rule through time and across cultures and religions. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." It's such a simple rule and it's often so hard to live out. But what if we could do it? What if we always put ourselves in another's shoes before we acted? What if, in the words of St. Francis, we sought first to understand, rather than to be understood? To console, rather than to be consoled? To love rather than to be loved? Think about the echoes that would reverberate through our congregation! Sounds of joy and laughter. Of hope and faith. Of love and understanding. And think how those echoes would spread throughout our larger community.

As we embark on a new church year, let us be tuned into the sounds we make and how they echo. Let's commit to ourselves and to each other that we will strive to embody the Golden Rule and to make a "joyful noise" whenever we can. Amidst the challenges that we face, let us celebrate all the gifts that we have been given. Let us raise our voices and sing the songs of praise and thanksgiving. Let us embrace each other in feelings of mutual respect and shared commitment. And after we have made our joyful noises, let us listen for the echoes. For the echoes of our joy will be peace, hope, gratitude and love. May they ring out all around us.

May it be so.

^[1] Dar Williams, "Echoes," from the CD My Better Self

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