Truth on the door frame

“If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:
THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC.” ― Kurt Vonnegut

First things first.

I'm not the realest. My name probably does not synchronize to a beat when I spell it aloud. I have never taken Physics, and if I had you can bet that I would have made a solid F. I'm not fancy. There is nothing fancy here. I'm muddy hair and unaware.

There's a place where I go and my lack of fancy is met with the sweet sound of music. The place where I find myself standing every Sunday morning in the middle of worship allows me to be just what I am. There are so many times I've tried to sing harmonies. There are so many times I've tried to stay in one key. Yet, even after years of choir I'm still just that--meant for a choir. I used to be annoyed by the fact that I needed others. Gross right? Especially when any good I could have made alone only would have been amplified by other voices. Sometimes in life though we want to be fancy.

We think if we only get somewhere on our own accord. If we could only look impressive. If I could only sing well alone. If only.

Today when my feet were on the hardwood, and I was in the midst of my family at Grace and Peace I saw something. We aren't fancy. We don't have to be fancy.

I looked up at the projected words falling on the wall and the door frame. The usual white drape did not hang to catch the words. Instead, truth hung on the door frame. My thoughts went to those in Egypt during the first Passover and the blood they put over their door frames to protect them from the plague coming to Egypt that night. I thought how that symbol was to protect them from God's wrath. I imagined how strange it must have looked to everyone in Egypt passing by. I thought of the fear, despite God's promise to protect the first born if this symbol was present.

It was the truth they had written on there door frames. It was a symbol to God that they believed He would do what He said He would do. Now, some thousands of years later here I am looking at a door frame with the lyrics of a hymn bent over the curve that meets the door. Here God is still who He was to those in Egypt. Here I sing "Hallelujah the Great Physician has come, He is a lion and He will seek us and forgive us."

All of this, our voices, and some blue ink on a transparency--there was nothing fancy about it, nothing fancy about us, yet there was something fancy within our praise. Our song was simple, but we were singing truth. Our rhythm was strong because He is strong. Our worship was sincere because He is sincere. Those ordinary voices were telling God how grateful they are.

Could there be anything more beautiful than the sound of truth?

Done being fancy? I am.

"You are holy
Holy are you Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb."

Agnus Dei