 |
|||||||||||
|
|||||||||||
 |
PRIMATE'S MEDITATION
On the Badarak: From the Winter 2002 issue of Armenian Church Magazine
Sing Unto the Lord
O sing unto the Lord a new song;
sing unto the Lord, all the earth.
Sing unto the Lord, bless His name;
show forth His salvation from day to day.
Declare His glory among the nations,
His wonders among all people.
For the Lord is great, and greatly to be praised:
He is to be feared above all things.
The gods of the nations are idols:
but the Lord made the heavens.
Honor and majesty are before Him:
strength and beauty are in His sanctuary.
(Psalm 96:1-6; cf. 1 Chronicles 16:23-33)
These words from the Book of Psalms express what should be in our hearts every time we gather for worship. But Psalm 96 also sheds light on an important aspect of our "Year of the Holy Badarak." Whether we serve on the altar or in the congregation, much of our participation in the Divine Liturgy involves singing, and this Psalm asks us to think about the larger significance of that action.
The word "psalm" means "song," and this particular psalm is a song about singing. More precisely, this song reminds us about the special role that singing plays in our worship of God. "Sing unto the Lord; bless His name," the psalm goes; "Declare His wonders among all people." It is almost as if singing is a special language, which we should use when we try to speak of God. The psalm even gives us direction on how to sing about God, when it says: "Honor and majesty are before Him: strength and beauty are in His sanctuary."
Majesty. Strength. Beauty. What better words are there to describe the chants and hymns of the badarak? Indeed, these are the qualities that our singing in church must strive to convey. It is through song that man gives voice to his most profound feelings: our noblest aspirations, our greatest joys, our deepest sorrows. We turn to song when our sentiments are too powerful, too beautiful, too moving, to be expressed through mere speech.
To compare great things to small: Think of the way singing is used in an opera, or even in a Broadway musical. It transports the story out of the tired, everyday world of talk and prose, to an inner world of vibrant beauty and profound human feeling. Watching such a production, one is perfectly aware that the real world we inhabit is very different; and yet, one has the overwhelming feeling that it would be wonderful to actually live in such an alien world.
In a deeper way, our singing in church is meant to have a similar effect on us. I suppose that is why singing is such a large part of our liturgical tradition. Indeed, singing as an element of worship dates back beyond the beginnings of the Armenian Church, beyond even the beginnings of Christianity, to the Old Testament world of the prophets and patriarchs. Many of the most poetic passages in the Bible were originally songs, which the ancient Israelites sang to describe or communicate with God.
But aside from the "artistic" contribution singing makes to our worship, can it tell us anything about how we ought to live? After all, Christianity is not primarily an artistic experience, but a moral one. The beauty of the expressions of Christian art--singing among them--are merely reflections of the beauty of the Christian way of life. What does singing teach us about that way of life?
I think the following story provides an answer. We are told that the psalm quoted above was sung by King David, on a very important occasion: the day the Ark of the Covenant was brought into Jerusalem (see 1 Chronicles 15-16). The Ark was the holiest relic of the ancient Israelites, and would eventually be housed in the holiest place of Solomon's great Temple, which would be built in the generation after King David. By bringing the Ark into Jerusalem, David was laying the "moral cornerstone," so to speak, of his people's worship.
It was a joyous day, and all the Israelites turned out to see the spectacle. They traveled from their tribal lands to the Holy City, and one can imagine the voices in the crowded streets, the discord of so many people speaking at once--people from the different tribes of Israel, which were themselves sometimes in conflict with one another. As king, it was David's task to unite these people, under one nation, one God, in spite of their differences.
Just before the Ark entered the city, he did a curious thing. David pointed to various members of his royal guard, and made them into a chorus. These were soldiers, but in the presence of God, they were transformed into singers. They entered the city not as fighting men, but in perfect harmony.
Perhaps this is the lesson David taught his people. For the Israelites, too, had many different voices. In the crowd, those voices conflicted with each other, and all one heard was noise. But David's point seems to have been that those same voices, blended together in the right way, could yield something beautiful.
We should try to remember this every Sunday, when we hear the harmony of our choirs singing praises to God in His holy sanctuary. And we should remember, too, that the harmony we attain in this world moves us one step closer to that greater world of majesty, strength and beauty--where singing never ceases.
? Archbishop Khajag Barsamian