Applause of the Heart Rather than the Hands

The gospel story this coming Sunday recalls the experience of Jesus, under the watchful eye of a small cohort of his disciples, transfigured on a mountaintop while praying. In what was, by all accounts, a luminous moment -- Jesus' very visage momentarily radiant and his clothes, according to the text, dazzlingly white. And then, the story, continues, he was joined on the mountain by Moses and Elijah, heroes -- centuries-dead icons -- of the faith. It was, apparently, breathtakingly spectacular. And how did Jesus' audience react? Initially with speechless awe, and then with clumsy, but understandable, reverence. "It's good that we are here," Peter finally said. "Let's just hang out for awhile and soak it all up."

I'm thinking about this story in part, of course, because I'm scheduled to preach on it in a matter of days. But it also came to mind as we drove home tonight from the worship service. The opening service of Minister's Week, the annual lectureship of the seminary I attended, is reliably powerful. The University choir traditionally sings, the congregation of ministers and spouses actually sings the hymns with gusto, and the preaching -- unlike the majority of our own -- is routinely top shelf; and again unlike in the majority of our own sanctuaries, the ratio of people to lumber is closer to parity. There are, in other words, usually any number of "mountaintop" moments in these gatherings, and tonight's opening worship was no exception. The choir, the organ, the orchestra were all exhilarating, and the preacher had something to say and said it with power, conviction, and craft. Admittedly, I didn't notice anyone looking radioactive, and if Moses and Elijah attended I overlooked them in the crowd. But it was, those moderations notwithstanding, a high and heady -- lofty -- evening.

And, as recipients of it all, we didn't have any better idea how to respond than the disciples. For his part, Peter gushed on about how great it all was and how they ought to just bask in the glory. For our part tonight, we...

...applauded.
Incessantly.
After almost everything.
Except, I suppose, the Lord's Prayer.
After each of two musical anthems.
After the sermon
After the postlude.
We didn't remain long enough to confirm it, but the applause may well have continued into the reception that followed, in response to the coffee and cookies.

Through it all, I ached for silence.
My soul reached for the space to simply soar.
I longed to sit with the power of the moment and feel the enlarging echo of abundance.
But instead, we rolicked and clamored into the holy clearing and filled it up with clapping. Prodigally.

Hear me out on this: I'm not condemning; merely lamenting. The reaction I wished for is no more "right" than the one we delivered. It is natural to want some way to give voice to our affirmation and appreciation, and we have limited tools. Silence -- the holy ache of awe -- is the language of my soul, but I know that the heart speaks in many tongues. Sometimes, I recognize, those tongues are the palms of our hands. Unfortunately, these two alternate expressions are mutually exclusive. If I am indulged with the benefits of silence, then others are deprived of expression. If the many indulge their preference for a more voluble appreciation, then I am deprived of mine. I understand the dilemma. There is no perfect response, we are not all the same, and we can't all have our way. As a result, we clumsily stumble through; clapping, some of us, while others of us try desperately to hang onto to the ephemeral thread of what, only seconds before, resounded with a power of its own.

And so though I would have loved to hear the echoing grandeur in the moment that was its own, it's quiet now; and if I listen carefully -- if I cock my soul just right -- I still can just make out the rising voices in the song, the instruments swelling around them, the congregation lustily singing, and the Word,

inspiringly spoken,
animated,
propelled,
and finally...
...received.

And the only applause comes from the valves of my heart, quickened and, just for a moment, beating faster.

Amen.