Juliek – the last sonnet of a dying violinist

“For a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks.” John 4:23

In the book Night, Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel describes a moment in the concentration camp frozen in his memory. In the darkened corner of room, where the dead were slumped beside the living, his friend Juliek sat with his violin. On the brink of his own grave, he played notes pure and heavy to an audience of dead and dying men. Wiesel recalls, "[I]t was as though Juliek’s soul were the bow. He was playing his life. The whole of his life was gliding on the strings–his lost hopes, his charred past, his extinguished future. He played as he would never play again."(1)

I cannot make sense of this scene other than to say, there are times when the gravity of a song flattens us. To this day, Wiesel admits, he cannot hear the sound of a violin without memory of Juliek dismantling all other thoughts. Perhaps similarly, you have been floored by a memory locked in a melody or leveled by the words of a song. In a very real sense, these are the images of worship. The Hebrew word for worship conjures a physical image, an outward response to an inward affection; to worship the Lord whether in song or in silence means "to prostrate oneself" before the Almighty. Far too often, this is not the result of the songs I sing.

It was for such a reason that John Wesley offered his congregation a list of guidelines for singing, even providing encouragement for the one who would claim he could not. In the preface to Sacred Melody, published in 1761, he wrote, “Sing all… Let not a slight degree of weakness or weariness hinder you. If it is a cross to you, take it up and you will find a blessing.” He had in mind both the expression of the community and the heart of the individual. Sing lustily, sing modestly, and with good courage, he instructed. Wesley sought to remind all that it takes audacity to approach a God holy and mighty, and boldness to sing of a hope weighted in God’s glory. “Above all, sing spiritually,” he concluded. “Have an eye to God in every word you sing. Aim at pleasing Him more than yourself, or any other creature… [A]ttend strictly to the sense of what you sing, and see that your Heart is not carried away with the sound, but offered to God continually.”

How often do we take in the enormity of the joy set before us, the weight of the words we profess?

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.

How often do we fathom the proclamations we make in our songs?

Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood;
How His kindness yet pursues me
Mortal tongue can never tell,
Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me
I cannot proclaim it well.

And how many of the oaths we make are even unattainable without the intervention of Christ and the bold surrender of our souls?

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

On the occasions that we are leveled by God in the words we sing, it seems odd that we could ever have remained standing in the first place. Perhaps these are the times when God knocks us off our feet and leaves us like Isaiah, speechless in his presence. “The Truth must dazzle gradually,” wrote Emily Dickinson. “Or every man be blind.” Sometimes gently, sometimes fearfully, God reveals Himself to our hearts and minds.

Other times of worship require much more of us. We fight distractions and judgments, selfishness and pride. But we press on, taking thoughts captive, confessing the pride that blocks our vision, standing with determination to attend to what we sing.

Notable:

Elie Wiesel has been Distinguished Professor of Judaic Studies at the City University of New York (1972-1976), and first Henry Luce Visiting Scholar in the Humanities and Social Thought at Yale University (1982-1983). Since 1976, he has been the Andrew W. Mellon Professor in the Humanities at Boston University where he also holds the title of University Professor.

Additional Resources: Ravi Zacharias International Ministries

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