A Salve to Our Souls
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Two weeks ago we gathered around my 88-year old mother’s bed, and said goodbye to her with words from the Book of Common Prayer, the Bible, poetry and our memories.
It was the first time in 35 years that my siblings and I were alone with our parents.
We sang the words of songs that were salve to our souls, and that we knew would be to her’s as well. We wondered together over the words of “I Can Only Imagine:”
Surrounded by Your glory
What will my heart feel
Will I dance for You, Jesus
Or in awe of you be still
Will I stand in your presence
Or to my knees will I fall
Will I sing hallelujah
Will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine
I can only imagine
One of my sisters introduced me to the country classic “This Old House:”
Ain't got time to oil the hinges
Nor to mend no windowpane
Ain't a-gonna need this house no longer
She's a-gettin' ready to meet the saints
Ain't got time to fix the shingles
Ain't got time to fix the floor
And the other sister to “I’ll Fly Away:”
Just a few more weary days and then
I'll fly away
To a land where joy shall never end
I'll fly away
I'll fly away, oh, glory
I'll fly away
When I die, Hallelujah, by and by
I'll fly away
When we experience suffering, loss, and grief beyond our ability to articulate, songs often unlock healing in us that words alone cannot.
Twenty years ago, U2 released its album All That You Can’t Leave Behind.
The summer following the album’s release, we were in London as a family. We had planned to join our friends Larry Norman and Steve Turner to see the band’s final show, have dinner with U2’s pastor Jack Heaslip and introduce Larry to Bono. That day, however, Jack had to fly back to Ireland to prepare for the funeral of Bob Hewson, Bono’s father, who passed away the day before.
A few weeks after attending that show in England in 2001, two planes flew into the Twin Towers, one into the Pentagon and a fourth, likely targeting the Capitol, where I worked, was driven into the ground near Shanksville, Pennsylvania.
Photo from U2's 2002 Superbowl performance
9/11 deeply wounded our national heart, and U2’s 2002 Superbowl performance was one of the salves that helped soothe our collective soul.
All That You Can’t Leave Behind continued to be reborn in the hurt and hopes of our lives. My family attended several shows after the 2002 Superbowl performance, and each song U2 performed helped to mend our broken hearts, making us new as well.
“I didn’t know what they were about, anyway,” Bono said later regarding when the songs were first written. “And if a song is any good, you never really know where it ends up.”
Songs are salve to our souls, part of how we were created. David wept in the Psalms, and Jeremiah poetically cried out in Lamentations. Twenty years later we are faced COVID-19, racial outrage, burning streets, partisan polarization. Who is singing the songs to salve our wounds today?
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I came across Taylor Swift’s COVID-produced and released album, Folklore, a few weeks ago. She explicitly laments loss, but also commends courage, love and sacrifice in the midst. In her song “epiphany,” which channels Kate Bush’s “This Woman’s Work,” Swift hauntingly reminds us of our frailty, and our dependence on one another:
With you I serve, with you I fall down, down
Watch you breathe in, watch you breathing out, out
With you I serve, with you I fall down, down
Watch you breathe in, watch you breathing out
Swift sang a salve to our soul.
Our hurts and woundings run deep, and we need more healing songs like hers and U2’s to mend our broken hearts, making us new together.