A Musical Apologetic

I have thought about and even defended propositional apologetic issues for some time now. There is a war-mentality and a thickness of skin that comes with such territory. That is why apologetics of wonder and beauty have been so refreshing lately. It seems to be a field that many apologists find after exhausting their minds and sometimes their hearts in the classical battles.

As a young man, early in the game, this discovery brings joy to my apologetic pursuits. I have thought a lot about the topic of beauty and wonder as signposts for the existence of God lately, and I find myself spiritually enjoying such endeavors more deeply than others in this discipline. There seems to be so much exploration to be done in this field of ammunition against secularism. I am convinced Owen Strachan is correct when he says:

“Naturalism funds no wonder. Naturalism is only:

chance wearing beauty's mask,

unvarnished dogmatism presenting as humility,

religion in scientific robes,

brutality without gentleness,

chaos masquerading as law,

raw power cloaked as "progress."

There is much to advance in light of this deficiency in the naturalistic worldview, but once in a while, as one should in all apologetic issues, I try to savor what it is I am presenting. C.S. Lewis puts it bluntly, “A man can’t always be defending the truth; there must be a time to feed on it.” So, this is my attempt to do such a thing. Recently, I was listening to a classical piece of music that overwhelmed my soul. I immediately stopped to reflect and worship in the moment. The result was somewhat of a short journal-type entry on the wonder of God in music.

THE REFLECTION

Music has such a deep tug on my heart at times. The desire is to numb my sobriety and ignite my emotions. To “feel” something. A need for my soul and senses to be wrung out like a soppy dish rag draws me to the speakers. Soundtracked thoughts stimulate a transcendent experience.

It is not lyrical music; no, it's simply the stroke of piano keys, the strum of instruments. Words dictate the focus of the sound. Religious songs direct us to a liturgical destination while the secular evokes romantics or situational feelings. Verses narrow the experience and map the ride too much.

But the solo sound of a gloomy nocturne carries me away to the past, on roads I’d forgotten. The merging streams of a symphony export me to worlds I never knew. Unlike the lyrics, these sounds are boundless, taking the hearer beyond what words can express. This music groans and explodes creating a scream in my spirit.

I long for a deeper sensation, one that lasts longer than the notes. Is music the anthem calling attention to what I’ve lost? Flickers of a beauty I somehow know but have never seen? It makes me feel like a pilgrim reminiscing on a distant homeland, or an orphan vaguely recalling the sound of her father’s voice.

Music evokes an endless capacity to feel and think. The notes take me below sea level and above airspace searching for the heights and depths of God. He is not the music, nor is he in the music. Rather, the sounds produce an aroma that shoots the entire person towards a Being from which all such transcendent beauty was baked.

C.S. Lewis, in The Weight of Glory, warned, “The books or the music in which we thought beauty was located will betray us if we trust in them. It was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing.” I feel this yank of longing beyond the gifts, but do my blind friends see beyond the instruments? May God use such treasures to lead those in the dark to the face behind the veil. My heart aches for the dead around me to know the Composer of the music that pierces their souls and the sound that fills their lives.

EXTRAS:

If you would like to know the piece that lead me to such a reflection here it is: Edward Elgar - Cello Concerto in E minor (Op.85)

For a playlist of other classical pieces I find incredible, see my playlist on Spotify: The Greatest