The song they couldn't stop

A man with a song

There's a story I've told a few times now. It keeps coming back to me because it's so deeply wise.

A man in a prisoner of war camp goes out into the exercise yard one day. The prisoners are wandering around in groups. He takes his guitar and begins to strum and sing — a song that's pure and sweet and beautiful, filled with peace and hope. The prisoners gather around as he sways and plays and sings. They're caught up in the beauty and the wonder. And for a moment, they escape the confines of their prison and experience the freedom this man knows.

The prison guards grow tense and anxious. They get word to stop it, to put an end to it. So they take the man out and give him a good beating. They break his fingers, his hands, and beat him up. That'll finish it.

But the next day, there he is with his guitar and his broken fingers and his bruised body. He starts to strum a little, move, and sing in this pure and sweet voice. The prisoners gather around. They sway and hum and move to the melody, caught up again in its beauty. And again, they're transported out of the prison into a place of freedom and life that this man knows.

The prison guards are told: just put an end to it properly. So they smash his guitar. They cut his tongue out. They leave him beaten in his cell.

The next day, the man comes out again. Body bruised and broken. Hands broken. No tongue. No guitar. And he begins to sway and hum to the tune he hears in his head. Then he begins to dance. The other prisoners gather around him. They begin to sway and then to dance, until the whole group is caught up in this song he can hear and that they can now hear and feel in themselves. Again they're transported into this place of peace and freedom and life outside the prison.

The guards are told to end it properly. They beat him mercilessly. They break his legs. They leave him — this bloodied, beaten bundle lying in the middle of his cell, helpless and hopeless.

The next day, friends carry him out. This disfigured, beaten, bruised body. They lay him gently down in the middle of the exercise yard. And there he moves his head in time to the song he can hear, this pure and gentle song. He closes his eyes and there's this gentle, peaceful look as he sways to the music. The prisoners gather around. They begin to sway with him. They begin to do the dance. In him, out of him, is this song, and they feel it.

And there's nothing the guards can do to stop it.

A peace nothing can contain

This man knew peace. And when someone knows peace and freedom deeply within, nothing can contain them. No cell, no violence, no beating — nothing can take that freedom, that peace, that life away.

This is what Jesus invites us into. This is the way Jesus lives out in our world. He speaks of the way of peace, of life, of freedom, of justice, of hope, of love, and the flourishing of all people.

Nowhere is this clearer than at the beginning of Matthew's story of Jesus. Matthew portrays Jesus as a new and greater Moses. There are so many connections he makes to the Moses story — a Joseph who hears God speak in dreams, for example. But at the beginning, Jesus goes up a mountain, just as Moses did after he led the Hebrew people out of Egypt, out of slavery, and went up Mount Sinai to receive the commandments — what it means to be the people of God.

Jesus goes up the mountain and delivers the Sermon on the Mount. In Luke's version, it's the Sermon on the Plain. But the mountain matters for Matthew. And right at the start of this sermon are the Beatitudes. Eight little statements — indicative statements of what blessing is.

Blessed are the ones the world overlooks

In the world we live in, there is so much emphasis on accumulation and wealth, power and status. Having more. Having better. The more we've got — the more luxury, the more experiences, the more things we can do and accumulate — the more blessed we believe we are. Or the more blessed we're told we are.

And yet Jesus reverses this.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit" (Matthew 5:3, NIV). Those who know they are not whole and full within themselves. Who can't make it alone but need others, and ultimately need the grace of God. Who are poor in spirit and reach out to the one who can bring life to them.

"Blessed are those who mourn" (Matthew 5:4, NIV). Those who hold not just their own pain and anguish, but that of those around them and the world. Scott Peck, the psychiatrist who wrote The Road Less Traveled, speaks of the healthiness of some depression. He says some people are so gentle and so deeply connected with life and people that they feel the pain and suffering of others and the world, and they hold it within them. We have people in the church who pray in that way — who hold the pain and struggles of others in prayer. Blessed are those who mourn.

"Blessed are the meek" (Matthew 5:5, NIV). Those who are humble. Who are not arrogant. Who recognise their own limitations and their need for others and their sharing of life with one another — over and against the narcissistic megalomaniacs and dictators who run much of our world, who have no self-awareness but are so self-centred.

"Blessed are the pure in heart" (Matthew 5:8, NIV). Those who seek what is good and right and true and deep and gentle and beautiful.

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness" (Matthew 5:6, NIV). Those who hunger and thirst for justice and who work for it. Who advocate and live and strive for a just and fair world, but do it in a way that's not violent — not in rhetoric or physical violence. People like Martin Luther King Jr. and Gandhi and many others who stand up for what is right. And when they do, the powers of the world retaliate — as they did with Martin Luther King, with Gandhi, with Jesus.

"Blessed are the peacemakers" (Matthew 5:9, NIV). Those who put themselves into the place of conflict and tension and make peace through reconciliation and forgiveness and conversation and relationship.

"Blessed are the merciful" (Matthew 5:7, NIV). Those who reach out with mercy to others. Who look at the other — who is different — not in fear or judgment, but reach out in mercy and love.

"Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness" (Matthew 5:10, NIV). Blessed are those who are persecuted for doing the right thing, as Jesus himself was.

Why the powerful fight back

Because when we live in this way, there is flourishing. There is flourishing among the little ones — the impoverished, the poor, the sick, the struggling, the outcasts, most of us who are yearning for something more and long for peace.

And when we all flourish like that, those who are in control, those who have power and might, those who control things and benefit from that control — they lose some of their control. And they fight back. They won't allow love and justice and peace to reign, because it weakens their power.

We're invited into this way of life that is truly blessed. And it means some sense of letting go. Letting go of our need to be in control. To be humble. Poor in spirit. Reaching out in love for those who need help. Mourning with those who mourn. Being merciful. Making peace. Hungering and thirsting for justice. Seeking purity of heart.

When we reach out in these ways, we will find our life enriched — as will others. And we'll find ourselves as part of a community of love and grace.

What does God actually want?

One of the great Old Testament prophets asks the question: "What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God" (Micah 6:8, NIV).

This is the way of life. It's countercultural. It's radical. It takes courage. But it's the way of life for our world. It will bring hope and peace to people and to the very earth itself.

This is the way of Jesus.

So here's the question worth sitting with: What would it look like, today, to let go of one thing you're gripping tightly — one piece of control, one judgment, one fear — and reach out instead? Not as a grand gesture. Just as a small act of the kind of life Jesus describes. The kind of life that, like that man's song, can't be stopped.