Not Unto Us

Early December of 2017, my grandfather was in the hospital due to breathing problems. This concerned me, but he had been to the hospital and back out again, so I assumed he would be okay. A few days afterward, my family and I made a trip to Ohio for a few activities. However, when we arrived at the hotel and us kids were waiting in the car as we were being checked in, my dad walked out of the building on the phone. I watched him, trying to figure out what was going on based off of his facial expressions. Then came his tears. I immediately assumed my grandpa was already gone. But maybe not. I didn’t know, but my heart was beating quickly and I was terrified. After what felt like an hour, we finally got out of the car and I saw my sister crying. I asked what was going on and I was told my grandpa wasn’t going to make it. I was immediately thankful he hadn’t gone yet, but receiving that news is something I will never forget. Just knowing he’s going to be gone was so heartbreaking and devastating. I thought we had more time. I thought I could finally work on building a better relationship with him. Not that we were on bad terms, but I had never grown close to him and missed multiple opportunities to do so, and that’s one of my biggest regrets today.

Our plans were drastically altered, but us kids stayed in Ohio for a few days. Once we got to our room, I had been trying to hold back my tears for minutes at this point. I had no way of talking to anyone or to write anything down, and I didn’t have my bible, but what scared me the most was that I had no music to listen to and had no way of playing the piano. I remember standing in the middle of the room and having a feeling like I needed to move my hands across the keys of a piano, making music in the midst of all of this fear and terror, but I couldn’t. I sat on the edge of the bed and cried. I didn’t know how long it would be before he was gone, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to ever say anything to him again. I needed to play music. I needed something to comfort me, but there was nothing I could do. There was so much pain and absolutely nothing to soothe it, all while knowing my grandpa was in much worse pain.

Two weeks later, he was gone. There were ups and downs in his health throughout those weeks, but ultimately we just had to prepare ourselves for the impact. I listened to Frank Sinatra all of those weeks, one of his favorite artists, for no other reason than that I knew he liked him. We packed up and headed down to Florida for the funeral. The love and support everyone brought was surprising, and not necessarily in a good way. Looking back, I’m beyond thankful to see how many lives he touched and how supportive everyone was, but at that moment I just wanted to be alone and mourn in peace. While walking to the sanctuary for the memorial service, I heard a song over the speakers. They were performing the prelude to the service, and I easily recognized the melody. There were no words to accompany this specific performance, but as we walked over, I sang along under my breath, “Non nobis Domine, non nobis Domine, sed nomini, sed nomini tuo da gloriam.” Which translates to “Not unto us, O Lord. Not unto us, but to Your name be the glory.” We were going to a service to honor my grandpa and his life, but ultimately it was to bring glory to God.

For the memorial service, two hymns my grandpa wrote were sung. The first was done as a congregation, but the second was just the choir. I sobbed for almost the entirety of the first one, but when it came time for the second hymn, I managed to sing along with the choir. I didn’t know if I was “allowed” to, but I didn’t care. I wanted to sing, so I did. However, when they got to the climax, I burst into tears. I was in total shock. I had never been blown away by God’s glory more than I was in that moment. Hearing the beating of the drum and the harmony of the voices singing, “The beatific glory view that now our souls still long to see will make us all and want anew, and like Him forever be,” was just so glorious and comforting to know my grandfather was experiencing the glory we were singing of at that very moment, and we only got a glimpse of it through this hymn.

That entire month was filled with pain, but it was also full of music. My grandfather went from his earthly pain to his heavenly glory, and we went from our own pain to heavenly music. I don’t know how to express my appreciation and deep love for music. Depending on the style of the music, it can cause you to meditate on the words and the music itself, or it can cause you to want to dance and sing for joy, or even just make you cry. It has such a beautiful power, one of variety, where all kinds of people can appreciate it. People have different music tastes, but ultimately everyone loves some form of music. I love how music can have a message, and you can use your discernment to figure out if it’s a message worth listening to or not. It can be used to glorify God, as it was at my grandpa’s funeral, or it can be used to glorify heinous sins. But whether or not the specific music is glorifying to God, it’s one of the greatest creations ever known and should be treated as such. The beauty it imitates and the feelings it produces ought to point back to the Creator and not ourselves. The music is not entirely dependent on the listener, for there would be no music without there first being a creator. I just find it so fascinating how a certain chord change or vocal run accompanied by certain lyrics can trigger tears, or how a certain rhythm of a drum or melody can make you want to dance and attempt to reach the high notes of the chorus. The tears it can produce can be of happiness or sorrow, or even both, and the influence it holds is unlike any other creation I know.