Dear Sitters:
In 2001, Norwegian composer Rolf Løvland wrote a short instrumental piece with a contemplative melody and haunting harmonies titled “Silent Story”. A few years later, Løvland approached novelist and songwriter Brendan Graham to write lyrics for the piece. It was first performed at the funeral of Løvland’s mother by vocalist Johnny Logan, who later recorded a demo of the piece with full orchestra. The song was picked up by various artists, but these recordings languished without much fanfare; that was until 2003, when producer David Foster selected the song for up-and-coming star Josh Groban. “You Raise Me Up” became one of Groban’s megahits.
The structure of the song creates a sweeping double crescendo of the chorus; just when you think the song has reached its emotional apex, the tune modulates, and for a third and a fourth time the singer even more powerfully belts:
You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders
You raise me up to more than I can be.
This tribute given to the life-changing inspiration of a loving friend begs the question, “What did this person do to make the singer ‘more than I could be'?” Did they buy them mountain climbing equipment? Take them on a vacation to the British Isles? Give flying lessons? No, the transforming contribution of the song’s beloved is quietly buried in the end of the melancholic opening verse: “You come and sit awhile with me.”
Lost in the weary, burdened desperation of self-pity, the singer is astounded by the power of quiet presence.
Historian Martin Marty, one of my professors at the University of Chicago Divinity School, lost his wife Elsa to breast cancer in 1981. Marty wrote a book following her death, A Cry of Absence: Reflections for the Winter of the Heart (HarperCollins,1983). I remember talking with Professor Marty while he was working on the book; he said, “The most important people to me on this journey were not the ones who lovingly brought help, meals, assisted with chores, they were the ones who came and sat quietly and stared in silence at the mystery of the abyss”—the ones who came and sat awhile with me.
We’re so very bad at doing nothing. This fact we recall each Maundy Thursday when Jesus, facing his own abyss, had disciples who could not stay awake to sit awhile with him one hour, even in prayer. We want to fix things, give things, do things, make things ‘better’; we want to quell the awful silence with busyness, perhaps pretending the abyss is not real, or perhaps further away than we want to admit.
But as the song reminds us, sometimes the energy to move forward, to soar into what’s next, requires companionship with those who aren’t even sure they like their own company.
Hoping to sit awhile, I remain,
With Love
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor