I am constantly impressed by the power of music. To be honest, it was one of my first experiences with Hungary...and it happened before I even finished packing my bags. In the midst of an email hammering out the boring, yet ever so important logistical details of my arrival to Budapest, sat an unassuming Youtube link. I clicked the link, and what I found was Gotye's "Somebody That I Used To Know," the very song that was, as most everyone can attest, my unofficial theme song for summer 2012. I had made a friend and a new connection before I even stepped on the plane.
Why is music so important to people? What gives it this spiritual-like ability to bring people together - the power to define a mood or thought or question?
Maybe, it's because music makes us happy and comforts us when we're sad. Maybe, it's because music takes us to another world. Maybe, it's because you're more honest with yourself when you listen to music, or because it never questions you, but always makes you questions yourself. Maybe, it's because music can be your best friend, your significant other and your guilty pleasure. Maybe, it's because music creates an unexplainable plane of understanding and acceptance that you can't find anywhere else...Maybe, it's all of the above.
I have always loved music. I come from a family that loves music. When I was little, my brother hated that I made up songs all the time. I just sang (most likely off key) because I was happy. I sang because it made me happy, and it stills does today. I spend my entire day with music. It is my constant companion. If I'm not listening to an artist on my ipod or computer, I'm humming along to something in my head. Conversations remind me of song lyrics and all of a sudden I'm singing out loud. I play two instruments, I read music and I sing in just about every choir that will have me, so when my coworkers from the Synod asked me to join a choir for the office Christmas celebration, I naturally said, "yes."
Learn Hungarian with me! (Sorry the quality is awful)
Now here I am, singing Christmas songs in Hungarian and desperately trying to pronounce the words correctly, but I couldn't be happier. Because of rehearsals and because of these songs, I have been able to meet more people in the office, I've been able to step out of my English writing bubble in the Ecumenical Office, and I have come to see that somehow through all this work, confusion and language, I've become a part of the Synod dynamic.
That's powerful.
So, it shouldn't surprise me that last Sunday when I joined a group of school-aged Roma children at their community center Christmas party, I was drawn to the music and songs being sung. The music was affecting the kids too. In each song, the music brought them out of their shells and brought them closer to a religious life they had never experienced before. As I prepared tea, I hummed along with the unfamiliar melodies, because I didn't know the Hungarian lyrics, and then I heard a song that jumped out at me and connected these Roma children with my own childhood.
They sang "This Little Light of Mine." This was the first time I fully realized the universal power and truth behind a simple children's song. But, that song also created understanding, even if I was the only one to realize it. Every person in that room had experienced this song in some way, and everyone, Roma, Hungarian, American, was bound together because of it, if only for a few minutes.
That's powerful.
Now, perhaps I'm placing an exaggerated emphasis on a few sounds thrown together, or perhaps that's the point. After all, isn't it the individual tones that come together to make a beautiful harmony? Isn't the complexity, the layers, the movement what makes a song whole?
In the end, I guess the question of this mysterious musical connection is pretty simple. Music brings both similar and different kinds of people together, like dissonant sounds that somehow work together to create harmony, by appealing to individuals and then connecting them in meaningful ways to produce a piece that is intrinsically more - where each note is strengthened and supported by another.
And that is powerful.
That's powerful.
So, it shouldn't surprise me that last Sunday when I joined a group of school-aged Roma children at their community center Christmas party, I was drawn to the music and songs being sung. The music was affecting the kids too. In each song, the music brought them out of their shells and brought them closer to a religious life they had never experienced before. As I prepared tea, I hummed along with the unfamiliar melodies, because I didn't know the Hungarian lyrics, and then I heard a song that jumped out at me and connected these Roma children with my own childhood.
Making Christmas cards
Name that tune!
Making Advent wreaths
They sang "This Little Light of Mine." This was the first time I fully realized the universal power and truth behind a simple children's song. But, that song also created understanding, even if I was the only one to realize it. Every person in that room had experienced this song in some way, and everyone, Roma, Hungarian, American, was bound together because of it, if only for a few minutes.
That's powerful.
Now, perhaps I'm placing an exaggerated emphasis on a few sounds thrown together, or perhaps that's the point. After all, isn't it the individual tones that come together to make a beautiful harmony? Isn't the complexity, the layers, the movement what makes a song whole?
In the end, I guess the question of this mysterious musical connection is pretty simple. Music brings both similar and different kinds of people together, like dissonant sounds that somehow work together to create harmony, by appealing to individuals and then connecting them in meaningful ways to produce a piece that is intrinsically more - where each note is strengthened and supported by another.
And that is powerful.
