Keeping quiet for Lent

It's 2011, and if I want to hear music I don't have to be deprived for a single

split-second.  I just pop in one of the 400 CDs I own. After an entire morning of one

CD after the other  I decide to go get some exercise at the gym, but first I go

online and download a couple of new songs from iTunes for 99 cents each and upload

them to my iPod Nano which already contains nearly an entire gigabyte of music.

Driving along, I turn on my radio and casually sift through every musical genre known

to humankind, via AM, FM, or satellite. Arriving at the gym I go inside and am

immediately engulfed by classic rock playing on the overhead speakers, which I hear

only up to the point that I don my iPod. After my workout I stop by a coffee shop and

order a cup of slightly overpriced joe to the sounds of 90s alt rock, served by a

barista with one ear bud in her ear and an iPod tucked in her jeans pocket. 

Employees back in the kitchen are standing around a small battered disc player

singing along to "Paradise City" by Guns 'n' Roses, which is entirely different from

the song being played in the store, which is not the song on the barista's iPod, and

none of them are the same as the song playing in my head, which has been lingering

there ever since my workout.

You want music? Yeah, we got music (pardon the slang). What we don't have is any sane

sense of balance.

It is understandable that we inundate ourselves with music. Music is infinite and

mysterious; it speaks to our souls in a direct and unique manner, and the

accompanying rush is highly addictive. As a composer, I can sympathize with anyone

adrift in the ecstasy of music, listening to its meter and tones, studying its forms,

reveling in the emotions and passions it inspires. It's a very tempting substitute

for God in a society that wants a god with no moral expectations or doctrinal

entanglements.

But the time has come for Catholics to turn off the music.

One reason is that so much of the music we all hear every day is of poor quality. It

is badly written, mindless, repetitive, dull, and therefore unedifying, and it can be

a near occasion of sin.

As much as my wife and I try to laugh it off, "Lady Marmalade" by Labelle is a song

about prostitutes. "Love the One You're With" by Stephen Stills is a song about

promiscuity. "Only the Good Die Young" by Billy Joel — perhaps one of the catchiest

pop songs ever written — is a song encouraging young Catholic virgins to fornicate.

A deeper reason to hit the "off" button is because music, even the very best, can

distract us from God. This is not only a problem of listening to too much music too

much of the time, but can simply be a matter of listening to a little music at the

wrong time.

God loves silence. In the 19th chapter of the first Book of Kings, the prophet Elijah

falls into a state of despair that only God can relieve, but Elijah is too vexed and

angry to hear him. Elijah experiences in succession a blasting wind, an earthquake,

and a roaring fire — they may have just as well been a Foo Fighters song, a symphony

by Beethoven, and a Nelson Riddle arrangement of "Something's Gotta Give" with

Sinatra on vocals. None of them are God, as awesome as these gifts from God are. It

is not until Elijah listens to the "tiny, whispering sound" that he can finally

discern what God is trying to tell him.

This Lent, let's do without music at least part of each day. Identify times and

places where you might invite silence in. For instance, on your way to work, don't

turn on the radio. Be still; let your mind be at rest; pray. You already know that

your work day is going to be a riot of noise and activity. Why start early? Maintain

a little silence. When you're exercising, try doing it without music. On Sunday

mornings, definitely guard the quietude. That is the way par excellence to prepare

for the holy sacrifice of the Mass.