“It came even to pass, as the trumpeters and singers were as one, to make one sound to be heard in praising and thanking the LORD; and when they lifted up their voice with the trumpets and cymbals and instruments of musick, and praised the LORD, saying, For he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever: that then the house was filled with a cloud, even the house of the LORD; So that the priests could not stand to minister by reason of the cloud: for the glory of the LORD had filled the house of God.”
2 Chronicles 5:13-14 (KJV)
We recently moved to a small town in northern Arizona. It’s right next to another small town, 25 miles from a bigger town, and 35 miles from the small town I work in. In all of these small towns you can count the number of radio stations on one hand, and they all play Country-Western music. Once in a while a classical station fades in, and hightails out just as quickly.
There are wonderful Country-Western music artists and their songs depict hope and joy – and if it wasn’t for, well . . . let me tell you a story. When I was little, both of my parents were alcoholics. A paycheck meant for food, rent and utilities was spent at the Longhorn Bar. Many nights my brother (2 years my younger) and I huddled together on the floor of the car, windows up, doors locked, drunks banging on the side of the car yelling “Hey, there’s kids in there,” the red neon longhorn sign lit up the parking lot . . . and Country-Western music permeated the air.
When I was giving birth to my oldest son, things started going terribly wrong and I was wheeled into the operating room for an emergency C-Section. One of the technicians saw what was happening and took her cassette player, put the earphones over my ears and turned on the soothing music of a popular artist so I “couldn’t hear the cutting” that they were about to do. I suspect it was also so I could not hear the concerned conversations of the doctors as they struggled for 3 hours.
To this day, when I hear Country-Western music, or a song by that popular artist, I shake. The trauma has associated itself, deep in my subconscious, with that music.
I will never forget the years I spent in a large choir in a big church in Phoenix. Because of the spiritual relationship each choir member had with Jesus, even during practice the anointing fell and filled the building. The anointing chased away the daily worries, concern for unpaid bills, strained relationships and fear. The anointing bathed those who entered with peace and broke their hearts for more of Jesus.
That anointing built up during the service worship and it was common to see dozens of people at the altar, calling out to God. There were shouts of praise, sobs of release, prayers of forgiveness and a crescendo of peace.
I have made a choice to only listen to music that worships God; to music that brings the anointing, to music that encourages and bring peace. I’m so thankful that even though I live in a little town with limited radio choices, I have an MP3 player that sings to my spirit and orchestrates my day.
There’s an old song that starts “Oh, be careful little ears, what you hear. Oh, be careful little ears, what you hear. For the Father up above, is looking down in love, so be careful little ears what you hear.” Why? Because it gets deep down into our Spirit and attaches our soul to the . . . pain? Fear? Trauma? Or, to the anointing; hope, joy and faith?
My Jesus, my choice is to always bathe in your anointing. Please prick my heart if I am ever tempted to stray. Let me be an example to a hurting world of how to turn to You and Your presence through worship music and a humble heart. Selah!
By Linda J. Humes
Written 1-29-2012
Linda J. Humes 