On a sleepy Sunday afternoon our local PBS station aired a production of Franz Joseph Haydn's 1798 Oratorio "The Creation," featuring the London Philharmonic. In the tradition of Handel's "Messiah," the instruments and voices of Haydn's "Creation" soared at the composition's apex (the creation of man and woman)—full and rich, uplifting and strong.
Although this was dramatic, I found the opening even more so. The orchestra played a sonata in C minor, at once chaotic and beautiful. Then a bass soloist sang the Genesis 1 account: "And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep" (v. 2a kjv). Ominous. Foreboding. Pregnant with anticipation. The accompaniment was solemn and muted, written in a minor key.
Then, as light was separated from darkness, heaven from earth, land from sea, the oratorio increased in brightness and intensity. Just as God's peaceful order was established through each day of creation, the music followed suit, adding more voices and instruments in a controlled crescendo. The action unfolded as voices narrated each creation day's work, but every day the order remained intact.
The final chorus, in a major key, centers on praise: "The praise of the Lord will endure forever." And with that creation is complete, ordered, perfect.
But we all know the story didn't end there. Had Haydn's retelling continued to the scene that occurred in the shade of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, I can imagine the sounds he would have composed to indicate the entry of the serpent, the first juicy bite of fruit drizzling down Eve's chin, the victory dance of the Enemy who succeeded in enticing the weak humans to disobey the Creator. My mind hears violins playing high-pitched helter-skelter scales—the first violin section dissonant from the second violins, trombones making slippery sliding sounds, each percussion instrument throbbing to its own tempo, a frowning conductor who appears to have lost control of the whole production.
And so it is with God's world. When the chaos of sin marred the picture of perfection, it tampered with God's established order. God allowed the sounds of chaos to be audible for a time, until the advent of the Savior. When Jesus died for our sins and conquered Satan by defeating death, once again order superseded chaos. The score called the instruments of our souls to realign with the melody.
Unfortunately, the earth still shudders and shimmies, waiting for its redemption (Romans 8:18–21); many people continue to play their chaotic tunes. But for the believer, chaos no longer oozes from the sounds we produce. God offers His people peace. This peace is the music that flows from hearts comforted, secure, and quiet. ...
This world is full of hatred, of chaos, of decay and destruction. But the kingdom of God is full of love, of order, of glistening waters and shimmering golden streets. We come from a place of peace, so even when we live temporarily amid destruction, we take comfort that the "peace of God" guards our hearts and minds (Philippians 4:7).
Excerpted by permission from Praying Like Jesus by Julie-Allyson Ieron, (c) 2001, 2010. All rights reserved. For reprint permission, PM the author.
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