Sing to the LORD a new song; sing to the LORD, all the earth. Psalm 96:1
“Caedmon loved to listen. Music thrilled him, and other people’s stories, songs, and ballads carried him along as helplessly as a small boat on a rising tide. But he couldn’t play a note in tune. If he tried to join in with a song when he was a child everyone else was unable to keep singing. Besides he could never remember any words. He couldn’t even tell a joke and get it right. His head got all confused, and the words tumbled out back to front.
So a night like tonight was tortue for him. Heaven and hell, that’s what it was. To hear each person share a song, to listen to the music of the harp as it was passed along, strummed by one, touched gently by another — nothing could be sweeter. But the nearer it came to Caedmon’s turn, the more a sickness rose from his stomach and his bowels stirred uneasily. At the last possible moment, he ran out of the hall.
Once outside, he went straight to the cattle shed to check on his beasts, then threw himself down on his bed and passed into a fitful sleep. In his dreams a man stood before him. ‘Sing for me, Caedmon,’ he said. ‘Sing for me.’ ‘I can’t sing,’ Caedmon protested. ‘Why do you think I’m out here in the cattle shed, instead of inside at the feast?’ ‘Sing anyway. Sing for me.’ ‘I don’t know what to sing.’ ‘Sing about the beginning of the world, and sing about creation.’
So Caedmon sang a song of praise to the Guardian of heaven, the Father of glory. And in his dream he was able to sing a song so beautiful that it could make you cry. When he awoke, the song was still with him, and he sang it for God and for himself. He sang it for the steward of all the farmlands of the abbey. He sang it for the Abbess Hild herself when the steward told her what happened. He sang it for all the scholars and holy men and women of the abbey whom the Lady Hild had called for. He sang it for the people of Whitby and everyone in the countryside round about.
Now someone else looked after the cattle, while whoever could read aloud translated the Scriptures for Caedmon. Each night he sang aloud the things he had heard until a new song was prepared, explaining the Bible to his people in their own language. And for the rest of his life his mouth spoke out the truths that filled his heart.”
Caedmon of Whitby (? – 680) in Celtic Daily Prayer (New York: Harper Collins, 2002) 197-198.
Tomorrow I will share the prayers he sang for God that are attributed to him. So this is one of those “to be continued” posts.
But first, let us pause and get the gravity of what happened to this humble chap who watched over the cattle of the Abbey in Whitby. God had a purpose for a humble guy who could neither read nor sing. He had to overcome his fears, his lack of confidence and ability, and sing the new song God gave him.
What song has God given you to sing?
At present, I am singing one word over and over as I navigate COVID. It’s grace. God’s unmerited favor, His mercy and and blessing, is the greatest gift this old sinner who is suffering back pain and COVID could ever dream of receiving.
The irony is that we don’t just receive it but we get it to overflowing to share with others. It’s a song, like Caedmon’s song. And don’t miss that the song is not just for God, it’s for you and me. When we sing the unique song God gives us, we both glorify Him, and we find our place, our purpose.
Like the piccolo in the William Tell overture, every part matters. You matter. I matter. Whether or not you can carry a tune in a bucket, play an instrument, read or write, God has a part for you. It will likely take you out of your comfort zone to find it.
Together, like Caedmon, when we sing our song, we make known God’s generosity to the world. When they see it they know it is not us at work but God at work. They want others to hear it as well. Stay tuned to hear his songs tomorrow. In the meantime, ask God what your song might be.