I lived on the icy surface of Pluto, where worry haloed my head like the rings of Saturn. I had that brooding thump, like the red spot on Jupiter, an ulcer of fear, separation, and worry. I was as lost and remote as Uranus until I journeyed home, to the center. The solar plexus is comprised of numerous nerve fibers that radiate out from the center of your abdominal area. This is where the Eternal Parent welcomes the prodigal from “outer there,” where the chatty mind wanders, grabs, meddles, and frets. Our anthem today is a trip from outer space, back home to the epicenter of the sun, radiating the brightest and best.

Gustav Holst was a powerhouse composer of the early 20^th century, and his most important musical contributions were his symphonic suites called, The Planets. It all began with a discussion about astrology, when Holst was on vacation with friends. These seven suites begin with Mars, suggesting he was going to write in planetary order, but that’s not how it ended up. Our anthem, however, is in reverse planetary, working its way home, towards the center of the system. The sun.  

Let All Mortal Flesh is a translation of a Greek hymn, from Habakkuk 2:20, “Let all the earth keep silence before him.” The tune is called Picardy. You may notice that it’s in a minor key, but ends with a surprising major chord, called a Picardy Third. The anthem starts eerily, in the distance, “out there,” near Pluto. The building suspense becomes palpable, and like the big bang, you’re whisked away to “Alleluia.” This is where the anthem takes flight. If you listen carefully, the writing on the word “High” takes us to the stratosphere. We start as a trembling shimmer, then expand into depth, and after a suspenseful journey we emerge triumphantly clear and washed clean. Warm and bright.  

The haunting beginning of this anthem reminds us of how the world lives – fearful of walking the plank, so to speak. We start off trembling, fearful, paranoid, and distrustful of everything and everyone. That is until we realize who we are, and warm up to the notion that we are simply afraid of death. Essentially, we’re petrified of love. We tiptoe, wondering what will go bump in the night. But this is our spiritual journey, to jump blindly into the void, trusting God is everything and everywhere. Is this naïve? No. It’s the only way home from the outer fringe of fear, from a vacant soul to the fullness of life.

For those who have moved inward, towards the aliveness of the system’s center, the view is spectacular from “up there.” Your countenance will show it. You’ll see who has the fullness of light within. When my head hits the pillow, the ring of worry is now gone. Love keeps me safe, forever, and my radiance shines forth in all that I do, all that I say, and in all that I am. I live from the center now, and it grows deeper each day.

Holst has painted a perfect picture of spiritual conversion, ending with us becoming the Light, merging with and hailing “The Sun of Righteousness” (See “Hark The Herald Angels Sing”). Moving towards the center burns up the outer shell of the ego. Born anew, the Eternal Parent dances, welcoming you back. Are you at the icy beginning, worry swirling your head where knees knock? Or have you traveled to the depths, where unconditional love and peace knock? In this intimacy, equanimity and faith sing, “Alleluia, God Most High!” Welcome home stranger, we’ve been wondering what’s taken you so long. Be patient. Pluto is very far. Vacant souls are terrified “out there.”  Soli Deo Gloria!