If the pandemic taught us anything, it is that a localized, real experience cannot be recreated virtually. Being together, in community, has a quality to it that cannot be replicated. This localized phenomenon of place and community, is captured so eloquently in today’s offertory anthem, Locus Iste, by Austrian composer, Anton Bruckner.

During a time when composers were writing lavish operas and large-scale symphonies, church music, like this piece, was all but extinct. Sacred, choral music predominated the compositional output for centuries, until the development of the opera. Bruckner was one of only a handful of 19^th-century composers who continued to write sacred, a cappella motets for the church. This style of writing harkens back to the 16^th century, a style of vocal music, for a lack of a better description, that sounds like “church.”

There are two important elements to ponder. First, just the overall sound of the piece. Where else, but in church, can you hear this kind of music, live? Secondly, where else would this music be more meaningful than in a beautiful church, a worship setting for which it was conceived? For most people, what you are hearing (and seeing) in a church experience is totally foreign. If people do go to church, they most likely won’t see the beautiful setting that we have here at the corner of Twiggs and Marion in Tampa, Fl.  They won’t see the colorful vestments; they won’t hear the reverberation of the acoustics; they won’t experience the awesomeness of genuine, sacred architecture. The significance of our localized experience of beauty, each Sunday, cannot be overstated. The rarified air that we breathe in the witnessing of the sights and sounds, in such a place as this, is truly without reproach. This anthem is a poignant reminder of how special being together is. But furthermore, we appreciate the significance of the structure that we gather in, one that would be very difficult and expensive to build today. It’s a gift of history, a gift from God.

The sacred sounds, the vessels, the sights, the transcendent feelings – nothing compares. Most people don’t know what they are missing. But for those of us who see it, and experience the power of the local, communal, sacred gathering – we’re quite fortunate. Very few things come close to what transcendence is about. If you need a reminder, look around you, take it all in, but also pay attention to the music and the silence. They will help you get there. Thank God we get glimpses of it each Sunday. Appreciate the location and the experience, but above all, appreciate what all means. Soli deo Gloria!