When I was department chair at UTampa, I had to be clever. Chairs are the “complaints department” in higher ed. I had to show people that they manufactured their own conundrums. They often requested that I move heaven and earth to fix their so-called problems. Heaven and earth will move, but not until you realize the cause of your misery. I had to creatively deliver the “bad news,” to show people that their crises were self-induced. Ultimately that is the good news, you can be delivered from your suffering, but not until you see the root cause. That message is lovely, but often the messenger appears like a real jerk, unless she’s creative and sweet, maybe even funny. Mary Poppins helps the medicine go down, being sweet, which means creative, lovely, clever.  

Today, we’re hearing one of Felix Mendelssohn’s most popular works, a movement from St. Paul, a mammoth composition written between 1834-36, when Mendelssohn was merely 20. When I think of my 20-year-old self, I wonder – how? I’m envious! I feel jilted. A 20-year-old mind has no business being so “talented.” But Mendelssohn got it. The music is gentle, lilting, and sweet. It’s not confrontational, unlike Handel, whose music seems to assault the senses. What do we hear behind Mendelssohn’s music? That he’s a perfect gentleman, a deliverer of the sweetest succulence, medicine for the soul.

There is a fine line between what incites and what entices. Words can be bothersome, but an effective speaker delivers the meaning without accosting. A good speaker makes you self-reflective. Good delivery whispers the secrets of life, but never overtly. Ceasar Millan is the perfect dog-whisperer. Mendelssohn is the perfect human-whisperer.  

Jesus’ words can come across as pointed, maybe even abrasive. He was whispering us into the kingdom of heaven, which points towards investigative self-reflection. He was showing us that cause and effect are equal, but who wants to be told “It’s your fault?” Jesus admitted this about his fricative words, that he came to drive a sword. But how do you deliver truth without tussling a few egoic feathers? You “hide” it. In music, humor, or poetry. Or in the words themselves. That was the role of the court jester (or department chair!), to hide the harsh edges of “bad news.” Or to let the king down gently, without assaulting his sovereignty and to soften truth with a spoonful of sugar. To help the medicine go down.

The Gospel of Peace presents harsh truths that can seem “in your face.” But Jesus softened the blow with parables, story time for “the children.” In a sense, he was being a court jester – trying to expose the folly of the Pharisees and those who believed in egoic power. Artistic delivery is key. The truth sets you free, but it stings, and the messenger is subject to attack. This is what happens to people who discover inner truth and share it. Where is my talent? Where are my gifts? “There is not enough to go around,” says the ignorant, while the messenger shows us abundance, unlimited richness, and grace beyond measure.

The king is a powerless fool and babbling baby (you’ll hear the “babbling” accompaniment in this anthem – rocking the ego to sleep). As a writer, I’m bound to be a court jester. If you must be a messenger, be Mary-Poppins-like, soften the blow with artistic prowess. Thanks, Mendelssohn, for the gentle reminder that we are creators and ultimately healers of our own misery. When the medicine does go down, what initially seems like bad news becomes an insightful spoonful of sugar and more – The Gospel of Peace. Soli Deo Gloria!