John Rutter’s Requiem has remained one of his most popular works. Rutter conducted the first performance of it in 1985, at Lovers’ Lane United Methodist Church, Dallas, where the director of Music Allen Pote prepared the Sanctuary Choir and orchestra. I was surprised to learn that the premier was in the US, given that Rutter is British. Since then, it’s been performed extensively, and its most popular movement is “The Lord is My Shepherd,” an anthem we have sung here at St. Andrew’s a few times.

In a passing conversation, Amanda, our soloist today, requested that we do this movement, the Pie Jesu, in a concert. I thought, why not do it for a service? She was enticed by the music – bewitched, bewildered, and bemused. Her request seemed justifiable to me. She wanted to. What a strange thing. Desire. Who am I to question such a mysterious, inner Truth? Her wish was my command.

Gladys Kravitz was the meddling neighbor on the popular 1950’s sitcom, Bewitched. Mrs. Kravitz was always witnessing strange happenings at the Stevens’ household. She was flabbergasted at what she was seeing, but she could never seem to trust her eyes. She knew something was up, but poor Mrs. Kravitz could never prove that these “mysterious happenings” were real. Each time she tried to convince others, she was made to look silly, like a meddling old woman whose eyes had deceived her. I think our eyes are deceiving us. Our minds certainly are, and those who are assured by belief in themselves seem “magical,” “effortless,” and “talented.” Stevie Wonder said about his own music, “I was just excited about the music that was in my head.” Sounds too easy. Much too easy.  

In the Pie Jesu from the Requiem, it’s a pleafor rest. Can’t you hear that? The real plea for rest, or “give it a rest” is in quiet. If you’ve witnessed the bewitching mystery of faith, you don’t have to scream and holler like Mrs. Kravitz. Some of us believe. And we know you can’t prove it. You’re just excited about what’s in your head, others are afraid.

Some of us are Samatha’s and can seem to get what we want by wiggling our nose – trusting in the power that goes before, above, and around. Others are meddlesome Gladys’s who know something’s up and try to spoil it. Better to live befuddled, bewildered, and as an effortless nose-twitcher, rather than a nosey neighbor who wants to expose the mystery. If Mrs. Kravitz had unequivocally proven Samantha’s immortality, then the show wouldn’t be any more fun and would have gone off the air, even before the “new” Darren came in. I like the old Darren myself, but that’s beside the point.  

Real living is unsolvable, so why plea for answers? It’s a wordless mystery with which we live in harmony, like our own neighbor. Or you can be like Mrs. Kravitz and live in total suspicion, worry, and fear. But when I want something as innocent as singing Pie Jesu, I make my request known, wiggle my nose, and rest assured. So what if Gladys proves Samantha is immortal? Allow surprise to remain a mysterious neighbor who you love and live with, unconditionally. That makes every moment miraculous. If Samantha can do it that easily, so can I. It doesn’t have to be nosey, meddlesome, or all figured out. The concealment makes it fun. No more begging, pleading, or meddling. That’s the prerequisite – quiet rest. Requiem. Something goes before me, quietly. If I knew what, I’d spoil the surprise, and there’d be no show of wonder. Soli Deo Gloria.