Hope be my anthem
Lord when the world has fallen quiet
You stand beside me
Give me a song in the night
Jesus I Need You - Reuben Morgan | David Ware
A man knows the importance of a song for the night. Night time wakens in a man the manifest darkness of his flesh. As the sun sets on the world oh it sets on a man's will; it sets on his purity; it sets on his steadfastness.
What a man can tolerate in the daytime he struggles to carry under the darkness. The day's victories are put to bed early and the man sits up contemplating nocturnal labours that only seem to hound him in the night time.
Oh darkness is a terrible thing, for it pervades even to the soul, through layers and layers of flesh. Perhaps herein lies the issue. So much human endeavour, deliberation; so much activity. The soul is insulated by the man's will to effect success, however success cannot be brought about by the flesh, but in the spirit.
It is in the night time that it is most important for a man to sing, because it is then the world is in song and when she sings a man must sing all the louder. The world's chorus is sweet and attractive but it does nothing for the soul. When a man's soul is in song lights begin to flicker in the world and suddenly it is not so dark. Just like that, there are ignitions all over, there are explosions and dark things are broken off, eliminated, but only for a night.
The righteous man is like a conductor, giving voice to the melody of his spirit and silencing that of his flesh. Oh the flesh isn't an altogether ghastly thing. The world is not merely malice and temptation, but even an orchestra needs a conductor. Even heavenly instruments like the violin or the trumpet cannot be played without end, for it would ruin the sound of the orchestra. So, with a man's soul, the melody must be tempered so as to produce the right sound. He must learn to shut off those sounds that are not conducive to the soul's song, sounds which at other times would be appropriate.
He must sing
Oh but he must sing. The man who sits silent is doomed. He who listens to the world's song finds himself reconstructing his identity second by second. In minutes he is no longer righteous, no longer worthy, set apart not by his salvation but by his eternal damnation. With his soul tied down with the torment of sins past and wading through the condemnation that has been born just seconds past, the man is deafened by darkness.
I can remember the chorus of darkness' song. I can remember the sound, the quality of the notes. I know what you're thinking. You ask, "what could be so distracting about that?" "It sounds ghastly!" "Why would anyone give it ear?" The crippling of the soul by the song of the world is real. Like a Medusa she sings and the man is captivated. I lay in bed with my head on my pillow and my eyes wide open, my ears open to the song and it pierced and shrieked at me telling me lies about who I was and where I was headed, threatened me and created in me loneliness and despair, convinced me about what I ought to do.
It threatened to take my life, my soul, but the soul can never be killed. The spirit of a man can not be destroyed, not by sin and not by the world's song, no matter how loud or attractive. There is a song which is supreme in power and worth. Its lyrics are truer, its notes truer, its story truer. It is the song sung by the angels in Heaven who celebrate eternally the gift of a man's salvation in Christ.
I am thankful for this song. I am thankful that in the midst of the quietest night and my deepest despair Jesus is beside me, telling me that I am already won. I am thankful my soul knows how to sing. My soul is versed in the truest notes and the richest timbre, the most eloquent lyrics and intricate of arrangements.
Oh, the soul of a man and the spirit within him can only be realised when he sings.
This very night I will sing of my salvation and my eternal peace and victory in Christ. This very night. This night, which threatens to overwhelm with its loom and deception, is but a passing thing, its volume muted by the righteousness purchased for me on the cross of Calvary. This, this is the song of my soul. Only this will my soul sing tonight.
David Luschwitz grew up in Bankstown, in Sydney's South West. David is currently residing in Huelva, Spain where he plans to spend the next twelve months reading, writing and surfing on the Portuguese coast before returning home to Australia.
To read more of David's writing and to hear his story head to www.davidluschwitz.com.
David's previous articles can be found at http://www.pressserviceinternational.org/david-luschwitz.html