Reflecting on Singing "Gethsemane" in Worship

There will probably come a day when I am too old (or, God forbid, don't have the singing chops) to share "Gethsemane" from Jesus Christ Superstar on Maundy Thursday.  That will be hard.

I remember the first time I sang it in worship.  I was anxious that I couldn't do it well (classically trained singers do not learn how to sing rock ballads) and terrified that I would offend someone (a rock ballad on one of the holiest nights of the year?).

I'm glad I sang it 13 years ago.  I'm grateful I worked so hard on it that first year, so that's it's been easy to revisit in the years since.  And I'm grateful that no has taken offense (or, at least, has made that known to me).

By my (perhaps suspect) count, tonight was the 8th Maundy Thursday worship service where I've sung "Gethsemane."  It was the first time where my pastoral meditation touched directly upon Jesus' prayer in Gethsemane, which has caused me to reflect on why I sing this song on this night.  The first couple of times, I felt like I should, but it still felt like an experiment in some ways.  In recent years, I've known that I should sing it, but tonight, more than ever, I've come to understand why.

Andrew Lloyd Webber's music has an emotional truth that resonates with the Gospel text, particularly as it is told in the Gospel of Luke.  I identify with other characters in parts of the passion story -- with Judas who betrays, with Peter who denies, with Thomas who doubts, with several who hide in fear.  In small ways, I can identify with Jesus too -- the Jesus who wants to share something special with his closest friends before he leaves, and the Jesus who prays so honestly and even desperately in the garden.  But there's also a part of Jesus at Gethsemane that just mesmerizes me.  I find the empty tomb as confusing as it is hopeful, and standing at the foot of the cross mostly makes me feel guilty.  But I watch in awe at Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane.

Please understand.  When I sing "Gethsemane," I know that I cannot convey most of this.  But usually, there is a fleeting moment in the music when I glimpse this awe-inspiring Jesus amid the otherwise very human Jesus of the song.  When I first started singing "Gethsemane," I was hoping for this glimpse -- even when I didn't know it.  Now, I expectantly hope for this glimpse, and I hope to offer it to others in worship.

One day my physical appearance will get in the way, I suppose.  One day, people will smile at the wrinkled old man who is trying to sing, but won't be able to imagine he might offer a glimpse of Jesus.  I'm a few years from wrinkled and old, but I'm already older than Jesus ever was.  In my 20s, I thought I could reasonably sing "Gethsemane" until I was 33 (traditionally Jesus' age at the time of his crucifixion).  At 30, I thought 35; at 33, I figured I could sing it until I was 40.  Now I'm 37 and tonight I wonder if maybe I could sing it until age 45....

Anyway, what I'm really pondering tonight is that there will come a day when I'm too old to sing "Gethsemane."  That will be a hard day.