A Riddle In The Melody

The discordant song of this age has grown wearisome. I’m tired of the performance. The ageing rockstars of yesterday still stalk the stage, a monument to ancient values, gyrating awkwardly to a song now out of tune. The restless crowd can see through the masquerade; the fading face-paint does little to hide the ugly scars of a lifetime of white-washed facades.

The problem though, the crowd whipped to a frenzy is looking for a new song to dance to. The stars on stage are quickly fading and will soon fall completely away. But who will take their place? Who will push the embarrassing tune aside with a triumphant power chord that crushes the memory of the songs we once loved to sing?

I’m fearful that whoever takes the stage, whoever it is that sends the old singers home, will simply reinvent the well-known harmonies that have reverberated around the world, setting similar narratives to touched-up tunes. The old songs will simply get a face-lift, will be put through the music machine and be piped back out to the eager masses. In this way, the broken song will continue, finding new progressions, and new ears, but all the while the same enticing chorus will invite the crowds to dance a well-worn jig.

Why this keeps happening is a mystery. But some riddles can only be solved in the melody.

I will incline my ear to a proverb; I will solve my riddle to the music of the lyre. 
Why should I fear in times of trouble, when the iniquity of those who cheat me surrounds me, those who trust in their wealth and boast of the abundance of their riches? - Psalm 49:4-6

We don’t need a new song, we need an ancient one.

We need the song that was sung over this world as it was formed, the song the stars have sung for untold generations, a song that Moses sang on the sandy shores of a once parted sea, a song that will be sung on repeat in the throne room of eternity. We need the Song of The Lamb.

We need an old song with an old story.

Tell me the old, old story
Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and His glory,
Of Jesus and His love.
Tell me the story simply,
As to a little child,
For I am weak and weary,
And helpless and defiled.

Tell me the story slowly,
That I may take it in,
That wonderful redemption,
God’s remedy for sin.
Tell me the story often,
For I forget so soon;
The early dew of morning
Has passed away at noon.

Tell me the story softly,
With earnest tones and grave;
Remember I’m the sinner
Whom Jesus came to save.
Tell me the story always,
If you would really be,
In any time of trouble,
A comforter to me.

Tell me the same old story
When you have cause to fear
That this world’s empty glory
Is costing me too dear.
Yes, and when that world’s glory
Is dawning on my soul,
Tell me the old, old story:
Christ Jesus makes thee whole. — Katherine Hankey, 1866

Christ Jesus makes thee whole. That’s the song this world needs to hear now. That’s the tune that solves the riddle of our heart, the longing of our soul, the restless wandering of our affections.

Christ Jesus makes thee whole.