Our world feels increasingly dark, and broken; our news dominated by the devastation and destruction of war, and a seemingly endless, increasingly unstable will-he, won't-he about the next steps. In such a world, to sing of new life and Love's victory might seem hollow; and endless alleluias might appear misplaced. But however wounded and warlike our world, it is now, joyously and primordially, bathed in Easter, and the Risen Jesus is the One through whose wounds we are all healed. And however we look at this world, alleluia must overwhelmingly be our song: not just because it is liberally sprinkled across missals and breviaries, but because it is truly in our hearts. Because however we look at our world, we look at God first: and through him we can see, and know, the radiance and the resurrection of Love, permeating every reality; offering and bestowing transformation, and a new life even lovelier than our current northern hemisphere spring.
Twenty Easters ago, in times which now seem so much simpler though they too held their own challenges, the Canadian singer Kelley Mooney first adapted the lyrics of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah to sing for her parish's Easter Mass. She eventually obtained Cohen's permission to record her rendering, as she explained in an early performance, captured by a homespun video which I have shared a couple of times in the past for Easter. It's a simple, shaky video of a low-key event, filled with the power, beauty and conviction of Kelley's voice and presence, underpinned by her strong Faith.
Kelley wrote her version after a conversation with her parish priest, and in an interesting parallel, it was sharing the video with mine which led to this reflection. Unlike his Canadian counterpart, my parish priest knew Cohen's work, and thus a conversation ensued, around darkness, lyrics and seeking souls, which led me to look again, not at Kelley's words, but at Cohen's.
And yes; the original Hallelujah lyrics are rather dark, with only glimpses of God... but... I also sprang to their defence, if only because the final lines are sublime. Whatever might have motivated them on Cohen's part, to me they speak of a profound certainty in God’s unconditional love, and of a joyful encounter with abundant mercy:
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
And in a moment I was transported back to 1990, and my return to God. At the Mass I had started attending, we regularly sang O Bread of Heaven. The first time I sang the final lines... Oh! They too are sublime, and filled with faith, suffusing me with a quiet confidence and hope in the everlasting goodness of the God who had come to meet me:
For how can He deny me heaven,
Who here on earth Himself hath given?
In these days of Easter we are all invited to meet the Risen Jesus in tenderness and intimacy: to walk and enjoy meals with him; be gladdened and reassured by him; hear him explain the scriptures to us, and know the quiet joy of his love and forgiveness, and undying presence among us. May we all do so with confidence, and an endless hallelujah on our lips and in our hearts, because even though so much has gone wrong, we can stand before - reach out to, touch, embrace - the Risen Lord of Song, knowing that his hallelujah will always resound with ours.
And here is the video: do watch it, and sing along with the chorus - and let the chorus sing an unending hallelujah in you.
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