May, 1977. Finals Week at Northwestern College, Watertown, Wisconsin. It was my senior year. I had just finished a final exam, and I rushed back to my dormitory. Once there I bounded up the steps, two-at-a-time to my third floor room, east-side. A perfect location for what was to come.
Once in my room, I turned on my Sansui 9090 stereo receiver/amplifier. This beast put out 110 watts of pure pounding, pulsating sound per channel. Crisp treble. Dead-on accurate midrange. Booming bass. I had paired this monster with Bose 901 speakers. State-of-the-art, surround-sound. Not so much as a hint of a whisper of distortion.
I pulled a record off the shelf. Cleaned it carefully. But before I set it gingerly on my Phillips DC servo belt-drive turntable, I slid my windows open wide. Then I dropped the needle precisely to the track I wanted. I cranked up my Sansui. Like a Tsunami, the Hallelujah Chorus began to flood the campus.
Wave after wave it thundered: “Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
Then came the bass: “For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
Then came the tenor, and I joined in with every ounce of voice power I could muster! “For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
Then came Dean Lindemann standing in my door. He was not amused. My campus/community concert came to a screeching halt.
I still graduated. (I figure they were rather relieved to see me go.)
It’s been some 47 years since I unleashed that ear-splitting chorus on Northwestern’s campus. It’s been decades since I replaced the Sansui 9090 and the Bose 901 speakers with something less ominous.
I still listen to music, usually in the background while I write. Soft. Secondary. Almost subliminal.
But more and more? I prefer silence. I sit on my veranda (that sounds fancier than saying “porch”), and I ponder the lush fuchsias in my hanging baskets. I watch the squirrels playing in the hemlocks. I wonder how I’ll reach the edible pod-peas that are up 8 feet high on the inside of my deer fence.
I watch the clouds and smile when I remember the little boy who used to see all kinds of imaginary creatures in the sky. “That one’s a giraffe!” “That one’s a horse!”
I listen to the birds. “Uh, oh, the blue jays are causing a ruckus. Are they in my blueberry patch again?”
I drink in the silence. As I do, God’s Word comes whispering into my heart and mind.
“Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted on the earth.” (Psalm 46:10) “Be still. . .” Like a gentle wave those words wash through me and calm me, especially after being pounded by the endless, raging noise about war in the Middle East or Ukraine, or the chasma-like, hate-filled political divide in our own country. My God, your God is still in control.
“This is what the LORD God, the Holy One of Israel, says: If you repent and wait quietly, you will be saved. Your strength will depend on quietness and trust.” {Isaiah 30:15) Another wave of comfort washes through me, one I so desperately need! For all those noisy moments when my heart is troubled by my sins. At my age? Too often sins of omission. The phone call not made. The visit I didn’t get around to. The sermon not up to snuff. The Wednesday Encouragement that was anything but.
“LORD, my heart is not haughty, and my eyes are not proud. So I do not intrude into great matters or into things too wonderful for me. Instead I have soothed and quieted my soul. As a nursed child rests with its mother, like a nursed child my soul rests with me. Wait confidently, O Israel, for the LORD from now to eternity.” (Psalm 131)
“Let God be God, Glenn. He’s got this.” Just as he’s got me. And he’s got you. Washed clean in the blood of his son. Cradled safe in his loving arms.
“From now to eternity.”
Privileged to Serve,
Rev. Glenn Schwanke
Once in my room, I turned on my Sansui 9090 stereo receiver/amplifier. This beast put out 110 watts of pure pounding, pulsating sound per channel. Crisp treble. Dead-on accurate midrange. Booming bass. I had paired this monster with Bose 901 speakers. State-of-the-art, surround-sound. Not so much as a hint of a whisper of distortion.
I pulled a record off the shelf. Cleaned it carefully. But before I set it gingerly on my Phillips DC servo belt-drive turntable, I slid my windows open wide. Then I dropped the needle precisely to the track I wanted. I cranked up my Sansui. Like a Tsunami, the Hallelujah Chorus began to flood the campus.
Wave after wave it thundered: “Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
Then came the bass: “For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
Then came the tenor, and I joined in with every ounce of voice power I could muster! “For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
Then came Dean Lindemann standing in my door. He was not amused. My campus/community concert came to a screeching halt.
I still graduated. (I figure they were rather relieved to see me go.)
It’s been some 47 years since I unleashed that ear-splitting chorus on Northwestern’s campus. It’s been decades since I replaced the Sansui 9090 and the Bose 901 speakers with something less ominous.
I still listen to music, usually in the background while I write. Soft. Secondary. Almost subliminal.
But more and more? I prefer silence. I sit on my veranda (that sounds fancier than saying “porch”), and I ponder the lush fuchsias in my hanging baskets. I watch the squirrels playing in the hemlocks. I wonder how I’ll reach the edible pod-peas that are up 8 feet high on the inside of my deer fence.
I watch the clouds and smile when I remember the little boy who used to see all kinds of imaginary creatures in the sky. “That one’s a giraffe!” “That one’s a horse!”
I listen to the birds. “Uh, oh, the blue jays are causing a ruckus. Are they in my blueberry patch again?”
I drink in the silence. As I do, God’s Word comes whispering into my heart and mind.
“Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted on the earth.” (Psalm 46:10) “Be still. . .” Like a gentle wave those words wash through me and calm me, especially after being pounded by the endless, raging noise about war in the Middle East or Ukraine, or the chasma-like, hate-filled political divide in our own country. My God, your God is still in control.
“This is what the LORD God, the Holy One of Israel, says: If you repent and wait quietly, you will be saved. Your strength will depend on quietness and trust.” {Isaiah 30:15) Another wave of comfort washes through me, one I so desperately need! For all those noisy moments when my heart is troubled by my sins. At my age? Too often sins of omission. The phone call not made. The visit I didn’t get around to. The sermon not up to snuff. The Wednesday Encouragement that was anything but.
“LORD, my heart is not haughty, and my eyes are not proud. So I do not intrude into great matters or into things too wonderful for me. Instead I have soothed and quieted my soul. As a nursed child rests with its mother, like a nursed child my soul rests with me. Wait confidently, O Israel, for the LORD from now to eternity.” (Psalm 131)
“Let God be God, Glenn. He’s got this.” Just as he’s got me. And he’s got you. Washed clean in the blood of his son. Cradled safe in his loving arms.
“From now to eternity.”
Privileged to Serve,
Rev. Glenn Schwanke
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