Music and Spirituality

“The aim and final end of all music should be none other than the glory of God and the refreshment of the soul.” —Johann Sebastian Bach

At one of the hospitals where I work as a music therapist, I recently had a referral to visit with a young man, in his 30s, who was in a coma and on a ventilator in the intensive care unit (ICU). He recently had some sort of cardiac event. When I arrived at the room, the "scene" I walked in on gave me pause. His mother was holding one of his hands and his nurse was holding the other—and they were praying. The image just stopped me in my tracks. It looked like a piece of art through the lens of the glass doors of the hospital room, haunting and beautifully poetic at the same time. I paused for what seemed like minutes…just looking. I’m sure I won’t soon forget it.

Soon after, I went in. His mother told me that their family had just decided to take him off life support. But she wanted him to hear some music first. “Because he loves music.”

I took a breath, then I sat and took out my guitar, and I played. She held his hand and stroked his head. Something made me move into a "lullaby" version of Stand By Me. She became emotional and put her head on his shoulder. After the song, she asked if I would play Amazing Grace, as that was the last song she wanted him to hear. She said that her faith was telling her that he was going to a better place, and that it was okay (almost as if she were comforting me, as I’m sure my face showed both despair and, hopefully, empathy). We sang it together. And yes, there was emotion. I tried to hold mine back but was only partially successful. When we finished, she paused in prayer for a moment, and then looked at me and said, “Thank you. I’m ready to let him go.”

When I left the room, I felt in awe of her. I could not imagine what it would be like, having to say “goodbye” and let go of your son. I was also a bit…envious. I was envious of how her faith seemed to guide her through her sorrow.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve felt that way. I also recall a scenario in the oncology unit a few years ago, where a mother was very near the end, too soon for her age. I sat with her, and we sang hymns together with her family. Sometimes in beautiful harmony. There was such a feeling of love and peace and…celebration—in an oncology unit with someone about to transition. Again, I left feeling envious.

I have many more stories in which faith, religion, and spirituality just seemed to make everything…okay. Not to say that there wasn’t sadness, hurt, anger, and grief as well. It just seemed different. All of those stories end with me feeling envious.

The Music, and the Power

And the music: So powerful. So poignant. So beautiful. I always feel it deeply. Something "more" in the room and something more in me. I’ve certainly observed over the years that when someone in the hospital is going through a life altering scenario, their faith in something bigger always seems to be a powerful way to cope, to help, and to guide.

I have a complicated relationship with "faith." I grew up in a traditional Catholic family, and have moved away from that as an adult. I’ve had some periods of going to church regularly but more periods of not. And I can’t say that I’ve ever fully bought in. I certainly have never felt like those referenced above. And maybe envious isn’t the right word, but I’ve always felt after those sessions that I may be missing something.

Recently, I’ve started to think more about "spirituality"—and we know that "spirituality" doesn’t have to mean religion, although it can. I’ve recently found some interest and comfort in reading some of the philosophies of Buddhism and Stoicism, and have started to explore finding more "spirituality" in my own life. I want to feel how those patients and their families felt when faced with loss or adversity. I want to feel that something bigger is there, something to call upon when needed.

Music and Spirituality

Music and spirituality really can go hand in hand. I've felt moments when the music is just going "through" me, like I’m a conduit of sorts where I don’t have full control. It's not always necessarily "spiritual" music that gives me that experience. I’ve felt it when alone and I’ve felt it when sharing music with others. When the connections are so strong, it feels like something has taken over my body. I certainly felt it when singing Amazing Grace with that mother who was holding her son’s hand in the ICU. The connection I felt in that moment, with her, with him, with the music, was no doubt coming from something...more. Something greater. Something that I want to feel and experience more at this point in my life.

* The stories presented in this post are based on accounts and experiences.