Minor Fall Major Lift

Leonard Cohen’s song “Hallelujah” (originally something like 80 verses!) was written as a somewhat bitter complaint to God. As originally written, the first verse says:

Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord

That David played, and it pleased the Lord

But you don’t really care for music, do ya?

It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth

The minor fall, the major lift*

It’s a cold and ever broken Hallelujah.

In other words, even in rejoicing (or trying to) there’s the tension of a cold and ubiquitous kind of brokenness. And there’s truth there.

This side of the Second Advent, rejoicing isn't a simple thing. The beautiful Advent hymn “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” captures this tension well both lyrically and musically: minor fall, major lift (even if briefly), minor fall. It’s a song of rejoicing, and yet there’s brokenness.

The readings for this Sunday—Gaudete (i.e. Rejoice) Sunday (the pink candle)—also capture this tension well: minor fall (James and Matthew), major lift (Isaiah). But then, why shouldn’t they? This tension is the very heart of the Gospel itself: We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the very same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope. Minor fall, major lift. Brokenness and rejoicing. Tension.