Beginning my morning run today, I hit the play button on my iPod. It was, in some ways, a random choice. Unlike many people who run, I do not have a set playlist that gets me going, keeps my pace or helps me cool down. I play mostly whatever strikes my fancy. I can run as easily to a chant as I can to rock ‘n roll. This may tell you something about my running style.

Today’s punch of the button brought up k.d. lang’s version of the Leonard Cohen song ‘Hallelujah’. In some ways it is a strange song and I have to admit I really don’t understand all the lyrics or their intention. It weaves a complicated telling of the King David story with a lot of poetic, thick phrases that leave much room for interpretation. But the phrase ‘a broken hallelujah’ is woven throughout. The song builds to repetition of Hallelujah that pulls at your heart.

As I made my way down our street I became aware of the fact that this very churchy word, unused in most regular conversation, seemed to be the perfect affirmation of this beautiful day. A day perched between summer and fall. The beauty of what has come to fruition is holding the ‘what next’ in its outstretched hand. I know it is true because I saw the first fallen leaf from our maple tree, brilliant red and nestled in the carpet of green grass. Hallelujah seemed to be the appropriate soundtrack to the unfolding morning, the yet to be known season, and all the glory they both embody.

I began to think about the word ‘hallelujah’, how rarely I use it. Certainly I say it on rare occasions we sing a traditional hymn that uses this exclamation. In my past I have been present in worship services in which the preacher’s words have elicited a ‘hallelujah’ from those in the pews. Even if I had felt that word welling up, I would have been unlikely to have gone beyond my comfort zone and joined them in their enthusiasm. Hallelujah is just not a word that rolls off most people’s tongues with ease.

And yet, as I think about it, of the seeds planted within us at our birth, perhaps ‘hallelujah’ is one of the deepest. What child does not come into the world, after the work of laboring to be born, without ‘hallelujah’ springing from their crying lips? And it is the blessing of most mothers, fathers, grandparents and siblings who first glimpse this newborn to feel the rising of a ‘hallelujah’ deep in the pit of their stomachs. As humans we were created for ‘hallelujah’.

Yet Cohen is correct that our hallelujahs are often broken. I remember with a certain poignancy watching k.d. lang sing this song at the closing ceremonies of last year’s Winter Olympics. She stood, alone, dressed in a white suit in the enormous Vancouver stadium surrounded by people from around the world. As she began this ballad, I remember thinking this was far too quiet, too simple a song to sing for such an event. But as the crowd grew silent and she stood in the single, shining light, I knew I need not worry. Soon everyone, regardless of nationality or political party, was held in the power that lived deep within. The Hallelujah that was theirs was being spoken for them by this one, powerful voice. All the broken hallelujahs that had gone before were healed in that moment.

This morning, listening to this song once again, I sang ‘Hallelujah’ to the green trees and the blue sky. I thought of the broken places in our world, the broken places within me. Places where ‘hallelujah’ seems so difficult to utter. I breathed in the fresh, clean air and felt my legs carrying me and breathed out ‘hallelujah’. I thought of the institutions and relationships that are broken and cannot find their hallelujah.

And then I remembered the small, red leaf. Though broken hallelujahs abound, the deep rhythms of Creation cannot be silenced. They continue to sing their praise into the world……even when we cannot.