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Good Morning. This evening sees the great annual jamboree that is the last night of the Proms.     The whole institution is remarkable.  It tends to be associated with the name of Sir Henry Wood, but the original idea came from Robert Newman, who founded it 120 years ago with the earnest sounding purpose of bringing challenging high quality music to a mass audience.  Newman envisaged from the outset that the Proms would be a bit different from the kind of po-faced image many of us have of classical concerts.

Audiences were allowed to bring picnics and the whole atmosphere was designed to be informal and welcoming.

Traditionally the programme on the last night was a particularly accessible one.  It’s difficult to trace the exact history of its development into the kind of event it is now.  But one feature that goes back a long way is the singing of patriotic songs.  There’s hardly a dry eye in the house when the promenaders many of them with silly hats and banners, belt out Land of Hope and Glory and Rule Britannia.

Which prompts me to wonder why some songs can stir and engage our emotions like that.   Especially when the kind of patriotic sentiments of the words seem so alien to the age we live in.

Something very similar can often happen in churches.  Both regulars and occasional visitors have very firm views on what they want to sing – frequently passionate and deeply personal words expressing profound emotions that they probably wouldn’t dream of admitting to in any other circumstances. 

I suspect it’s a lot to do with quite nebulous ideas like identity.  Singing big old songs can be a bridge to the past and, in an increasingly fragmented world give us a feeling of continuity and belonging that is otherwise a bit elusive. 

Father we thank you for traditions that connect us to one another and to those that have gone before.  Bless us through those connections with a clearer understanding of who we are, and who we can become.  Amen