The Sweetest Sounds

“We need you to play for a patient, her name’s Sarah. She’s anxious, crying, and refusing therapy,” the recreational therapist at the rehabilitation hospital instructed me. “She has a severed spine. Car accident.”

I was a new therapeutic musician, and had worked with very few patients at that stage. I felt nervous, and wondered if I could really be of help to her. I thought about the many music techniques and methods I had been taught. Which one would work? I found Sarah in bed, trembling, staring at the ceiling. I introduced myself, but she remained silent. As I strummed a classical song on the guitar, she turned her tear-stained face to me and quietly asked, “Could you sing a hymn?” I nodded and began with the first one I thought of that seemed appropriate:

Sweet hour of prayer / sweet hour of prayer

That calls me from a world of care…

Sarah began singing along in a thin, quavering voice:

In seasons of distress and grief / My soul has often found relief.

“Thank you,” she said when the song ended, reaching her hand out for mine. Her eyes were alive, her expression hopeful. I had heard about the power of hymns beyond their beauty and general inspiration, but until that day, had never witnessed how completely transformative they could be for someone in such great physical, emotional, and spiritual pain.

“Thank you,” I said, gently squeezing Sarah’s hand.