*3.1. The (Third) Presence of Christ in Music*

As will have become clear by now, in the writing of this article the key words that have emerged are space and presence—the *power* of empty space; the power of *music* that does not impose or control what we feel, but creates a space that invites us in. As mentioned above, it evokes the memory of that part of Apologetics that used to present the empty tomb as a "proof" of the resurrection. We no longer speak of "proof" in that way, of course, but the empty tomb is still an important part of resurrection theology, as a sign and message about the embodied nature of Jesus' life, and our own. There is something powerful and evocative in the thought that emptiness could be or facilitate the presence of someone—that the *lack* of one body could *mean*, or *make present*, a different, transformed one. It seems to me that this is *one* way in which music, and specifically Avro Pärt's *Spiegel im Spiegel* works. It opens a space for us to experience another, "Third" Presence. We already noted music's effect on how we inhabit the world, drawing on Speelman's musical semiotics. Is there a doctrinal, revealed truth that relates to this experience? The one which could underlie some of what we touch there is that of the continuing presence of the Incarnated Body of Christ in our world, which paradoxically is inaugurated by (and could even be understood as a kind of "flip-side of the coin" to) the Ascension. This truth, essential to the life of the early Church but rather peripheral to ours today, is somehow alien or distant to us precisely because of the different way in which we inhabit the universe and "imagine" heaven, where Jesus (presumably) has "gone". And yet for a pre-Copernican world, the risen and ascended body of Christ was still "within our reach", as it is still within ours. Space is not empty, when we can bear to let it breathe the Presence of the One in whom we live, move and have our being (Act 17:28).

The past ten years has seen research into the doctrine of the Ascension and its corresponding doctrine of the mystical body of Christ intensify and deepen [63]. Groundbreaking in this regard is the recent work of a recent approach to theology at King's College, London by Oliver Davies, Paul Janz and Clemens Sedmak, called Transformation Theology [64]. Of particular note is the mutuality they underline between the Ascension and Body of Christ, by which they challenge the implicit or explicit "substitution" of the post-Paschal humanity of Christ by the Spirit, re-situating the same as the "life/breath" of the risen and ascended body of Christ. Hence, current theological exploration of our embodied lives in Christ [65], both personal and as community/society touch upon this truth, albeit implicitly, however it may be named or described: Transformation Theology, the Body of Christ, the Mystical Body of Christ, Immanent Transcendence or God's inspiriting presence ([49], pp. 139–48), the dispersed body of Christ ([66], pp. 168–69), the fourfold bodily expression that popular music works through (physical, social, symbolic and metaphorical) ([66], pp. 57–72), or the Ascension of our lord to Heaven. I have no evidence (apart from the film's title!) to suggest Tykfer was thinking along these lines, but in the last scene of the *Heaven*, they "ascend" ever upwards. We cannot hear the music,

"…yet the reason why we, the viewers, cannot hear it, is because in the end we are left behind with an earthbound point of view (confirmed by the last shot of witnessing the *ascent* of the helicopter), while the protagonists are completing their *ascension* into heaven" ([8], p. 108).

In any case, the question is left open as to the couple's fate, and it is unlikely that Heaven is "upwards". Interestingly, Pärt himself speaks of a different direction in his own seeking: the space we may well need to find may not be up, but down here and inward, in the "inner seclusion of our soul", and that of each person, that Pärt seeks in and through music. Contemporary understanding of where God inhabits our world (*i.e.*, heaven) is as much about interiority as anywhere else.

#### *3.2. Reception: The Power of What is not "Said" and The Development of Doctrine*

The fact is that music can and does offer meaning and space for many people. George Steiner calls music the "un-written theology" ([67], p. 218) of many who do not relate to a particular creed or religion. Interestingly and in some sense confirming this fact, *Spiegel im Spiegel* has no explicit creed attached to it and despite the depth of human meaning to be found in some of the films it has become a part of, they're not explicitly religious or Christian films. They are saturated with meaning, but it is implicit meaning. I left the "soundscape" of *Wit* differently to how I entered it. In putting name to the values she intuits in tintinnabuli music, Maimets-Volt underlines their human origin, and admits it may seem "paltry", in comparison with the positive revelation of the all-knowing deity Revelation prescribes to" ([8], p. 172). But is that not harsh? Is God who lets his sun shine…

(*cf*. Mt 5:38–48) not more generous than that? Could it be OK to leave space, without words, at times, and know that the divine Spirit is at work anyway? How can a film, or a piece of music, which says nothing about God, transmit God, before or even without, an explication to that effect? Rahner, in a beautiful short piece called "Prayer for Creative Thinkers", in which he simply asks God for more of them, at the service of the Word, states explicitly that

they do not need to be constantly bringing you into everything they say. They must make mention of you by name only when they are filled with the spirit of the purest happiness or the deepest pain. For the rest let them honour you with their silence ([68], pp. 131–32).

Why is non-explicit ok? Because God is not a word, and divine presence cannot be "held" in a word, alone: Because we can hold together, quite happily, a deep desire that God be known, and an awareness that God is "in the room", quietly, *un-recognized as yet,* but moving and effective. That God is not (yet) recognized, or professed does not mean that God is not there, holding us while the Spirit inspirits? Tom Beaudoin's theology of Generation X describes them/us as a generation who are distrustful of institutional religion, consider experience sacred and find spirituality in suffering, and speak of faith and ambiguity" [69]. If that is the case, then we need forums and means to rediscover trust and the bridge to Christ's presence: room to move and sense that God can be found in suffering, useless beauty, interconnectedness, inter-subjective meaning, interpretative space as opposed to commentary, and "hard-won clarity". And one way in which God inhabits is precisely through music.

Not only is this something those alienated for institutionalized religion may need, but also those who have never left. Music not only enriches us *towards* faith (*preambula fidei*), but also within it. It can awaken in us those areas that are dormant, or complacent, or simply untouched. Our theology of faith needs to account for the embodied and affective dimensions of life in a more comprehensive way—and perhaps therein lies the strength music has which words don't, "even a few thousand of them". We leave the "soundscape" of *Wit* differently to how we enter. Our thought is stretched with what could be called deeper, thicker and fresher concepts [70], which will enrich not only our experience but also our doctrinal understanding. I think of the notion of "the development of doctrine" also in those terms, less as an accumulation of new concepts and more in the depth with which we experience and therefore understand them. Again, as noted in the above reflection, music comes to our aid in this.
