心灵的歌声 Aus dem Herzen singen (cn | en)

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作者：小羊冰冰

新年伊始，万物正在蓄势生发，我却突然遭到一场蓄谋已久的心灵打击，猝不及防，心灵受伤，伤痛之时，痛何如哉，却没有地方可以倾诉。几个月以来，我的心封闭得紧紧的，痛苦、委屈和控告像海浪一样汹涌，像河水一样流长。我的心何时才会回归平静，而我心灵的伤口又到何时才会愈合呢?

几个月后，经过朋友介绍，我第一次来到华人合唱团，打算在新的环境里散散抑郁的心情。我来到这里，以为自己是个孤独的苦行僧，后来才得知，这个团队在两年前刚刚经历过一场痛苦的打击，大家都需要心灵的医治和重建。不由地想起白居易的诗句：“同是天涯沦落人，相逢何必曾相识”。这是多么奇妙的事啊，恰巧就这样发生了。

我是个珍惜缘分的人，庆幸自己加入这个团队。这是一群有爱的，能互相理解和关照的人，你和他们相处，不需要处处设防，不需要口是心非，不需要装模作样。你也不必很优秀，不必很漂亮，你的歌唱素养也不必很高。你就是那个平平常常，普普通通的人，悄悄地来到这里，静静地坐在那里，不需要任何的表白，只是偶尔侧着身，转过脸，听一听大家的谈论，看一看指挥的带领，享受音乐的美感就足矣。

你却会不时地惊叹：唱得真美啊！你仿佛置身在江南风景画里，和故交友人在小船上饮酒叙旧。那一定是个雨过天晴的傍晚，夕阳西照，霞光淡淡的，湖水仿佛静止了，只有波光粼粼地，一如既往地摇动你的心扉，似乎在向你喃喃细语，而你的心禁不住就打开了，你的心事陆续地飘落到湖面上，随着摇曳的波光在湖面上徜徉，引来一对美丽的天鹅，从远远的湖心那里游过来，弯着柔柔的颈项，懂你似的注视着你，久久地徘徊在小船旁边。

然而，这却不是在表演的时候，而是在平时的训练当中。我们虽然没有演出，却一直在训练。好几年的时间里，没有鲜花和掌声，也没有赞扬和支持，有的只是不断的坚持、建造和进步。第一场演出是在圣托马斯教堂，我们在主日崇拜上献唱赞美诗。指挥带领我们列队站在二楼的诗班席，楼下大堂里是礼拜的人群和两位牧师。

我们献唱完德文赞美诗，接下来是亨德尔的英文赞美诗《哈利路亚》。大家不由地紧张起来，这首诗歌的难度大，高音、节奏和合声都很难驾驭，在现场彩排时还出了问题。现在我们能唱好吗?

突然，管风琴响起来了，划破了教堂的寂静，像是冲锋在前的军队，声音振奋人心，强劲有力。接着四部和声响起来了：“哈利路亚，哈利路亚，因为我们的主，天父全能者已经作王了”。是的，主，我要赞美你，用诚实敬拜你，打开心灵来迎见你，你已经作王，而且世世代代永远作王，掌管天下所有的权柄，还有什么能阻挡在我和你之间呢！

我却突然泪流满面，喉咙好像是被东西堵住，无法发声唱任何一个音。是出于诗歌的感动?还是场景的再现? 抑或是心里压力和伤痛在那一刻的释放? 霎那间，我才意识到，我的心灵创伤早已经不存在了，我早已经得了天父的医治。原来主他从来没有离开过我，他一直抱着我走过了这条苦行僧的道路，让我终于远离了忧伤、抑郁、怀疑和无助。感谢主，我已经行过马拉的苦水，到达了以琳的甘泉。

我的心充满了感恩，心里升起无穷的力量和光明的盼望。在我最痛苦最需要扶持的时候，我并不是孤单地行走，默默地承受，主亲手为我预备前方的道路，他那慈爱的眼目时时眷顾我。我拥有的竟然是那么多，远远超过了我的所求所想。原来，我一直都拥有主，他是我的牧者，我一生都不致缺乏！

一段时间之后我们又受邀在柏林纪念教堂演出。我们献唱的《阳关三叠》由古琴领奏，女高领唱，歌声如诗如画，如泣如诉，让现场众多的观众十分感动。还没等最后一个音符落地，现场就响起了经久不息的掌声。经过三年的时间，我们完成了心灵的治疗和重建。这是一个新的起点，我们将一起向新的目标前行。是啊，冬天的严寒让树林经受了考验，树林的成长却从来没有停止，她们变得结实了、健壮了、牢靠了，也越发地自信了。当春风吹来的时候，她们将一起绽放美丽绚烂的生命之花。

诗 篇 Psalms

18:2	耶和华是我的岩石、我的山寨、我的救主、我的　神、我的磐石、我所投靠的．他是我的盾牌、是拯救我的角、是我的高台。
18:3	我要求告当赞美的耶和华．这样我必从仇敌手中被救出来。

（2018年10月初稿  2026年2月更新）

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英文翻译版：

Singing from the Heart
Author: Bing Bing Weidemann

At the dawn of the new year, when all things are gathering strength to flourish, I was struck—suddenly and without warning—by a long-brewing blow to my spirit. It came with such force that I had no time to shield myself. My heart was wounded, deeply pained, yet I had nowhere to pour out my sorrow. My reason told me that the Lord had allowed this to happen, but it was difficult for me to seek His presence. For months, my heart was tightly shut, unable to pray about it before Him. In the days that followed, waves of grief, grievance, and self-blame surged over me like the tide—long and unrelenting as a river’s flow. When would my heart return to peace? When would the wounds of the soul begin to heal?

Several months later, through a friend’s introduction, I stepped into a Chinese choir for the first time, hoping the new setting might lift the clouds from my heart. I came thinking I was a lonely pilgrim, but soon learned that this group had gone through its own painful trial just two years prior. Everyone here was in need of healing and renewal. I couldn’t help but recall Bai Juyi’s verse: “Wanderers from the same ends of the earth—how can we not feel kinship, even if we have never met before?” How wondrous it is, that such a chance meeting came to be.

I treasure such encounters, and I am grateful to be part of this choir. This is a gathering of loving souls, where people understand and care for one another. Here, there is no need for walls, no need for pretense, no need to wear a mask. You don’t have to be outstanding or beautiful; your musical background doesn’t have to be refined. You can simply be your ordinary self—quietly arriving, gently sitting, without explanation or performance. You need only turn your head from time to time, listen to their conversations, follow the conductor’s guiding hands, and let yourself be moved by the beauty of the music.

Again and again, you find yourself awed: “How beautiful this singing is!” It feels as if you’ve stepped into a southern Chinese watercolor painting—sailing on a small boat with old friends, reminiscing over wine. Perhaps it is just after a rain, in the glow of a setting sun. The lake lies still beneath the soft amber sky, shimmering with gentle ripples that stir your soul. They whisper to you in secret, and slowly, your heart begins to open. One by one, your burdens drift out onto the water, carried gently by the glimmering waves. And then—gracefully—two swans appear, gliding from the heart of the lake. With their elegant necks bowed, they gaze at you as if they understand, lingering quietly beside your boat.

Yet this was not during a performance. It happened in rehearsal—ordinary, quiet rehearsal. We have not been on stage, and there have been no flowers, no applause, no praise or recognition. There has only been perseverance, building, and growth—year after year.

Our first performance took place at St. Thomas Church, where we offered hymns during the Sunday worship service. The conductor led us in a solemn procession to the choir loft on the second floor. Below us, in the sanctuary, gathered the congregation and two pastors. After we sang a German hymn of praise, next came Handel’s English anthem, Hallelujah. A wave of nervousness rippled through the group—this piece was challenging, with its demanding high notes, intricate rhythms, and layered harmonies. During rehearsal, we had even encountered problems. Could we truly carry it through now?

Suddenly, the organ thundered to life, cutting through the silence of the church like a battalion charging forward. The sound was stirring—resolute and powerful. Then, the four-part harmony rose up: “Hallelujah! Hallelujah! For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth!”
Yes, Lord—I will praise You, worship You in truth, open my heart and come before You. You reign now and forevermore, through all generations, and all authority belongs to You. What, then, could stand between You and me?

But in that moment, tears streamed down my face. My throat tightened—as if something blocked it—and I could no longer sing a single note. Was it the power of the music? The overwhelming presence of the moment? Or perhaps the release of months of pressure and pain?
In that instant, I realized—my soul’s wounds were gone. I had already received healing from my Heavenly Father. The Lord had never left me. He had carried me through the path of hardship like a pilgrim monk, and now He had led me out of sorrow, depression, doubt, and helplessness.
Thank You, Lord. I have passed through the bitter waters of Marah and arrived at the sweet springs of Elim.

My heart was filled with gratitude, rising with boundless strength and a luminous hope. In my darkest and most painful moments, when I most needed support, I had not walked alone. Silently and faithfully, the Lord had prepared the path before me. His loving eyes watched over me at all times. What I had received was far more than I had ever asked or imagined. Indeed, I have always had the Lord. He is my Shepherd—I shall not want all the days of my life.

Some time later, we were invited to perform at the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church in Berlin. We presented The Song of Farewell at Yang Pass, accompanied by the gentle plucking of the guqin and led by a soaring soprano voice. The music unfolded like a painting, tender and sorrowful, stirring the hearts of the audience. Before the final note had even faded, the hall erupted in prolonged and heartfelt applause.

After three years, we had completed the healing and rebuilding of our spirits. This was a new beginning, and together we would move forward toward new horizons. Yes—the harshness of winter has tested the trees, yet they have never ceased to grow. They have become stronger, more resilient, and more grounded. And now, more confident than ever. When the spring breeze comes, they will bloom together—bursting forth with radiant, glorious blossoms of life.

（May 2, 2025 Berlin @ Copyright reserved）