Somewhere in my education, I learned a little bit about how our ears work. Sounds enter our ears as waves or vibrations that cause our eardrums to vibrate in response. The vibrations of eardrums are carried by three small bones across the middle ear to vibrate the liquid in the inner ear. That liquid vibrates a network of bones in the inner ear and the cochlea turns those mechanical waves into electrical waves that can be processed by the human brain. I learned the common names for those three bones: hammer, anvil and stirrup. And somewhere I learned that the stirrup is the smallest bone in the human body. Ear specialists refer to the three bones as the malleus, incus and stapes. The first is shaped like a small bat or mallet and it is adhered to the ear drum and moves with the vibrations in the membrane. Ligaments hold it in close proximity to the incus which is held by other ligaments at right angles with the stapes, which fits into an opening in another bone where it is held in place by another ligament.

There are two tiny muscles in the middle ear. One can change the tension in the eardrum that gives some control over the degree of loudness of sounds. The other tips the stapes so that its footplate comes in and out of the opening in its bone.

The process is fairly complex and it occurs without us having conscious knowledge of what is going on. The sounds we hear carry pitch. Small ripples in the air cause high pitches. Large ripples carry deep pitches. When I walk along the beach, I am aware of the differences in pitch. The seagulls’ cries are small waves traveling through the air. The water crashing against the beach are large waves.

There are lots of places in nature where my ability to hear enhances my experience. I imagine that someone who is unable to hear experiences the ocean in an entirely different manner than I. So much of my experience is caught up in a combination of visual and auditory messages that are processed together in my brain. Sights and sounds combine to make the experience complete. Were I to lose the ability to hear, something that occurs for many people, the experience would be entirely different.

Fortunately, I have been blessed with reasonable hearing and although there is some normal loss of hearing that has occurred as I age, I still can hear quite well.

Sometimes, I revel in the combination of visual and auditory clues. This is the case when I walk along the beach. I want to both hear and see. This is true also when I listen to a handbell choir. The sounds are enhanced by the visual clues given by the ringers. In our church in Rapid City, the handbells were often rung from the choir loft. Most of the congregation sat and listened without the visual part of the musical experience. I, however, sitting in the chancel, had a good view of the ringers. I often encouraged the handbell choir director to bring the choir down stairs so that the congregation could share in the combination of auditory and visual experiences. I often feel a similar way with a symphony orchestra. I enjoy seeing the musicians as much as I enjoy hearing their music. As one who has played in bands and orchestras, I am trained to look at the conductor. Good conductors move their hands in ways that stay ahead of the music - literally leading the beat and helping the musicians to coordinate their actions. I enjoy watching good conducting.

There are, however, sounds that are so incredible that I tend to close my eyes and temporarily cut off the visual clues so that I can concentrate more intensely on the experience of hearing. Sometimes I will close my eyes to listen more intently in an effort to identify the call of a single bird amidst all of the other sounds that come flooding to my ears. Another time when I close my eyes while listening is when I hear a good pipe organ. A pipe organ, like a trumpet or other wind instrument, delivers sound waves on moving air. Like the wind at the beach, the instrument causes the air to move and the experience of sound is different than sound waves delivered on static air. My joy at the sound of the pipes of an organ was developed in part through the experiences of being pastor at our church in Rapid City where the organ was just the right size for the room. The room was acoustically well designed and the placement of the organ in the loft at the back of the room was just right. During my time as pastor, the congregation added an entire division of about a dozen ranks to the instrument. The expansion was primarily in mid- to small-sized pipes that deliver higher pitches. Enhancing the top end of the organ, however, provided an excellent match for the long, deep bass pipes. When the organ project was completed, I reveled in sitting in the room with my eyes closed and experiencing the sound.

The experience in our new church home is a bit different. The congregation took a different route in developing their organ. The small instrument, perhaps about a third of the number of pipes as the one in South Dakota, has significant historical value. It has been well-maintained and carefully moved from several previous locations to its present home in the sanctuary that is larger and differently shaped from the one in Rapid City. In this installation, the decision was made to add to the organ by installing speakers and electronic components rather than making additions of pipes. The result is that there is less air movement from the instrument while the volume of the sound is greater than the pipes alone. This organ is plenty loud enough for me and I still listen with my eyes closed, now trying to distinguish the sounds made by speakers from those made by pipes, a process that is relatively easy because there are fewer pipes in the instrument.

I miss the sounds of the organ of our Rapid City church. It isn’t that there is something wrong with organ in this church, it is just that I don’t know the instrument as well. Then again, I miss the sounds of the pine forests of the Black Hills. We have wonderful forests here, but they sound different.

I give thanks for those tiny bones in my ears that give me the ability to discern the differences in sounds and I am in awe at the complexity of our bodies that makes it possible.