The Echo on the Volcano: When God Sings Through Vinyl, Volcanoes, and Opera

A Song, a Sip, and the Spirit's Ascent Through Memory, Melody, and Mount Vesuvius

It began with two young Japanese opera singers, standing on a brightly lit stage, singing Funiculì, Funiculà in flawless Italian. Their voices danced - effortless, radiant, joy-filled. They weren’t just performing - they were ascending.

And just like that, I wasn’t just watching a video.
I was 12 again.

Back in our living room.
Where my father’s old wooden record player spun like a priest at a pulpit, delivering sermon after sermon in symphonic form.
The crackle of vinyl. The clink of a cold beer.
The sound of Funiculì, Funiculà blasting as we kids rolled our eyes, groaned, and begged for mercy.

But my dad? He was in heaven.

A connoisseur of classical music with a humble beer in hand.
He didn’t just listen - he lived it.
Gilbert and Sullivan tickled his wit.
Bach stirred his soul.
Beethoven thundered through the walls like a prophet shouting from the mountain.
And Funiculì, Funiculà? That was his unexpected anthem of joy.

He loved it - when he wasn’t hard at work or playing squash at the old Defence Club, he was at home working in the garden and around the house and enjoying the classics with a cold beer in hand.

We didn’t get it then.
But somewhere between those vinyls and our grumbles, the music seeped in.

We started humming it. Then singing it.
Then eventually… loving it.

And now, decades later, two Japanese prodigies summoned it back to life. And I smiled, not just at their talent, but at the echo of my father’s soul in that song.

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The Volcano and the Vinyl

Did you know Funiculì, Funiculà was written in 1880 to celebrate a cable car built on Mount Vesuvius - a volcano known more for destruction than delight?

But that’s the divine irony:
Someone looked at a volcano and said, Let’s ride it.
Let’s ascend what others fear.

And so the song was born:
“Jammo, jammo ’ncoppa, jammo jà…”
(“Let’s go, let’s go up, let’s go now!”)

That’s more than music - it’s gospel.

God looked at the fiery wreckage of humanity’s brokenness and didn’t abandon us.
He built a way up.
Not away from the volcano - but through it.
Through suffering. Through death. Through the resurrection of His Son.

He turned calamity into a cable car.
He turned the cross into a chorus.
And still today, He sings: Jammo jà. Come up here.

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The Sacred Collision of Cultures

There’s something beautiful when cultures collide in harmony.
Two young Japanese boys singing an Italian anthem that once rang through our house.
And Scripture whispers:

“The wind blows where it pleases. You hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.”
— John 3:8

The Spirit isn’t provincial.
He sings through a Fijian childhood, a British winter, a Japanese soprano, and a Neapolitan volcano.
Through dusty vinyls, draft beers, and a father’s quiet joy.

And sometimes the sermon of the week comes in 3 minutes and 7 seconds of Italian opera sung by children.

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Irony, Memory, and Ministry

Funny, isn’t it?
The things we once resisted become the very things that anchor us.

That’s how the Spirit works.
He sneaks truth into our bones while we’re too distracted to notice.
He plays the same record over and over until we finally hear it.

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The Real Funicular

The real funiculà isn’t on Vesuvius - it’s in your soul.
It’s the Spirit of God saying: Let’s go higher.
Not by escaping the mountain, but by ascending it.

With music. With memory. With meaning.

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So here’s your invitation this week:

Revisit what you once ignored.
Let the song rise.
Let your memories preach.
Let the Spirit sing through old vinyl and new voices.

And remember:
God is still the Conductor.

Jammo jà. Let’s go up now.

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Watch Pavarotti’s timeless rendition of Funiculì, Funiculà here.

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