Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Someone Cue the Baritone

I am not preaching this Sunday – The choir is offering Vivaldi’s Gloria, and we are building the rest of worship around that.

I am singing with them, but have only rehearsed with them in bits and pieces…And I haven’t even heard all of the pieces yet.

So, I was surprised, and quite honestly disappointed, when I saw the bulletin yesterday and noticed that our cantor does not have a solo (actually, there are no male solos in the Gloria. You probably already knew that. I didn’t.).

Jan (boy-Jan), our cantor, is an incredible musician…a very accomplished pianist and organist and an outstanding choir director. He also happens to have been the Baritone soloist for Opera Carolina as well as for the Charlotte Oratorio singers for a period of time. And, oh my word, I cannot describe how it is to hear him sing. In fact, I am holding my breath for the next couple weeks, until he sings “Some Children See Him” for the children’s Christmas Eve Service.

Anyhow – so I was quite disappointed when I realized that he wasn’t/isn’t singing a solo on Sunday…BUT I will get to hear him on Saturday. He will sing the Lord’s Prayer (Malotte’s version) at a wedding for which I am presiding and he is music-ing. When he gets to “…for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glo-ry…for-ever” someone will just have to pick me up off of the floor; because it is usually at that point (in whatever service I am blessed to hear him), that I come face to face with the reality that I haven’t been worshiping very well, at all – and have got all caught up in the choreography and “what not” of making the service “work.” But, when he sings – I have not one thing to do but listen. And, listening, my ears that had been “stopped” by the busy-ness of “running” the service, suddenly are un-stopped and I can hear. And oh my word, what a blessing as waves of beauty and comfort and peace wash over me.

 

Like I said, I am not preaching on Sunday – so, I haven’t done a lot of studying on the Isaiah text for this week (Isaiah 35.1-10). But, it talks about a remarkable home-coming, where the people who had been in exile (and, let’s be honest – that is an easy one to preach to folks today, right? I mean, we all are experiencing, or have experienced exile from time to time…Periods of disconnection – real or imagined, and hopelessness, barrenness and futility, anger and fear, and desperation, and too much choreography…All those things that keep our eyes blind and ears stopped-up)…And here, Isaiah talks about how the exiled-ones now rejoice and parade home strengthened and full of shalom-peace; that is, not just the absence of violence, but the presence of fullness and plenty and beauty and gentleness and comfort for ALL (kind of a Mandela-esque vision of peace). The kind of shalom-peace-parade where we are confronted with the ways that we stop our own ears from hearing the music that surrounds us – and then almost celebrate the confrontation, as our ears are un-stopped (sometimes by a tragedy…and sometimes by something so overwhelmingly beautiful that we cannot ignore it any longer, like the baritone soloist – as it were singing - “for Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever”) and we are washed in the beauty of the sounds and sights and shalom of those parading near us…Make sense?

 

An interesting thing – the wedding that Jan and I are music-ing and presiding for this weekend, is for a deaf couple. A first for me…But one of the most enjoyable pre-marital counseling journeys that I have ever had as a pastor…Truth is, they have so much helped me hear better…Their physically “stopped” ears have helped open my perfectly good ears (“perfectly good” according to the audiologist, anyhow).

 

May we each be blessed with those moments when we can stop worrying about the busy-ness of the choreography, those times that we have absolutely not one thing to do but listen (with our perfectly good ears, or with the ears of our hearts)…And listening, may we be washed in shalom-peace, our ears un-stopped and our eyes opened as we peace-parade our way, side by side, through the world.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Death, Lock-downs, and Fuzzy Blankets

For, perhaps,only the second time in my entire life, I, this afternoon, went into a fabric store and purchased some fabric and thread. I was driven to this endeavor by my daughter, Lucy, who could not stand to see and hear her brother crying so mournfully last night. His loss, admittedly minimal in the grand scheme of things, was the third and final "tragedy" of the day...and the only one that I had any power to address. 

At bedtime last night, the reality became clear...Henry's "blankie" was gone, lost, probably thrown away by whomever likely found it (and, understandably,  mistook it for a rag) in the parking lot of Harris Teeter.

To a seven year-old, a tragedy is a tragedy. And for Henry, this was tragic (He has never slept without it, since his birth...and has been carrying it, concealed, in his is backpack to school ever since he's gone to school)...and it was the third tragedy of the day.

On Wednesday of last week (the day before Thanksgiving) we received word that Grier, a boy in Lucy's third grade class, had died after a 7-year battle with neuroblastoma. Giving her that news was hard. 

Even though he had only come to school a few times this year, Lucy came immediately to love and care for him. We cried and hugged, and she told my husband and I that she was sure that Grier is the champion at fighting cancer. 

Over the next few days of the Thanksgiving break, she would bring Grier up in conversation from time to time, but life took up its more usual rhythm...until Sunday night, when the thought of returning to school knowing that Grier was dead overtook her. 

Her biggest concern was for her teacher (Mrs. McDonald), whom, Lucy was sure, would cry as she talked about Grier (Lucy is a natural "comfort giver," and this was a little too big for her). She got to sleep and headed out to school Monday morning full of resolve and courage. 

That was yesterday's first tragedy.

Then, last night, I didn't answer my cell phone when it rang during a Personnel Committee meeting...but did notice that the call was from the kids' school. After the meeting, I listened to the automated message from the principal. 

He was calling to let the parents know that the school had gone into "lock-down" during the day...and it was not a drill. A "strange man" had been reported on campus. He assured parents, in his is message, that within minutes the school was completely locked-down and the CMPD was quick to arrive. 

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I started shaking and getting angry, having come face to face with the reality that such "real" lock-downs are part of my children's lives (It ended up that it was just an electrician working behind the school, who had failed to sign in at the office when he arrived.). 

When I got home, Cliff had received the same message on his phone. We asked the kids about it. "Yeah...I got over in the corner, on the floor like this. Then there were too many of us in one place, so we crawled with Mrs. McDonald to another corner and kept our heads covered (poor teacher, a death and then a threat to her students...this is not why she went into teaching.). 

That was the second tragedy.

So, when it came time for the kids to go to bed last night, and blankie was nowhere to be found (the third tragedy), we were all just stunned. Yes, Henry is old enough to not carry his blanket everywhere...but, why, on this day, with all of the other hard things, did he have to lose it?! 

Too much reality in one day. Too many endings.

So, last night, just before she closed her eyes Lucy (the comfort-giver) came up with a plan...If I would go buy some fabric today, she'll make Henry a new blankie. And right now, even as I type, dear reader, the baby blue fuzzy fabric and backing are spinning in the washing machine, soon to be moved to the dryer, so that it will be ready to be cut out and sewn together when the rest of the Ilderton brood return home from karate. 

It will not be a pretty blanket...I assure you. 
But it will be beautiful, and will return some sense of control to the reality that such control is only an illusion. 

Someday, the level of comfort will be beyond Lucy's ability to give it...but not today.

For the Sundays of Advent, I'm preaching on the assigned passages from Isaiah. This coming Sunday's (Isaiah 11:1-10), is about life springing up in surprising places (like from an old dead tree stump). 

Don't get me wrong. I do not live under the illusion that a homemade blanket will bring life where there is none...but following the death of a classmate and the reality of elementary school lock-downs, a fuzzy love blanket, is pretty life-bringing. 

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