Handing Cellos

My wife and I were on our way to hear the world-renowned cellist Yo-Yo Ma perform and were walking beside some folks who described something that happened the last time they heard him perform at Wake Forrest University. I may not have absorbed all the details correctly, but the heart of the moment is what compelled me to write this brushstroke.

He was on stage performing with the Wake Forest University orchestra. When he was done, he left the stage and the orchestra was going to perform a piece on their own. Before they began, however, Yo-Yo Ma returned to the stage as if to join them, but that was not his intention. He walked over to the lead cellist and handed him his cello (a close to priceless instrument) and asked if he would like to play it. Oh how I wish I had been there and seen the look on that student’s face! It was a moment that captures what I feel we are all called to do and be.

Whether we are a banker, lawyer, or doctor . . . a mother or father . . . adult or child . . . mechanic or artist . . . athlete or priest, I believe we all have cellos, and while we are called to play them as well as we can, we are also called to hand them to others to let them have a try. The current expression is to “pay it forward,” and the moment at Wake Forest was such a vivid example of someone taking his life and offering it to another.

Since hearing about what Yo-Yo Ma did, I’ve been reflecting on those who have handed me their cellos. It’s produced a wonderful collage of generous souls who gave me a part of their life so that I could try to make music with mine. The church calls such people “saints,” but whatever we call them, such people serve as memorable examples of what I want to do and who I want to be.

The key is to (1) figure out what my cello is and (2) to whom I can offer it. I don’t think there’s a better way to spend one’s life. I hope you agree.

Empty Chairs

She comes to church early every Sunday and sits in the same place. In continuous hope that her son (who lives in the town) will join her, she saves the seat and looks toward the door frequently. I sit across the aisle from her each Sunday and am both touched and hurt by what I see. I’m moved by her love for her son and saddened that the chair remains empty so often.

I can’t help but wonder if somehow the woman beside the empty seat mirrors how God feels, not only on Sundays but every minute of every day. Arriving early and eager for our company, God sits and looks around in hopes of seeing us walk through the door. He touches the empty seat recalling moments from the past or things about us of which he is particularly fond, but like the chair beside the mother, the space beside God, reserved for us, is often vacant. We don’t show up. Some of us feel we are too busy. Maybe next time, we say to themselves. Others don’t show up because we think we’re unworthy of such a seat. Still others refuse because we’re mad at God or doubt he’s waiting at all.

And yet . . .

I believe God’s always saving a seat for us. He doesn’t care if we’re wearing the right clothes, prepared with appropriate things to say, or have our lives in order. All he wants is us to come sit beside him. All he wants is our company. That’s all, but that’s a lot.

Poet and Composers

I recently saw a 60 Minutes piece on a 12 year-old British musical prodigy named Alma Deutscher that was moving on many levels. She was referred to as “a second Mozart” to which she responded, “I’m not interested in being a second Mozart; I want to be a first Alma.” That, of course, is a brushstroke in and of itself, but it was what she did with the traditional story of Cinderella that compelled me to write about her.

Alma is a remarkable performer, but she also composes pieces, one of which was an entire opera based on Cinderella. She did not care for the whole glass slipper and small feet thing, so she made the prince a poet and Cinderella a composer. His poetic words needed music and he searched for just the right composer and in his search found Cinderella. With her music, his words came to life in a unique way. Both the words and the music became something more when working together. It was like magic.

I think that the spiritual life is like that. God is a great poet, THE great poet, and his words can stand on their own, but when set to music they become something more. That’s where you and I come in. The poet is looking for someone to put his words to music and each of us has the invitation to compose each and every day. We may scoff at the idea of being musical, but we have the opportunity to bring God’s words to life with the melodies of our lives. A successful businessman or woman uses their success to change the life of another, a parent “sings” to his or her child by sitting beside them when they’re lost or scared, a friend leaves flowers at the doorstep of a woman going through an ugly divorce . . . melodies one and all, created and shaped by the one composing.

When I set my words to music, the melody is flat and chords dissident. It’s all I can do not to close my eyes and place my hands on my ears. But when the words belong to the one greater than I the melody finds a deep abundance and unmistakable harmony. It’s like the poet has found just the right composer, and that’s magic.