Ash Wednesday

There once was a person who traveled at the speed of light. You know the kind, the kind that can juggle three balls at once while balancing the checkbook and mowing the lawn. As you might expect, people looking on marveled at one so innately talented. Encouraged by their praise, the person sought to do more and more. 

What people didn’t know was that this person used motion like an alcoholic uses booze. Instead of dealing with emotions, the person crawled into a car, instead of a bottle, and pressed the gas so the world and all its challenges would become a blur. It worked, too, until the car ran out of gas. All the emotions the person tried to avoid were waiting when the car came to a stop.

I thought of this person when I drove by a church in my area today. Never had I seen a drive-through Ash Wednesday service, but I am sure it’s enormously popular in our busy world. If one can get ashes on the fly, he or she wouldn’t have to sit in silence, say words of confession, or hear about giving things up for Lent. If one can get ashes outside, he or she won’t have to go inside, and, after all, going inside is what so many of us try to avoid.

Lenten Adventure

Dear Brushstrokes Subscribers,

On Wednesday, March 6th, the season of Lent begins. For churchy people, that’s a season to prepare for Easter. For others, it’s an opportunity to try something new. Either way, it’s an opportunity to grow spiritually, and I wanted to invite all the people who read Brushstrokes to come on a Lenten Adventure.

You are invited to observe Lent by coming on a walk. Actually, it’s more like a climb, but, either way, it’s a 47-day adventure (40 days + Sundays) from Ash Wednesday (3/6) to Easter (4/21). We will “walk” together as if climbing a mountain and use the climb as an allegory to journey deeper into our spiritual lives.

Each day, those who sign up will receive a short meditation which will explore some aspect of the spiritual climb. Participants can leave it at that, or they can explore the meditation further in a short written response. The adventure is theirs. How they climb is up to them.

This is something outside of Brushstrokes, so if you are interested, you will need to send me an email telling me you want to participate. I will then put you on the (private) list and you will receive an introductory email, then 47 daily ones beginning on Ash Wednesday

My email is: chipbristol@gmail.com. (I will close the invitation, or zip up my pack, so to speak, on Tuesday 3/5. It’s too cumbersome to try to catch people up once we’ve begun.)

Regardless of whether you choose to come along or not, I hope the season of Lent will be a meaningful one for you. 

- Chip

PS Feel free to send this invitation to those you think might be interested. I am happy to put them on the list if they email me.

Playing your music: Part II

He was born with hands made for the piano, with fingers long and lean and a reach superior to most pianists. The problem was, however, they were also black. In the time of segregation, the chance of a black pianist making it was almost out of the question.

He tried to play any piano he saw, but it wasn’t until his talents were recognized by whites that such opportunities became plentiful. He became one of the great pianists of his day, and, even in the deep south, audiences came to hear him play. With his starched white shirt, black tie, and flapping tails, he sat and played his role with as much artistry as he did the piano. Beneath his wide smile was a smoldering rage. He was performing, playing all the music the audience wanted to hear, but it wasn’t the music he was meant to play. Classical music was his love, particularly Chopin. “No one plays Chopin the way I do,” he confessed to his driver, and when he finally played it in a spontaneous moment, it was unlike anything people had heard.

As I sat and watched the film, I couldn’t understand why he didn’t play his music, why he let the audience dictate what he played? It was such a sad story, and it wrenched my heart to watch someone not be who they were created to be, but I have come to see what a familiar story it is. The other versions may not include pianos or race, but they all speak of people playing to an audience and not using their God-given talents to bring into the world what they alone could bring. 

Eventually, I came to see moments in my own life where I have done the same and wonder if you have as well? Have you plaid to the audience? Have you denied the music within you? The good news is that our stories aren’t over. Maybe we will find the courage to play the music that is uniquely ours to play, the kind no one can play like we could.

Extra Credit: Go see The Green Book at a theater near you.