Sheet Music

The great conductor called his musicians together and handed out their sheet music. 

‘I can’t play this!” one of the younger members of the orchestra complained. “There’re so many notes. This is beyond me.”

“It is now, but it won’t be. Start playing. You’ll get it.”

So, she did, but it was the most challenging piece of music she’d ever played. There were pages of music, and notes and rhythms she’d never played before. Like a baby taking her initial steps, she fell more than she walked, but each day she played one note she hadn’t before. Some days she threw up her hands wanting to quit, but then she’d hear something or make it through a part that once confounded her and carried on. At a moment of acute frustration, she went to the conductor to complain.

“Can’t you give this music to someone else,” she pleaded. “and give me something else to play.”

The conductor smiled but refused. “No, this is your music. I wrote it specifically for you. Someone else might be able to play it, but it wouldn’t sound the same.”

“But it’s too hard. I hit too many wrong notes.”

“That’s how you find the right ones.”

“It’ll take me my entire lifetime to learn how to play this music.”

“Exactly,” the conductor said as if savoring a vintage wine. “Exactly.”

Epiphany

“Would you take a look at those fancy clothes!”

“And what’s with the hats? Who do they think they are, anyway, Kings?”

“What do you think are in those packages?”

Today is January 6th, known in church circles as Epiphany, the day we remember the arrival of the Magi (wisemen/kings) to Bethlehem, the day when they met Christ, which was an epiphany, a manifestation of seeing God face to face. It’s a day usually bundled into the Christmas story, but I like the fact that the moment is given a day of its own. After all their effort, it’s the least we can do to stop and reflect on the wisemen and their journey to Bethlehem.

I’ve always had a thing for star-gazers. Yes, like others, I sometimes look at the way they dress or listen to the things they say and think they’re nuts, but the truth is, I also admire them and, at times, am a little jealous as well. I have the same longing for God that star-gazers profess but lack the confidence to stand out from the crowd like they did, or be caught staring into the sky. 

I’m also overwhelmed by the effort required for such journeys. The wisemen traveled a great distance, and I often find it too much to drive to church, let alone to the homeless shelter or Habitat house. Spending an hour in the morning to read and reflect is, at times, overwhelming, and I secretly wish Bethlehem would come to me.

But what I think keeps me from being a wiseman most is fear – fear of where I might find Christ, and fear of who Christ might end up being. Like many, I prefer a predictable faith and a God made out of my own imagination, crafted in my own image, rather than the other way around. But, if the men of old teach us anything it is that Christ is sometimes found where we least expect. Bethlehems come in many shapes and sizes and not all of them have steeples. So, too, the one waiting for us may end up being unlike what we imagined or hoped for.  Instead of a mighty king, Christ might be a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes. Instead of greeting us with a smile that allows us to behave in certain ways or hold certain convictions, he might look at us as if to say, ”It’s time you let me transform your life. Buckle up!”

The good news, though, the news we celebrate today (and every day), is that Christ is waiting to be found. He may be found where we least expect, in a way beyond human understanding, but that’s why such moments are called “epiphanies,” and today we thank God for them.

A new perspective for a new year.

“Show me, LORD, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is.” Psalm 39

I’ve never been a fan on New Year’s Eve, even when I was an avid drinker, but I‘ve always been inspired by the gift of a new year. Regardless of my countless failed efforts, I’ve always found inspiration in making resolutions and goals for the new year. I don’t know if it’s because we are entering a new decade, or because I have reached a point in life where there are more days behind me than there are ahead, but my perspective this year seems different. My list is shorter, but deeper, this year. Like the psalmist, I find myself looking at what really matters because my days are limited, and life fleeting. It’s an awakening of sorts, and I’m glad to have been given it, but I haven’t enjoyed what brought me here:

Sitting beside a godmother struggling with cancer, knowing this would be the last time we’d see each other on this side of eternity.

Reading the entry of a beautiful, young mother on Caring Bridge as she maintains a positive attitude through an out-of-nowhere cancer diagnosis.

Meeting with someone whose been told to retire, doctor’s order, and watching as she look’s at her life’s legacy with glistening eyes.

Reading the obituary of friend who was in the class above me in high school.

Seeing an empty seat in my morning twelve-step recovery group that used to be occupied by someone who went back out and never returned.

Such moments have pointed me not to the sadness of my life’s limit, but to the importance of the time I have left. I pray it will inspire me to squeeze my loved ones more tightly, sing more loudly, and laugh more often this year. I hope it will inspire me to say yes to things that matter and no to those that do not. I hope it will change the appointments on my calendar and, in my checkbook, show increased generosity to charities working closer to the ground. 

This new year is a gift. May we receive it as such, remembering those for whom it has not been given, and making the most of every single moment it contains.