The night the music finally played

It was the beginning of the second movement of Dvorak's "New World" symphony. We were sitting in the same concert hall we had been in last spring when the music never played; the same program was to be performed. This evening, as the haunting oboe introduced the sobering E minor theme, I felt carried away on a mental journey of reflection. To my surprise, I learned only later that this 2nd movement (Largo) was a basis for a Negro spiritual about "Going Home." I closed my eyes that evening and had mental pictures of being on a long journey alone. It was as if I was walking slowly across a desert heading home after a long absence. My mind pondered meaning and purpose to my journey. In my opinion there is no better instrument that speaks to the heart like the oboe, especially when the heart is in a melancholy state. I had been in deep reflection all day. I was not depressed, nor was I giddy with joy. I was somewhere in the middle trying to get my bearings for this new semester. Music helps me in such times.

That is what this blog is about, how music seems to speak to our hearts when nothing else does. As I let the oboe carry me along I found myself in the deepest crevice of my heart; a place I had not been for a long time. Emotions and issues were revisited that I thought had long been gone. I found myself nearly in tears when the oboe finally handed the music over to the clarinet and flute. The music and my emotions were in sync.

When the movement ended I sat exhilarated and exhausted. Then it dawned on me that night that symphonies express in miniature the cycles, or movements, of our lives. Maybe that is why I love the orchestra. Somehow the composer has been able to reach down into the depth of his own heart and emotions only to reveal my own. Each instrument is chosen to play a particular part because of what it expresses. As the oboe and the bassoon can easily make one weep, the trumpet and trombone makes one want to dance and march in high step, especially when the cymbals are keeping the pace.

I know some may argue against my point but I worshipped in that concert hall every bit as much as I do in church. God created music for us; it can lead us to the throne of grace in its own ways. To me music is almost mystical. We become as one. I am not suggesting that I am ready to replace church with symphonies, but when one exits a concert hall full of praise to the creator, then worship has occurred. When one is reminded that as the Maestro leads his orchestra into the harmony of music, so God leads us along in harmony with Himself, that is worship. When one is reminded that each of us plays our own instrument and it blends into the whole orchestra, that is worship. And, when each of us closely follows the Conductor and adjusts accordingly, that is worship. But perhaps the most moving part for me that night was when the conductor took his bow and then turned to his orchestra and applauded them for their performance. Somehow I got a glimpse of heaven then. God will take His well deserved bow when all is said and done. I am sure we will give Him a standing ovation. Then, I see Him graciously turning to His orchestra, applauding. Purpose and meaning will be known the moment we see the Maestro smile at us and applaud us for playing in His orchestra. Until then, I keep playing.