Of Symphonies and Spirit

There’s an orchestra getting ready for rehearsal down the hall. Seriously, an entire orchestra in our parish hall. For the last 15 minutes or so the sound has been chaotic—everybody warming up his or her instrument as needed, setting up, moving chairs, nobody playing anywhere near the same thing. I’d like to say it sounded pretty, but it really didn’t. I should have shut my door, but that would have required getting up, and really, who needs to do that?

Funny thing just happened though. Somebody (concertmaster? conductor?) just gave the signal, and suddenly the random bits of sound, both musical and non, ceased. It is as if everyone paused at once, took in one big breath and then, music. OK, not really “music,” but sound—one sound. One glorious note, one stunningly beautiful attempt to be in the same key at the same time. A few more moments of fine tuning and then another pause, breathe in, wait…and there they go. Off into whatever piece they are playing (I don’t recognize it just yet). Off together on an adventure that is largely scripted and predictable but that, I know, still leaves a great deal to chance. Tempo. Volume. One’s ability to actually play what is in the score.

These lovely musicians, and all musicians are lovely when they play even if they are as difficult and tempermental as all human beings at other times, these lovely musicians are practicing. Rehearsing. Going back over the same territory again and again. Yes, to work towards some level of perfection, but even more than that, to mine those notes for every drop of beauty possible, for every meaning, for every subtle point and every dramatic statement.

This to me is the spiritual life, particularly the spiritual life in community. We come together making a million different noises, warming up and stretching and yawning and complaining. We need to move our chairs and set up our “space” and then somebody gives the signal and we tune ourselves to one another and set off to pray, to worship, to question, to quest, together. I’m gonna hit a few bad notes. I am going to be too loud or too soft. And so we’ll do it again. Tomorrow, next week, next year. We do it—we go over the same territory, the same texts, the same songs, the same rituals, over and over again. Not because we desire perfection, or at least not because we believe we will achieve it, but because we are constantly seeking God in all places, and constantly discovering that there is more to discover. The well does not run dry, there is always something more to learn, to uncover.

I love the symphony down the hall. I love the symphony that is the church.