Bach and beyond

Well, I have not been blogging, but I have certainly been writing in my journal, and collecting little food for thought along the way as well. Bach Mass in b minor was this weekend. I can't really put into words just yet how important and well-timed this whole experience was for me.

I spent this semester learning and struggling with my fellow choristers with a piece of music that creates in me when I hear it some sort of transcendent spiritual experience that cannot, or should not, be described. When I have left rehearsals I've often had classical music playing in my car on the drive home - and I hear it differently after singing Bach's music. I am suddenly more aware of the interplay between the parts, the overall composer's intent. This interplay isn't just musical - this semester I have been aware (painfully, at times) of the interplay between the people I encounter.

The query in meeting spoke to me directly this week - it was in part a quote from George Fox:

Be patterns, be examples in all countries, places, islands, nations, wherever you come; that your carriage and life may preach among all sorts of people, and to them. Then you will come to walk cheerfully over the world, answering that of God in everyone." - George Fox, 1624-1691

Do I walk cheerfully in a world that is not at all a cheerful place at times, much to my dismay? Do I take the time not to be overwhelmed, and to remember that although I may struggle with my role on the planet and in the "big picture", I can certainly project goodness and light in my attitude in my own way whenever possible?

I had many a small moment of tremendous insight, this weekend alone. So much that I am still grappling with the sorting out of it all. But perhaps just knowing I still have the ability to change the way I see the world around me is the first step towards changing the rest.

William Stafford, as usual, says it best:


When I Met My Muse

I glanced at her and took my glasses
off--they were still singing. They buzzed
like a locust on the coffee table and then
ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the
sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
knew that nails up there took a new grip
on whatever they touched. "I am your own
way of looking at things," she said. "When
you allow me to live with you, every
glance at the world around you will be
a sort of salvation." And I took her hand.