back on the bench

A few weeks ago, the music director for the Catholic parish to which we belonged before moving to bigger digs in a different area of town to accommodate our growing family asked me to substitute for the organist at one of this weekend's Masses.  I agreed with some trepidation, because I just can't "wing it" like I maybe could have a few years ago when I was playing the piano all the time.  Practice time is limited at best.  It cannot be my highest priority.  And besides that, to just "wing it" at Mass is simply disrespectful in my mind and therefore unacceptable.  Christ and His people deserve better.

Still, a trained, seasoned musician like I am should've been able to realize that something was amok *and solve the problem* sooner than I did when I sat down to play this morning.  The piano in this church is situated with its soundboard facing a brick half wall -- not the most ideal, acoustically-speaking.  As I played the first notes of the opening hymn, I tried my best to project the sound as I had been trained.  Try as I might, it sounded as though I were playing in a sock.  Having had only a couple sips of coffee this morning, I thought this was owing to the piano's facing the wall and continued to play as heavily as I could with a disproportionately delicate sound emanating from the piano.  It was only a little while later (after a few more fuzzy songs) that I realized the middle pedal was stuck down, and once I dislodged it, things were much different.  It would not surprise me if people in the back were surprised to hear a piano suddenly playing at all halfway through Mass, as I suspect I wasn't all that audible up til then.

These substitution outings are not easy undertakings for me -- or my family.  There are some logistical aspects of them that are larger than just me.  When I was about 15 or so, I broke my wrist Rollerblading.  Several weeks into my recovery, I boldly told my mother that I was ready to Rollerblade again and that if I got hurt again I'd just have to deal with it.  She was quick to point out that I wasn't the only one having to deal with it -- the entire family was affected.   In some respects, today's outing was similar.  Instead of going to the parish we now call home and celebrating the First Sunday of Advent with our present parish family, we returned to the one we'd left a little over a year ago.  My father came (as would have my mother and sister, had they not been indisposed), and so did my beloved's parents.   It was a later Mass than we usually attend, which spelled a set back in the lunch & siesta routine we try hard to maintain for our bambini's collective benefit.

But I can honestly say it was worth it.  Looking out across the congregation, I caught my younger lad's eye.  He smiled and waved at me.  Seeing his sweet face, and then those of the rest of my family gathered there to support me, I was filled with a sense of gratitude for the season of life in which I now find myself.  I was so happy to see him run up to me after Mass, and hear him thinking back through our outing this morning as he settled in for bed tonight: "You play the pwano.  You not break it.  Daddy not play the pwano.  We stand up.  We kneel..." 

I was honored to be asked to play today, and though I may not have given the cleanest performance, I gave the best one I could given the parameters within which I work these days.  I wanted my children to see me using the gift God has given me in His service.  That's an important example I hope they internalize.

It was a fitting beginning of Advent, the season in which we prepare the way of the Lord, awaiting His coming with hopeful expectation, readying our hearts and minds for God's ultimate gift to humanity.   Stuck pedals notwithstanding, these four weeks of Advent are our opportunity to lay the gifts God has given us at His feet.  His Grace will make them perfect.