I journeyed through Advent this year wrestling with my current life’s persistent question: If a preacher retires to the forest, does he make a sound? Somehow I emerged into the new year with a new motto for 2019: To do the concert even if no one is coming.
It came to me as I watched the YouTube video, II Andante (Rutter’s Gloria) that Andrea Lingle of Mission Wisdom Foundation suggested as part of an online course, “Advent: into the Light and Dark.”
It was a concert piece that featured a huge orchestra and choir. Every member was dressed immaculately, the musicians in the strings section moved their bows as if they were synchronized dancers, and of course, the music was wondrous.
There were so many people on stage it occurred to me that they could possibly outnumber the audience. Then I wondered, what if they did? What if there were twice as many people on stage? What if there were only a handful of folks in the audience? What if no one came? Did they still make a sound? Of course they did. It was an offering.
And there it was: To do the concert even if no one is coming.
To do the concert; to sing the song, light the candle, write the book, love others, make an extravagant offering, smile at the guy in Walmart, speak truth to power, hug my wife… Do the concert; learn my part, practice, buy the suit, get there on time, give it my best, offer it…like the lily no one ever sees, like the waterfall that cascades when no one is there, like the crow that shouts “look!” and no one hears, and yes, like the tree that gives up reaching for the sun and crashes to the earth, to do the concert – even if no one is coming. Not because some day in heaven the guy from Walmart will walk up and say, “Man, I sure needed that smile that day.” Do the concert because we are invited to join the orchestra, to be a part, to play a tune for the Creator, even if no one else hears.
A couple of life times ago, I was a house painter and the fellow I worked with always painted the tops of the door frames, edges of the baseboard, behind the toilets, everywhere that lacked paint, even if no one would ever see it. His reasoning? “The angels will see it.”
More recently, one of my hiking buddies and I took our lunch break on a large stone that had been sitting right there, watching a billion years unfold. As we ate our p-nut butter sandwiches, we marveled at the tiny flowers on the wilderness floor, the massive hardwood trees all around, the crazy blue sky behind the leaves, and the noisy creek below us. We breathed mountain air and heard several birds calling out.
“Boy, God sure is wasteful with beauty,” my guy said. “I think you mean extravagant,” I replied. He slowly nodded, “Yes, yes I do.”
To do the concert. To join in the extravagant concert.