Piano Lessons (Part 5)
Last year the church purchased a new piano, another Steinway, and she was asked to handle every detail. She walked through the gallery with a few church members and two of her former students. They sat and played a dozen beautiful instruments, each as magnificent as the last. Every one a work of art and engineering in itself. Yes, the pianos, too.
It was the last one, it is always the last one, for whether it’s a house or a car or even the perfect apple, you know when everything is right and perfect and you don’t need to try another. You simply know in your soul and you make the offer, negotiate the price, or take a bite and you find the blessing that was meant for you. To each of them, this one sounded different. One of the students sat down first and played a few scales and the notes soared through the gallery. Then he played a beautiful lullaby and every potential customer in hearing range stopped whatever they were doing to listen. The other student slid in after and played some Chopin. This brought a single tear to her eye as she remembered that she had given this young lady her own copy of that sheet music. A song was shared, something was handed down.
The student looked to her teacher and asked if she wanted to play something. The teacher looked to the other student who simply said “Moonlight” and she smiled. It had become a legend. Gracefully, she took her place at the bench, adjusted it yet again and found the perfect place. She looks at each of them before closing her eyes and feeling that moment of silence, that perfect prayer. Her hands find their place on the keys, somehow new but always familiar.
She is in her seventies now. She doesn’t play very often anymore. The arthritis makes it difficult. It also makes her sad from time to time. She knows what she wants her fingers and her hands to do, but they don’t always respond anymore and there’s always a deep, dull ache. She wakes up in her sleep and her hands hurt. Her fingers still moving from dreams of playing in concert halls and coat closets. She has taught more than scales and exercises. She’s done more than open Bastien’s books and shared her love for hymns. She’s done far more than teach music. She has taught musicians. She has seen sparks and fanned them into flames. She’s seen talent, sometimes deeply buried, and carefully cultivated it into passion. She has partnered with the Composer so that His songs can truly come to life. She has made disciples in A minor.
On this day, she has the honor to choose the next piano for her church. She knows it will outlive her. She knows it isn’t hers, it never was. Secretly, way down deep, she knows that is isn’t theirs, either. It is His. It’s always His. It all belongs to Him.
Of the thousand, thousand, thousand songs that she could have played that day, she did not choose “Moonlight Sonata”. She did not choose “It Is Well”. She did not choose anything. If you asked her, in fact, she would tell you the piano chose. She felt for a very long time that she never chose. Sometimes the moment chose, sometimes the piano chose, but every time God chose. In that gallery, amidst friends and peers, she played like she had played so many years ago. I don’t mean chaotic and nonsensical, I mean she played the symphony in her head. She played the piano that would lead so many people to so many places. She played the piano that would accompany thousands for another lifetime. She played the piano that would introduce so many more to a love of music. She played the piano that would be there for Advents and Lents, for graduations and for weddings, for baby dedications… and for funerals. She played the song she wanted played at her own. It was time to hand down another song.
She played “Amazing Grace”. And it was both. She played that piano only once, on that day and in that place. After all, it didn’t belong to her. It all belongs to Him and the symphony goes on.
May you know legacy and not just your own. May you know beautiful things. May you share songs and hand them down. May your students know you deeply and may you know them. May you endure the challenges and struggles of life with grace. May you not avoid or ignore the pain that comes with our time in these bodies and on this earth. May you make disciples in A minor, or in clay, or oil paints, or words. May you be part of something bigger than yourself and SEE that you are part of something bigger than yourself. May you look toward tomorrows that you won’t see, and may you let go of controlling them. May you never choose the right song, may the right song in the right moment choose you instead. And may you always faithfully play the symphony in your head.
This series is dedicated to the many talented and inspiring piano players who have influenced me in my lifetime. First and foremost, to my mother, who taught me how to cheat, I mean play chords, and get away with so much behind those keys. And for the infernal weekly practice charts that she held me to… most of which I lied fabulously on. To Mrs. Shaffer of South Bend, Indiana, my very first “real” piano teacher and who is the inspiration for part 5 of this series. To Linda Hakken of Holland, Michigan who was a masterful organist and who patiently taught a teenager who never wanted to practice. To Major Charles Duskin and Major Alberta Cunard, the piano player and organist at the Holland Salvation Army who led our worship for most of my years there. To Mr. Young in Nassau, Bahamas, for so many stories and songs and opportunities to listen. To Prof. Martha Dalton at Olivet Nazarene University and to “Mama” Spencer in Pasadena, California for always knowing how to play and laugh at the same time but only at the right time. And to so many more that I have watched, listened to and worshiped with… I don’t play very often at all anymore, but it will always be my first instrument and I still play the symphonies in my head, but only in my head.
CS