Leslie loved good music. My wife Jessica and I bumped into Leslie and Bev at the NAC two years ago for a performance of The Messiah just before Christmas.
In the foyer before the concert began, we talked about what we liked about this famous oratory. One of the things I love about The Messiah, and baroque music in general, is the clear sense of timing, and how rhythm is employed to express various emotions and to move the story the music is telling forward.
Handel composed The Messiah in just three weeks, from August 22nd to September 14th in 1741. The timing on his brilliant composition is miraculous. How could any human being, even gifted as Handel was, complete such an epic work in just a few short weeks?
His accomplishment is an apt metaphor of the parable of the mustard seed from the Gospel today.[1] That tiny seed of a three-week period Handel needed to compose The Messiah grew exponentially to inspire the faith of countless subsequent generations and centuries.
Timing is the essence of music. Timing is the space between the notes, it is how quickly or how slowly the music is played, it is the length of the entire masterpiece. Reba McEntire wrote her song on the idea of a seven-minute time frame of meaning. Timing is critical to what God creates, and what we can do to measure the length and growth from a seed to a large tree where every bird eventually finds a home.
Leslie’s connection to worship, I sense, was grounded in the hymns we sang. Last year, we petitioned congregation members to submit their favourite hymns. And we would then include those chosen hymns in future worship services. In total, there were about sixty or so hymns the congregation submitted. Who do you think submitted by far the most, more than half of all the submissions?
Lutherans sing hymns; that’s an important part of Leslie’s Lutheran identity.
Luther’s Rose is a symbol of the Lutheran faith. Martin Luther designed each of the symbols on the Luther Rose to signify something important in Lutheran faith. Of course, Leslie loved flowers, gardening, and especially the rose. Roses were her favourite flower.
The heart is at the centre of Luther’s Rose. And the heart is associated with the love of God for us. Now the colour of the rose here is white. And white symbolizes eternal friendship and love.
In Luther’s rose the white rose petals which surround the heart also point to the realm of spirit and angels. So, the compassion of God has eternal implications. The love of Jesus points us along a journey towards the horizon, the ending of which we cannot yet see.
Along this journey of life, whether short or long, whether marked by quick, staccato notes or long, sweeping crescendos, we always hold the mustard seed in our hands and our hearts. No matter how far we are on this journey, despite the storms we encounter along the way, the smallest seed continues to hold the truth and promise of a vision of God’s eternal love, God’s never-ending compassion.
No matter what we do, or don’t do – that seed can’t get any smaller. But it can grow. In fact, it is the only thing it can do. It can only grow.
I pray Leslie’s witness of faith, during her life and to her dying moment, can encourage us not to give up on the journey. But to carry on as far as we will go. And, knowing that in the end, no matter what we have done or left undone, there is always room in the garden, at the table, in the tree—whatever metaphor works—there is a home for you and us all.
Most people love the Hallelujah Chorus in The Messiah—and I can understand why. It is beautiful. But my favourite piece is the last one—”Worthy is the Lamb, Amen.”
Jessica and I attended another concert of The Messiah several years ago at Dominion Chalmers United Church where the orchestra did something with that last piece that I had never heard before. You see, there are rest breaks in the music. Rests are beats where nothing is played—all instruments remain silent through however many rests they need to count before playing again.
Normally, just before the last series of “Amens” is sung, there is a rest, a pause, before the final crescendo is sung to the glorious climax of The Messiah.
But this time, the conductor held the rest for at least double its time. Initially, I wondered if they were finished. The music wasn’t playing at all, and we were left waiting for a long time. Was the music finished? Did the concert just end? Was it over?
But the conductor held his arms in the air during the long pause. And held them. And held them. The air was electric. The silence was charged with anticipation. We held our breaths.
Needless to say, the music wasn’t over. The extended length of silence only served to heighten the satisfying, climatic conclusion of the music.
Did the music end when Leslie died? There is definitely a long pause. It feels like the music ended and may, likely, for a long time to come. But music is about timing. And, my friends, the music is not over just because we can’t hear it right now.
The music of Leslie’s life will never end. It’s just being played in a different realm, and on a different frequency. And we will all tune in eventually. We will all find a place in that massive tree where every one of God’s creatures finds a home, for ever. To join in the never-ending song … “Amen!”
[1] Luke 13:18-19; read also Ecclesiastes 3
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