TREES

Since my house is three blocks from my office, I usually walk to work. I have, at times, been rather boastful that the only traffic I encounter is when a child leaves his tricycle on the sidewalk or I have to walk around a slow-moving gaggle of high school girls walking to the Catholic school in the neighborhood.

The community is old, comprised of homes built between the great wars. The oldest dates to about 1920, and the newest houses were finished just before the outbreak of World War II. The choke-hold of a harsh winter has finally eased and I am sure that the maple, oak, sycamore and elm trees will soon explode into a canopy of leaves over the street. It is said that a squirrel can get from one edge of town to another, going from tree to tree, without ever touching the ground.

The story goes that the council of our town passed an ordinance in the 1930s that the city would provide a sapling to every homeowner for just $1 each. The young trees were put out on the town square for residents to claim and plant. The idea was to encourage the young families building the neighborhoods to participate in the conversion of the landscape from open prairie to a warm and inviting community.

Hundreds, maybe thousands, of trees were bought and planted during those early years. Many of them are now the majestic oaks and sycamores that magnificently beautify the community.

Imagine the stories those trees could tell. As they have extended their branches sunward they have provided beauty and shelter for workers like me going to their offices. They have held swings for children and lovers to laugh in. They have dropped thousands of acorns on the heads of teenage boys raking up their leaves in the autumn. As years have become decades they have stood under oceans of rain and snow. Still and all, they have grown stronger and mightier with each passing day.

But, we must remember, every one of them began when the city council and the homeowners made a commitment to enrich the quality of life for themselves and for those around them. They made the investment in the saplings. They took the time to carefully and lovingly plant and protect the trees when they were yet fledgling and fragile. They didn’t wait for someone else to “think of something to do...” They opened their wallets and they took their shovels out of the garage and set themselves to work. They also had to know that they would never live to see the trees in all of their splendor, but they had a vision of a better world that would live beyond themselves.

I believe that this is what we are doing right now in our vocation (and avocation) of music and ministry. The saplings you are planting are enjoyable to see, but with each sprouting leaf we can see the promise of immortal music from the heart of God through the pen of great composers to the voices of our choirs to the ears and spirits of many who come to hear.

This is a blessed opportunity. When the rehearsals get long and the notes come hard, let us never forget how good it is to be a part of the struggle. When the logistics seem impossible and when the support is so hard to build, let us never forget our calling as pioneers and prophets.

My mentor, Robert Shaw, once said that at length he came to an understanding of the literal reality that God is Love. Not just that God inspires or creates love, or that He is loving, but that He IS Love in true essence. And if God is the Loving Creator, then just maybe He is still about His work of loving and creating.

When we sing music that is greater than ourselves, we reflect the profound majesty and wondrous love of our Creator. Even more, we become a part of His work of continual creation, and we sing Wondrous Love on behalf of ourselves and everyone who has come before us. We sing not only to everyone who hears us, but to their children, to their children’s children, and to every ear that will live and breath, love and hope, in our community.

May we give thanks for the privilege of being a part of the pattern in the seed.

Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill