Of Bears and Penguins

Advent, Day 16:

I was in a Barnes and Noble tonight in Ladue, when the unmistakable sounds of beginning musicians fell upon my ear. A trumpet and a flute, warming up dutifully with a scale – one that shuffled up the steps on unsteady legs, each note planted in a watery sort of way, but with a dear earnestness.

When I heard those notes tonight, I ambled over to give audience to the musicians. I’d played those scenes too – the local bookstore, the jazz combo, the familiar faces of the band moms, and occasionally other audience members.

The performers tonight were from Redeemer Lutheran. There were singers, and instrumentalists. I listened from various sections of the bookstore as their performance continued. Those who weren’t playing were themselves wandering the store in Santa hats, drinking coffee-esque drinks, and looking every bit of adolescent awkwardness that middle-school students endure.

Mostly the songs were really unremarkable, no bursts of prodigy, no shows of musicality. Just steady plodding. When all of the sudden the familiar chords of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata burst out – and not an easy-learn arrangement either, the real deal. I got still, and thought, “Ah this is it – this is when the ordinary and unremarkable is shed for a moment of extraordinary, unexpected beauty. And it will show up snobs like me who weren’t expecting it. I’ll write about tonight – about this moment when people nearby stopped to listen to this unexpected sonata from a middle-schooler in Ugg boots and skinny jeans.”

About that time, though, the musician faltered, gamely tried to pick it back up, but her memory failed her. “Well I thought it was going to be great,” she said. The folks around her applauded nicely, and the performers went on rather less than tunefully.

Then above all the books came two quavery voices singing “O Holy Night.” It wasn’t anywhere near musically as good as the first couple of bars of the Beethoven, but it was good in the way that stew with drop dumplings is good, and when those words gets sung, it’s hard not to be still and hear truth.

It made me think of how unexpected Jesus, as He came, was. Not as a warrior with an army to conquer and rule, not even did He come to us first in strength or perfection. The Lord did not veil himself in flesh that had Samson’s strength, or David’s beauty. He came in the least strong, most vulnerable way He could, as a babe, new born, in need of food and shelter, of warmth and protection.

And if I recall my years of Bible classes, I think there were some who were seriously upset that the Messiah would come as anything but a conquering hero, particularly as suffering servant. Certainly there were some who were disappointed then, and some who are disappointed today when Christ turns out not to be exactly what they expected. On the other hand, there are those then, like Mary and Martha, and all the rest, even old Thomas, who embraced Christ when they understood him and when they didn’t, and the same is true today. Dear Lord, please count me in that number.

Sometimes the things we think are going to be great blow away like dust, and we’re left shaking our heads while we try and remember the song we hoped for. Sometimes the things we’d turn away from, like two wavery middle-school voices, or a mewling infant, or the hand that’s crippled by arthritis, sometimes those are the messengers of truth and beauty that the Lord sends to us.

So, even when it doesn’t make sense, we’ve always got the choice to say, “Praise God.” Praise God when we forget the song, and Praise God when the baby cries. Praise God when we get an unexpected moment at the hospital bedside, praise God when we stand at the grave. Praise when the sun rises over the harbor and we think we’ve got it made forever, and praise when the doctor tells us we’ll never walk again. Praise truly when all makes sense, and praise especially when the storm blots out all from our sight, but the dear friend Jesus who sits beside us in the boat, and takes our hand in His and says, “Peace be still. My peace I give you.”