For Wilshire Baptist Church
Back in December we were watching a program of Christmas music on public television and couldn’t help but notice the closed captions at the bottom of the screen. We didn’t activate the captions; they were placed there presumably by the producers for everyone’s benefit. They included the texts of carols and hymns, but most interesting were the captions during instrumental segments:
“Intriguing orchestral music continues.”
“Spirited music continues.”
“Tender music continues.”
“Quiet music continues.”
I found it humorous at first, but the more I thought about it the more I found it sad. Music isn’t meant to be described. It’s meant to be heard and experienced — through the ears, into the brain and on into the soul. It’s heartbreaking to know there are people who cannot experience music that way. I just can’t imagine it.
But, I’ve thought about it quite a bit over the past year. I have pretty strong tinnitus in both ears. People experience it in different ways, but for me it’s a hissing noise that is soft at times and like rushing water at others. My guess is it’s the result of years of lawn work without proper hearing protection. I began to take it seriously last summer when my oncologist said the chemo I was getting for a tumor in my sinus could make it worse. I’ve read about it and watched some videos, most of which lead to a pitch for a supplement “guaranteed” to stop the noise. I’ve not taken the bait so far.
At the same time, my right eye is on the watch list for potential optic nerve damage from last summer’s treatments. Nothing amiss so far, but I’ve thought about what I would do if I had to choose between losing an eye or losing my hearing, and there’s no contest: I’d give up an eye because I can’t imagine not being able to hear beautiful music, or intriguing music, or tender or quiet or spirited music. Or, the voices of the people I love, including those who turned me on to music.
This attraction to the miracle of music begins early in life if we allow it and especially if we promote it and develop it. For me it started early with children’s choirs at church, and I witnessed that influence again on Sunday evening during Wilshire’s annual yearend children’s and preschool choir program. It was fascinating to see how each age group was more engaged than the next in the songs they had been learning through the spring – from “deer in the headlights,” to in and out of concentration, to totally focused and loving their moment in the spotlight making music together.
Their progress is a testament to the love, patience and courage of the directors and teachers who work with these kids, and also to the trust and understanding of the parents who bring them on Wednesday evenings. Some of the children who participated will probably not pursue music in any substantial way as they get older. They may do nothing more than sing hymns in church or crank up the tunes driving down the highway and that is fine. But then some . . . well, you just never know.
Interspersed with the children’s songs were congregational hymns, and when I opened the hymnal in front of me I saw it was given by Alison and Mark Wingfield in honor of Luke, one of their twin sons. The first time I remember seeing the boys at Wilshire, it was after Sunday morning worship and Mark was crouched in front of them on the chancel, giving them “the what for” about some transgression. In that moment, it might have looked hopeless, but they both grew up just fine. In fact, they are both professional musicians, and although twins, each is making “intriguing” and “spirited” music in his own unique way.