I read this article about a week ago, and decided that maybe I did need Advent this year. Mormons don't really observe Advent, but a group of friends were sharing resources, and I did a little Google search of my own. As I read about Advent, I learned that the first candle in an Advent wreath symbolizes Hope, so Hope has been the focus of my study this week. And that helped me get through this week. Advent and Hope on my mind and in my heart helped me cope with the pain I saw and felt in news stories and on Facebook. My desire and longing for Peace helped me not to unleash a torrent of destruction on people I care about who simply haven't had the experiences or interactions that would enable them to truly "mourn with those that mourn."
So these were my Facebook posts from Friday.
And then these other words to "Come Thou Found of Every Blessing"
http://uuquincy.org/talks/20100228.shtml
By Saturday, I was sharing memes instead of music, and this morning, I can finally write a little about what I am feeling.
Last night I saw a few Facebook posts about the passing of Emma Lou Thayne. This morning, I read this and this, and then went searching for a recording of "Where Can I Turn for Peace?" that I loved enough to share on Facebook. (Yes, my life does revolve around Facebook. Sad, but true.) The quick and easy finds on YouTube just didn't speak to me, or they didn't include the words. I wanted to hear the words today.
Then I found this. It starts with some history about the song, the women who wrote it, and why it was written. I know a few members of Joleen G. Meredith's family. In fact, just recently, her daughter had shared the story of her mother's part in creating this song, so I enjoyed hearing the story again here. After the background information, there are several different performances of the songs, and I found what I had been searching for. I'll let you guess which ones I liked best. Then the tears began to flow, and flow, and flow. It was no longer about the death of a great Mormon woman. It was no longer about the pains and frustrations of the last few weeks. It wasn't even about this spiritual journey I'm on right now. It was about a voice studio on a college campus where I learned about real love and peace.
I was a poor college student, struggling with my testimony and with depression, and not really sure what I wanted from my life, except that I knew music had to be part of it. Elizabeth Bossard saw that. She saw all of it, and she took me under her wing. When I wasn't busy with other classes, I stopped by her studio and played for her voice students. She paid me in food, mentoring, and lessons in unconditional love. She also challenged me and stretched me, and pretty much everyone else that walk through that door. I watched in shock one day at her response to a student that was complaining about how hard some life situation was. I don't even remember which student or what they said, but she rattled off a list of things that she was dealing with, and I knew it was all true. I was in shock, but somehow she knew that that particular student needed to know that a person could be faced with extremely difficult situations and still do what needed to be done. She could see what each individual needed.
One day a student came in for a lesson, but was clearly in no way emotionally able to get through it. He told us a deeply personal story of pain, one that I won't share here because it isn't mine to share, but I will tell you that it was major, possibly a life and death situation. She didn't offer platitudes or condolences. She simply opened the hymn book to "Where Can I Turn for Peace?", handed me the book to play from (I was already sitting at the piano), and she sang to him. He and I have never discussed that day. I don't know what long term effect it had on him. I do know that it changed my life. That day, I saw what music could do. I saw the kind of teacher that I wanted to be. I saw the kind of person I wanted to be.
I'm interested to see where my study and focus on Advent will take me. Here's what I know today:
- We can't just anxiously await the coming of Christ and light and peace while sitting on our hands doing nothing.
- Waiting can be actively working and hoping for that light and peace.
- We have to be the light and peace that we want in the world.
I'm currently reading Parker J. Palmer's Healing the Heart of Democracy. (I'm only 48 pages in, and already I want to recommend it to every one of my friends, of all political views.) I want to end with two quotes from that book that pretty much say everything I need to about Ferguson, Eric Garner, strikes, protests, and everything else that has had social media in an upheaval the last few weeks.
Glossing over our differences diminishes democracy's potential: those differences are grist for democracy's mill, if we know how to hold them in life-giving ways. I will not pretend that I find it easy to embrace this fact. Get going on politicians who distort my faith tradition to win votes or on racial bigots and homophobes who want to translate their personal shadows into public policy, and this nice Quaker boy from the Midwest does a passable imitation of the Incredible Hulk. Still, no matter how jaw-dropping or morally offensive I find some people’s convictions, I must learn how to speak up in the civic community without denying my opponents their humanity and further poisoning the political ecosystem on which democracy depends. (page 32)
If you hold your knowledge of self and world wholeheartedly, your heart will at times get broken by loss, failure, defeat, betrayal, or death. What happens next in you and the world around you depends on how your heart breaks. If it breaks apart into a thousand pieces, the result may be anger, depression, and disengagement. If it breaks open into greater capacity to hold the complexities and contradictions of human experience, the result may be new life. (page 18)
Out of the darkness, light.
Hearts breaking into new life.
Peace.
Hope.
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