Solo Voices and Players

Our oldest granddaughter, Mary Cailin, sang a solo last evening in the Red Bud Middle School Christmas Concert. Well, it was not exactly a solo . . . Mary was one of approximately 150 students who sang together as a chorus, yet hers was the only voice her Papa heard. In my mind, all others joined in supporting her angelic singing, in harmonizing with her clarity and in expanding the fullness of her rejoicing. It was truly an incredible event organized exclusively for Mary that she might share with the world her operatic skills - and share with the world she did! "Bells of Christmas", "Jingle Bell Rock", "Let It Snow" and "Somewhere in My Memory" were never sung as pure, light and tonally clear as Mary sang them last evening . . . and "Silent Night" simply reduced me to tears as Mary's telling of the story brought the birth of our Savior into the home of my heart. 

Then, were that not enough, Mary Cailin, played a saxophone solo (albeit with the rest of the Junior High Band) that would have made Kenny G or John Coltrane blush with envy. She later told me that she missed one note, but I never heard it. All this Papa heard was her unencumbered joy of music being celebrated before hundreds of her adoring fans. The applause was thunderous, the adoration overwhelming and the lingering of well-wishers long but, what can one so talented do other than acknowledge those who see the gifts of God in her?

Later, after the throngs had dispersed, Mary, her Dad, Matt, and her Nana entered the local eatery where I had gone ahead to reserve a table for the emerging diva and her family at the end of an exhausting evening of performances. As Mary entered the room she opened her arms to her Papa and said, "Thank you for coming! I love you!" . . . and the world stopped spinning for a moment. There are no other words a Papa would rather hear from his granddaughter and, already so proud of her for her accomplishments, now his love for her, his willingness to do anything for her, and his incredible humility in even being recognized by her (in public!) deepens the connection they forging in love far beyond human expression. It is pure Joy. Pure Joy.

'Ask for the world and it is yours', I thought. 'Direct me to slay a dragon for you and it will be done', I mused. 'I will forever be the one who protects you from those who would hurt you', I promised . . . all said in my mind, not out loud, yet none the less true.
"Thank you for coming! I love you!" are the words my oldest granddaughter spoke in my ear last night and, from the depths of her being, I knew she meant every word. Not only can this girl sing and play the saxophone, she knows I would go to the ends of the earth for her . . . and she appreciates it! "God", I thought, "I am so blessed . . .and humbled . . . and grateful for such a gift. Thank you."

Later, as I drove home in my pickup truck, it was my last thought with her that kept coming to the foreground of my mulling along the miles of the journey. "God, I am so blessed . . . and humbled . . . and grateful for such a gift. Thank you." And, if such raw emotion can fill the soul of this Papa as he shares a moment with his granddaughter, how much more is it for You, God, The Papa, as You share each moment with us?

Are each of us 'soloists' in the choir and band? Do You look at me as I looked at our granddaughter and, though You see all the other mouths moving, hear only me? When I play my instrument in Your band, will mine be the instrument You hear above all the others? When I whisper in your ear, "Thank You for coming! I love You!", does your heart melt the way mine did?

Is that what You were trying to say when your angels sang over a stable in Bethlehem? When the heavenly orchestra lifted Your praise into all creation at the birth of Your Son? On each step of His journey, were You gathering us into your arms and reminding us just how much we mean to You? How far You will travel to sit, even in the middle of a crowd, and hear only us? Could it be that, in the moment we rejected your Gift, You still waited at the Table for us to return that, in the emptiness of the Tomb, we would enter Your continual embrace and be moved to say, "Thank you for coming! I love You!"? Do You weep as I wept when "Silent Night" is sung and the story of the birth of our Savior comes home anew into Your heart? And the questions kept coming . . . .

If it is so with we who are human, how much more are such things true for the One who creates us?

Our oldest granddaughter, Mary Cailin, sang and played solos last evening . . . or so it seemed for her Papa . . . and on his way home The Papa reminded him that it no less for any of us in The Papa's heart. Thank you, Papa, for Coming! Thank you, Papa, for Listening when I whisper in Your ear that song I would only have You hear! I love You, Papa! I love You always!

To Hear Our Children Call Out, "Papa!"

“And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord.”
Ezekiel 37:13-14 NRSV
For several years now I have had the extreme pleasure of hearing it, of being the recipient of it, of savoring it, of cherishing it every time our granddaughter, Cailin, said it: “Papa!” With that one simple word, she extends her arms up towards me with the clear and expectant desire that I should pick her up and kiss her, twirling her around in such a way that the world stops spinning around us. Ah, the wonders of being a grandfather!
But, yesterday, something new happened. Our youngest granddaughter, Ava, did the same thing she had observed her older sister doing. She held up her arms to me and said, “Papa!” With a whoop of delight I scooped her into my arms and twirled her around till she giggled and I nearly dizzily fell (Children are soooo much better at the spinning than adults!). Ava made my day in the same way the rising sun warms the Springtime earth, just by toddling towards me, arms held open wide and voice finding joy and expectancy in saying, “Papa!”
Then I wondered, ‘Can it be any less exciting for God than it is for me?’ Every time a child holds their arms up to God, every time a child trusts their happiness and welfare to God, every time a child looks into God’s face and without doubt or hesitation says, “Papa”, can God be any less full of happiness? Can God be any less full of laughter?
There are so many ways that we live each day exempting God from our journey: Prayers without meaning; Choices without prayer; ‘I can do it’ attitudes; Belligerent, foot-stomping tantrums of self-certainty; Lack of hospitality for the stranger right next to us; Trust in tradition over seeking the movement of the Spirit; Religious fervor without regard to the actual need of faith; and the list goes on and on. Yet, God remains faith-full, standing at the threshold of our heart’s home, listening closely for that moment when, out of the blue, we turn to God, hold up our arms and say, “Papa!”
For moments such as this, the grave is opened. For moments such as this, the dry bones come together. For moments such as this, hope overcomes despair. For moments such as this, the Spirit comes into our lives and nothing remains the same. In God’s grace and love, we are given a home not built with human hands and the land yields a bounty of joy inconceivable in human imagination.
“ . . . then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord,” are more than just words at the end of a prophetic text. They are the embodiment of life breathed, promises fulfilled, and decisive action taken on our behalf, all that we might know the wonder of God . . . twirling us around in the midst of the stars with Child-like giggling filling the heavens.
“Papa” is the apocalyptic pronouncement of God’s people coming home for the very first time all over again – and the Spirit’s affirmation that there is Good News to share in every age. Thanks be to God for a granddaughter’s innocent glee!
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don