Lent I: Tuning our Lives

I was only twelve when my father took me to the New York Philharmonic, but the memory has remained and contains all I need to know about a life of faith. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to understand.

Sitting in the balcony beside my father, I watched as the musicians, dressed in black in white, walked onto the stage. Some carried their instruments – violins, oboes, and cellos - while others, those who played instruments too big to carry, took their places on the stage. Some moved their seats, others adjusted their music stands, then they began playing various notes. It wasn’t a pleasing sound. Eventually, the woman in the first chair lifted her violin to her chin, dragged her bow across the strings, and played an A. All the other musicians stopped what they were doing and followed her lead, tuning their instruments to hers. Soon, they were all playing the same note. Then there was silence, and the conductor walked onto the stage knowing they were ready to perform.

I think that’s what we’re supposed to do. Too often, we walk on stage with our own instruments and play whatever notes we fancy, but the sound of everyone playing his or her own song is not pleasing. In fact, it’s awful. But God offers a note to which we’re invited to tune our lives. “God’s will, not ours,” the folks in 12-step recovery often say, and each time they do I think of the orchestra.

Lent is a season in which we are invited to re-tune our lives. It might require reaching up and adjusting the strings, but the note is there for us all to hear. The question is: will we tune our instrument to it so the symphony can begin?