This life, and the next

One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of fellowship with other human beings as we take our place among them.
- Virginia Woolf

I have a legion of humble music jobs.  They are not glamorous concerts with "production values."  I do not exude technical ease at the piano and yet I am grateful for what it teaches me, and the joy it can bring to others.  It's a far sight better than the passivity induced by television, or even the ad nauseum complaining that we all tend to do in our spare time. 

I play a lot of funerals, church services, the occasional background gig, sometimes larger concerts with bands (as keyboardist or conductor), and a few times each year our church is responsible for the service at the Carleton Manor.  When I first started going there, I was very uncomfortable.

The residents there are obviously in their last days, some limping towards the finish line and others present in body only.  It is very difficult to see other people suffer, especially other people who belong to a generation for which I happen to have a tremendous amount of respect.

Yesterday we went and we were asked to provide a longer service than normal.  There was some debate in meetings about whether this was actually necessary or even appropriate, since many of the congregation are asleep within 20 minutes of the service beginning.  But we did our best to oblige the request, and the choir sang a couple of numbers.  At the end, we sang the Irish Blessing:

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind always be at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

and rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

 

To my right was a man all curled up, his wheelchair tilted back so he was cradled in it.  He was obviously a church-goer because, although his words were staggered, he managed to get out parts of the 23rd Psalm.  After we finished our song, he managed to look up briefly and I heard him say ". . . nice! " in a small but clear voice. 

I dare say I have encountered few things in life as humbling as the residents recite the Lord's Prayer together.  Their halting tones are about half the normal speed and due to the miracle of long-term memory, many of them who are normally mute suddenly chime in - remembering parts and omitting others.  But inevitably, they get to the end together, and when they are done I can sense that they have somehow managed to transcend the reality of their suffering for a short minute, and have returned to some snapshot of normalcy they knew long ago.  

As quickly as it comes it is gone again.  But I am thankful for having witnessed it, because it reminds me that "time and chance befalls us all," no matter how rich, beautiful, talented, charming or well-connected we may or may not be.  Although my jobs are humble in many ways they make me rich.