I always listen to the host of the News and Classical station on WPR as he or she announces the next piece of classical music. I like to learn about the music I’m listening to, and, even more fun, I like to pretend as if, by already knowing the shared musical trivia, I am a classical music genius. So, I perked up one afternoon as Lori Skelton’s voice came over the waves. I was all ears about the upcoming sonata. That is, until I realized it was a flute sonata.
Ugh I thought Who knows anything about the flute? Well (as I had already mentally interjected) quite a lot of people know about flute, including my very own piano teacher who would likely kick my butt if she knew I was looking down on that instrument. Fine I thought Anyone can like flute, but I’m not required to.
By the time I’d finished this internal dialogue about whether I was a terrible person for not liking the flute, the music had started. After several minutes of trying to get a foothold in some kind of musical analysis of the piece, I realized something that really amazed me. The flute coming through my radio was the smoothest sounding thing I’d heard in a long time. This especially amazed me because I’ve heard new flautists play, and it can be anything but soothing. If there is one thing I know about flutes (and, yes, there may only be one), it’s that breathing breaks can disrupt even a well-practiced piece.
As I continued listening, I thought about all the times people, including myself, disregard the value of something because of a lack of understanding. That is, a person can recognize what something is or the purpose it serves (a flute sonata for people who enjoy the sounds of a flute sonata) without understanding the work that went into creating it. So much beauty and worth is missed when things are taken at surface value. A hand-made gift, a passing report card or a well-planned going-away party could easily be taken for granted by someone who buys the best gifts, gets straight A’s without an effort or who has never practiced hospitality.
Practice is one major difference between living a truly rich life and a life of instant - and fleeting - gratification. Let’s revisit the analogy of music. Yes, it is quite possible to enjoy music simply by clicking a mouse and downloading the latest album from your favorite artist. Music can evoke powerful emotions and enliven us in ways nothing else can. But wouldn’t it be nice if we understood just a little bit more? Once we know what kind of sounds we enjoy, what kinds of tempos make our blood flow and even how to create new music, ourselves, our experience is richer, deeper and more meaningful.
Of course, the ability to make music takes a lot of practice - most people don’t wake up being Mozart (except, maybe, Mozart). But once we dedicate ourselves to practicing something we love, not only do we learn a skill we enjoy and can share with others, but we learn something bigger. In practicing something, we learn to appreciate all the things in life that take more than the flip of a switch. I could appreciate that flute sonata, not because I understand how to play flute, but because I understand that the level of practice and dedication I use in my own life - in knitting, in playing piano and in having faith - is the same for the person playing music for me.
Faith is one of the most difficult practices to have, but also one of the best and most rewarding. It is challenging because faith is not something of which we perform drills, test or touch with our hands. It is not a skill or a talent or a gift reserved for a select few. But having faith enhances our lives and strengthens us, despite and because of all life’s challenges, to do the work of God in our world. May we find a way to practice our faith in a way that will help our world and open our eyes to understanding one another.
