The Rings of the Tree

Church musicians have two sets of memories in their minds at this time of year, radiating outward from the earliest to the latest. In the first are found their memories of Christmases with their families. Like everyone else, their minds turn toward the memories of their childhood Christmases, then the Christmases they have shared with their own children. This trove of treasured memories is the magnet that draws us back to those we love at this time of year.

In the second set of memories are the annual Christmas musical events that have shaped our celebrations. I remember little details from the first cantata I directed, to the first "Messiah" I attempted, to the special singers who have helped carry out the annual traditions in the congregations I've served.

I celebrated this treasure trove of memories last week, as our choir and orchestra helped me recognize the fifteenth anniversary of my work with Melissa Brewer, the gifted contractor who has ensured the high quality and preparation of the orchestra players with whom I've worked each year.

I celebrated another important memory as Mary Kathryn Borland sang the soprano solo in the Spanish carol, "Carol of the Birds." Mary Kathryn grew up in the church I formerly served, and first sang a solo for me on Christmas Eve of her fifth-grade year. Now she is the academic counselor for the football team at the University of Alabama at Birmingham, and is a member of the church choir I direct. Her voice provides the sound track for some of my most poignant Christmas memories. And as a former baby-sitter for my children and close family friend, she has a special place in both sets of my Christmas memories.

The church where I served for ten years, and where Mary Kathryn grew up, provides many of the Christmas memories I enjoy. One of the most meaningful incidents came to mind last Sunday, as I turned to invite the congregation to join us as we sang "The First Nowell."

Twenty years ago we moved to Dothan, Alabama, where I became the Minister of Music at the First Baptist Church and my wife became a music educator in the public school system. One of her colleagues was a woman named Judy, who taught elementary music. A couple of years later, Judy was diagnosed with cancer. She underwent excruciating treatments while continuing to teach except on the worst of days. Time after time her doctors informed her that the future was short and the outlook was bleak. Judy kept teaching little kids about music. Years went by and Judy defied the odds. The doctors were surprised, and kept up their best treatment as Judy continued to teach.

One year, as the late fall was turning to advent and our efforts were turning toward our annual Christmas concert, we heard the news that Judy's health had taken a downward turn, and that her doctors had suggested that she spend the holidays getting her affairs in order and spending time with her family.

Just like this year, our Christmas concert included a moment in which I turned to direct the congregation to join us in singing "The First Nowell." When that moment came, and the congregation started to sing along with the choirs and orchestra, I couldn't help but notice that the faces of the people in the balcony were all turning to look to their sides, and shared an expression of astonishment. It was as if something unexpected and awkward were happening. As I followed the direction of their eyes, I became astonished, too.

There in the balcony was Judy. There wouldn't be another Christmas concert, so she was participating in this one with gusto. Her head was back and her mouth was open, and she was singing her last "First Nowell." Propriety couldn't have mattered less as she sang with all her heart from the balcony of the church. The congregation surrounding her couldn't have known that, with a life that could be measured in hours and days, and with finality in sight, she set as her priority for that night the singing of Christmas carols. As a music educator, Judy knew that time spent singing is not wasted. As a terminally ill patient, Judy knew that time spent being creative and expressive flies in the face of a hopeless diagnosis. In her final act of defiance against her strong disease, Judy sang.

Musical Christmas memories, like the rings of an old tree, chronicle the passing years and the creative opportunities they bring. They teach us that every year is made unique by the fact that birthing, growing and dying are taking place, and that singing familiar songs together helps us to cope with the changes of our lives. In fact, there are times when singing Christmas carols seems like the only fruitful way to share a few precious moments, answering the dissonance surrounding us with the melody and harmony that permeate all our memories.

Then let us all with one accord

Sing praises to our heavenly Lord,

Who hath made heaven and earth of naught,

And with his blood mankind hath bought.

Nowell, Nowell, Nowell, Nowell.

Born is the King of Israel.