Sacrament

I recently read Barbara Brown Taylor's beautiful book, "Leaving Church." In it, she recounts an anecdote involving a four-year-old who was riding in a car with his mother and a visitor from out of town. He interrupted the adult conversation as they drove past the Episcopal church where Taylor was pastor, and said, "See, that's the place where God gives us the bread."


This story immediately made me think of the deep secret church musicians keep. We are accustomed to being thanked by the members of our congregations for the work we do, and the meaningful worship that results from our leadership. The secret lies in the fact that the reward we receive from rehearsing together and dedicating our talents to worship is far greater than the amount we give.

The intrinsic reward we find in a deep experience with beauty and creativity is overwhelming. We are bonded together in an experience that points ultimately beyond ourselves, and whose total is always greater than the sum of the individual and imperfect parts we each contribute.

The boy in the anecdote was describing the moment in the church's worship which is described as "sacrament." The Anglican Book of Common Prayer defines sacrament as an outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible Grace. When we receive the sacrament in church, we accept that Christ miraculously defined his gracious role in terms that were understandable by a four-year-old.

In addition to the historic sacrament, there are often times in which the "inward and invisible Grace" is effectively made apparent through the beauty of music. And as much as listeners experience this "outward sign", singers regularly experience more revelation than they can hope to understand. Cooks are never under-nourished, and those of us who distribute the bread are seldom short of capacity ourselves.

Last night we changed the format of our regular rehearsal, and it became a night of abundant bread distribution. A member of our congregation for the last fifty years is moving to live with her daughter due to declining health. Throughout her membership, she has gone out of her way to thank the church's musicians for their efforts. In countless notes and words of kindness, she has made sure that the choir members, directors and accompanists at our church have felt appreciated. So last night, thanks to a brilliant idea from a choir member, we arranged for her daughter to bring her to rehearsal. Before she leaves town she had the chance to sit and listen to her beloved choir. From her wheelchair she traveled through several favorite anthems with us. When we thought we had sung as long as her strength would allow her to comfortably listen, we presented her with several choir recordings and pictures, and gave her a hymnal as a souvenir. As we continued to rehearse, she asked her daughter to allow her to stay to the end. She didn't want to leave a morsel uneaten.

Our guest last night felt deeply blessed. But, of course, those of us who sang were profoundly rewarded, as the blessing of a loving listener filtered our singing. We sang with all our hearts, she listened with ears of love, and bread cascaded into every life, sacramental and free.