Christmas Wedding Hero

How can you top first graders singing Away in a Manger accented by lisps from missing teeth as a wedding prelude? No one noticed the ruby poinsettia sprays draped over the end of each pew, or the candelabras’ reflection on stain glass windows. We were too busy peering around heads to catch those six-year-olds singing. And singing. And singing.

After the third round of Silver Bells, even the grandparents in the crowd started suspecting a glitch. The bride’s mother stilled our curiosity when she stepped to the front. “Is there an organist in the house?” she half shouted, half laughed. “Our organist is lost in Casey, and can’t be here for forty-five minutes. If you can play, please step into the pastor’s office to the left of the sanctuary.”

Gasps and nervous chuckles shot through the crowd. But I knew someone who could save the day. “Honey, you can play,” I whispered to my husband. “Go tell them you’ll help.”

“Oh, Jeanette, I don’t play the organ—only the piano. It’s a different instrument altogether. Surely in a crowd of this size, there’s someone who’s trained on the organ.”

 

Not to betray my German heritage, I persisted. “No one is moving, Kev. You can do this; I know you can. Just don’t use the foot pedals, and they’ll never notice!”

 

His eyes skimmed the room with a nervous gaze.  “No, I don’t think I could.”

 

“Yes, you can, now just go do it.” My elbow may have slipped into his ribs; I don’t remember.

 

With one final desperate look around the room, Kevin rose from his seat.  He moseyed to the door of the pastor’s study, eyes on the carpet. As he pulled the door shut behind him, I sighed in relief. Thank you, Jesus.

Five minutes later, when he took his seat on the organ bench, a collective smile embraced all 200 guests. He played the processional like the first snowfall, sprinkling each bridesmaid with music as they glided down the aisle.  He gained more confidence for The Wedding March, and the bride received a full-scale storm of Wagner. By the recessional, organ music avalanched from his fingers. As the ushers dismissed each row, he bounced on the organ seat like a kid on a toboggan, playing original compositions, carols, and classical pieces.

No need for stairs from the platform to the sanctuary floor. He floated down and out to the parking lot, his halo glimmering in the afternoon sun.

At the reception, guests lined up to congratulate the wedding superhero. He grinned and nodded between bites of cake, “I was happy to help;” “It was the least I could do;” and my personal favorite, “No problem at all!” 

I finally snatched his wallet and held up his driver’s license next to his face. “What are you doing, Jeanette?”

“Checking to see if I came with the right man.”

He grabbed the wallet out of my hand. “I just didn’t want to steal the show from anyone else who could play. Everyone might think I was showing off.”

“No way would they think that about you, hon. Everyone could see you only wanted to help some friends out of a jam.” I jabbed him in the ribs one last time, and straightened his wings.

The above is a chapter from my book, Two Sceoops of Grace with Chuckles on Top. Just in time for Christmas, we've reduced the kindle price to only $3! Click on the link above to order

 

 

 

 

Imposed Reverence

I published this last year when I'd first started blogging, so most of you have not read it...

Last Christmas time we attended an eye-misting, heart-stirring Christmas musical performed by an all-church community choir and several instrumental groups.

Some of the music was classical, some traditional, and I sat amazed at the talent and creativity in our little town, stuck away in the middle of Eastern Illinois. “My heart rejoiced in God my Savior” as Mary said. I even got goose bumps from the sheer joy of knowing this God-become-man, and His eternal love for me. But, I left the church with its jewel toned stained glass windows less than elated.

Instead of my joy remaining and spilling into the coming days, I found myself disappointed, sad and angry. Why? Because some zealous soul got the idea that reverence equals silence. And printed in the bulletin for this heavenly music was a request to refrain from applause, either during or after the program. We, the audience had to bottle and cork our thanks and exultation as we stoically listened to the story of the God of eternity stripping off His robe of glory to become a man. I was tortured.

Praise was shooting out my ears, oozing out my eyeballs and dripping from my hands, but I was not allowed to express it. I felt like a frog at a sitting convention, or a jumping bean in a straightjacket. The magnificence of the music was squelched by the rule of silence.

I understand that when some people are moved by beauty and awe, they are silent. I have experienced that myself in the presence of God as I’ve prayed or worshipped my Lord and Master.

But to impose it on the entire audience because it is one person’s idea of reverence is criminal. I felt cheated out of the blessing of giving my whole self to the One I owe my whole self to. I needed to clap! I needed to shout “Hallelujah, Jesus is real!” “God is good!” to fully enter into worship (I did sneak in a few amen’s that only Kevin could hear, but that didn’t satisfy my ‘praise’ appetite). I needed to be allowed to express my gratitude to the Savior of my soul, who bought my life from Satan and freed me from hell. But, I was obedient to the pharisee who made the law, and later on, the rocks and I cried out in praise to Jesus.

Sadly, I will not return to this program this year. Not because the artists didn’t render a splendid job of glorifying God and His majesty. But because they were the only ones allowed to do so.

Do you worship loudly, silently, or a little of both?