For the past couple of months, I, along with a parish
search committee, have been reading resumes and interviewing candidates for the
director of liturgical music position at St Wenceslaus. It has been over this
time that I have also reexamined my role in church ministry and finally came to
confront a major loss in my life that through a combination of being intensely
busy and avoidance had failed to acknowledge. It was after one of the evenings
filled with interviews that I finally looked at my right hand and the
realization of what I was looking at shook me to the core.
From the time I was in 3rd grade and
first sat down at a piano, I have been at my core a musician. I was told by my
Irish Great Aunts and my mother, that my musical talents were all inherited from
my Great Grandpap Marron, who was an Irish fiddler and a penny whistle
musician. I have no cause to disbelieve this. I have played many instruments from
brass, to strings, to reeds, and percussion, I majored in and mastered the
piano in college and minored in voice. And, for at least 23 out of my 37 years
of ministry have been a liturgical musician. Like many in church ministry, I
ended up wearing many different hats, but if I take off all the hats I have
worn and gotten down to the last hat, that hat would be a musician. As I looked
at my right hand that night, I knew that I had come to a place in my life that
the last hat that has defined me from the time I played “Pony Boy” for
the first time on the piano, would finally have to be removed. The loss is a
huge one, perhaps even a crushing loss.
If you examine the picture I took (ignore the pile
of messy papers), you will see a long scar that stretches from directly below
the knuckle of the third finger (in piano, the thumb is the first finger, the
index finger the second finger and so on) past the wrist and onto my forearm.
That scar is a reminder that as a result of a head on collision in 2002, I lost
40% of the function of my right hand. All the ligaments were stripped in that
hand and because I sustained other serious injuries as a result of the
accident, the surgeons were unable to operate on that hand immediately and had
to wait until it was too late to restore the entire hand. I had two surgeries
on that hand and was fortunate that the hand surgeon was able to restore 60% of
the use of my hand. The ability to play legato passages became more difficult.
Thumb cross unders and hand cross overs became painful. The ability to play
legato 5ths, 6ths, and octaves became impossible. I no longer had the
sufficient amount of ligaments left to play as I once had. Life is all about
adjustments and with a creative use of the sostenuto pedal and cheating on
octave passage runs by playing only the top pitch of the octave (let’s hear it
for overtones), have managed to cheat or fake my way musically on piano.
Whenever there is a major injury arthritis sets in and so, too, in that hand,
arthritis has set up shop toward the wrist, and in the thumb (the joint is all
bone on bone, the cartilage all gone). If I look at the left hand, I notice the
carpa tunnel that has taken residence there (hence the hand/wrist brace worn
during the night) and the complete absence of cartilage in that thumb joint,
too. All of us, as we get older, have to let go that which once we have had
excelled. This can all be quite depressing.
However, if you look at the picture of that
scarred, injured hand of mine, what you will also see is a hand that once
played Mozart, Chopin, Beethoven, Bartok, Bach, Mendelssohn, Brahms, Liszt,
Schubert, Joplin, Gershwin, Rogers, Berlin, Lennon, McCartney, Harrison, Joel
and so many other composers. You will see a hand that assisted many people in
learning choral music. This is the hand that has directed many choirs. You will
see a hand that has accompanied many a vocalist, played many a wedding and funeral. You will see a hand that has helped
compose over 200 pieces of music for children, youth, and adults, You will see
a hand that arranged music for brass and woodwind ensembles. This is a hand
that operated Goofus McNut, a blue walrus puppet, that helped teach children music
when I taught grade school music. You will see a hand that once taught smaller
hands to play the piano.
If you continue to look at that scarred hand, you
will see a hand that wrote and later typed countless papers during high school,
college and graduate school. You will see a hand that was raise to help
volunteer for activities. You will see a hand that baptized many, many children
over almost 20 years of diaconal ministry. You will see a hand that has held
the hand of many who were dying. You will see a hand that has traced the sign
of the cross on the foreheads of sick and well alike, and has blessed many over
the years.
If you look at that hand, you will see a hand that
has held the hand of Ruthie from the first time we dated, a hand that has
softly caressed her face, her hair, her body and embraced her. You will see the
hand that has held our children, changed many a diaper, helped bathe our
children (though Ruthie did more of that than I), and helped calm our frightened
children in the night and cleaned up vomit when they got sick during the night.
Though Ruthie has done the lion’s share of cooking at home, this hand has made
Chinese food from scratch, many a pizza from scratch (especially the veggie
pizzas we had on Lenten Fridays), and other meals.
You will also see a hand that has rarely been
raised in anger at another person (though I have raised my voice). It is a hand that only spanked our kids at
the most twice (at least that I can remember). You will see a hand that has
held a gun only once, during summer camp and that was a 22 caliber rifle fired
at a straw target. You will see a hand that has never held a revolver. You will
see a hand that rarely was fashioned into a fist to punch another person. This
is a hand that has never killed another person. This has been a hand that for
most of its functionality has been used only for good and not for destructive
purposes.
This hand may never play Beethoven, Beatles or
Beach Boys again. This hand may no longer someday be able to hold a pen, much
less type a key on a keyboard. This hand may no longer be able to hold a fork,
or cut food with a knife, or comb the few remaining strands of hair I have
left. However, this hand has done much good throughout my life. This hand has
brought more peace than violence to the world. This hand has created more than
it has destroyed. This hand has brought beauty to an often ugly world through
music. The legacy of this hand has been and continues to be honorable.
As I end this reflection, I realize that my days performing
may be slowly coming to a close, but do I really have to take off my musician
hat? Did Beethoven quit composing music when he became stone deaf? Obviously
not, otherwise, the 9th Symphony (the greatest symphony of all time
in the history of the orchestra … don’t argue with me, it is!) would never have
been composed. No, I will continue to wear that hat and it will be buried with
me when I die.
I know that the musical legacy passed on to me
from my Great Grandpap Marron has been passed on to my kids who all make
wonderful music. Perhaps it will also be passed on to my grandkids, Owen,
Aidan, Ollie, Alyssa, and Sydney or to grandchildren or great grandchildren yet
to born. But more important than the music is the legacy of this wounded,
scarred right hand. It is a legacy that has given more than it has taken, a
legacy of peace, a hand that has to the best of its ability been shaped into
the hand of Christ. It is that legacy I hope will shape the hands of those who
follow me.
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