The Glorious Sabbath of February 27th 2010
I awoke around 7am, the cold morning pushing me deeper into soft cotton blankets, my stiffened neck refusing to rise an inch after yesterdays three-hour drive home, the sunshine bending its way through the beige folds of my apartment window blinds. I knew the moment I awoke that a glorious Sabbath was on its way, despite the butterflies bouncing around in my stomach.
‘More rest, need more rest!’
It was all my mind could
conjure up in response. I turned on my side and snuggled deeper in the
folds of my blankets, wondering if the dream was true.
I had never dreamt of the president before, even though I’ve said many
prayers on his behalf and for our country. For an instant, it was as
though I passed over him. He was sitting in what seemed like the front
of a classroom. His thoughts become apparent to me. “I can’t take this
anymore. I don’t even know how she’s doing.”
What did it mean? I couldn’t help thinking about what kind of pressures
the president must be working under, 16 hour days and probably barely
able to keep up with family as the father he’s hoped to be. Was it
Sasha? Was he wondering how she was doing in her schoolwork?
After snoozing for another hour I finally clambered out of my cotton
nest, the excitement of the day stronger than the cold stale air of my
apartment, air that lingered with the foul aroma of yesterday’s garbage,
garbage that should have been taken out before leaving for work, work
that left me an hour short of rest and in a hurry.
Out and into the kitchen I sauntered, wandering from there to my office,
debating whether to start my computer and read email or find something
to eat, slumping down into my black ergonomic chair then standing up
again and heading for the kitchen, the desire to eat eventually
outweighing all other concerns. With eyes still puffy I reached into the
pantry closet digging for an orange box of high fiber almond-cluster
cereal, cereal that was too delicious and healthy to refuse. It was
baked in sugar and packed with crunch, crunch that could only be endured
with something cold and creamy, whether hazelnut, almond, soy or dairy
milk. At last, my weary hand seized it half a moment after hazel eyes.
I sauntered back into my office. Picking up the choir music I sat down
in front of my computer and crunched away, reading the words for today’s
performance: “Wade in the water. Wade in the water. Wade in the water.”
I started my computer and launched my facebook account, inspired by a
new activity post, “God’s gonna trouble the wadda ya’ll!” Crunch,
crunch, crunch. It wasn’t until later in the day I realized just how
literally God had troubled the water, though this time, not in a good
way –the seventh largest earthquake in quake history had affected Chili
and already taken at least 200 lives.
Spending a good 50 minutes rehearsing I finally convinced myself it’d be better to show up and sing imperfectly than to not show up at all. My friends apparently agreed, showing up one by one and piling into the couch room of our rustic brick church. We barely had time to run through all three songs, "Were you There," "Wade in the Water," and "Dry Bones."
The jitters had affected
all of us... the warm-up went terribly. Off key, out of tune, too high, too
low, the wrong beat, the wrong time… close to a total disaster and far
from encouraging. The only thing that seemed to go right was the closing
prayer, a fitting prayer, fitting because it testified not only to the
unknown moments that lie ahead through our tenuous voices, but to the
theme of our music selections, the theme of black history month, that no
matter the struggles we face, through thick and thin, highs and lows,
freedom and slavery, slavery that once stained a nation before its civil
war and its Martin Luther King, slavery that still lurks today in our
own ‘modern’ times from behind closed doors and underneath surfaces, we
will shine, shine for Him.
It was ten till eleven as we marched confidently into the brightly lit
sanctuary, our heads held high, our smiling red lips and bright shining
eyes combining sharply with our neatly pressed red, white and black
outfits. There were announcements, beautiful hymnal praises, baby
dedications, children’s stories, garden prayers, tithes and offerings,
special music performances, prayers for evangelism and upcoming
conferences, more beautiful hymns and at last, introductions to our
first performance. The tensions swelled, our small talk and whispers to
each other seemed punctuated by clandestine bursts of excitement as
though we were all newlyweds about to spend our first romantic evening
together.
We climbed to the top of the stage, each from a nearly different
direction. As we took our places the sanctuary fell completely silent,
our breathing the only audible sound, breathing that hoped to keep up
with our racing hearts and still have breath enough left over for a tune. Our
eyes fixated on our conductor, her face overflowing with amazement,
confidence and a bit of fear, fear as though last night’s nightmare was
about to become a reality –a swoop of her hand and we break out into the
wrong song! One, two, three… swoop… ‘Werrrre Youuuu Therrrrre…?’
We broke out triumphantly, on key and with fullness, the flood of our
harmony quickly filling every edge of the sanctuary like a raging river
bursting over its banks from the torrential rains of nearby mountains
and valleys. Sweet
to the last drop we carried on with jovial expressions, swaying back and
forth, our hands open and raised proudly at chest level, holding up the
precious words and notes of our first piece. Were
you there? Were you there?
Following this glorious song was one of the most eloquent and symbolic
speeches I’ve ever heard, every word rang out triumphantly, blooming
with truth and meaning like a gorgeous lily in a decadent field.
“Amens!” sprang from the audience like hungry hands across a banquet
table filled with colorful foods. Even the birds outside seemed to be
tuned in as they broke forth with songs of their own, complementing
various dishes along the way. ‘Freedom! Freedom through Christ!,’ they
seemed to reverberate.
The procession went on. Thankfully, the beauty of our voices as we sang
‘Wade in the Water’ was no less magnificent than its flowery
introduction. Though a difficult piece with a few strenuous moments to
the summit, it proved to be a mountain not too smooth to climb. With
only a second away from the apex, somewhat surprisingly, our voices fell
out of tune. The view at the top surprised the audience. After a
coordinated ascent marked with pulsating staccatos like equally spaced
pegs, guiding us further upward, snapping rhythmically into place, our
bodies cleaving to the sides, supporting each other should the arduous
climb prove to be too heavy, one by one we reached the pinnacle, out of
sync but safe at last, ears left feeling hungry as though the last bite
of a delicious meal had been swiped-away by an amateur waiter. Spirits
quickly brightened however, dessert was on its way!
Following a candid and insightful preparatory speech by a fellow choir
member, the vanguard of our young adult ministry, we took our places on
stage for the last time. Once again, the sanctuary fell silent, our eyes
fixating exclusively on our conductor as we waited for the signal, the
signal that was going to initiate the story of Ezekiel’s summon by the
spirit of the Lord to bring life to dry bones, bones that formed the
very body of Israel during a time of false worship and confusion,
confusion over how it all began and who was responsible for this thing
called life, life that in it’s finest image formed the reflection of its
own creator, life that had left the body leaving nothing behind except
dry bones. The shadow of death had vanished from the valley, our song
lifted splendidly to our Creator, our hearts pouring out every ounce of
feeling we could put into it, the audience answering with applause and
‘Amens!’ Life filled the body.
We’d done it! We’d completed our program and achieved new personal
bests! We stuck together over the preceding weeks, setting aside time to
rehearse and rehearse, laughing until our sides hurt on several
occasions, arguing over sequence and tempo, colors and locations,
pulling through, sometimes few in number, sometimes dry, wading and wading,
constantly lifted by His grace and kindness as we crossed the finish
line.
Oh, how wonderful were the hours that followed, filled with feasting,
laughter and prayer. There was meatballs made with nuts, oats and
parsley and covered in creamy mushroom gravies, spicy pastas accentuated by
textured soy-protein chicken pieces, fresh salads, veggie burgers,
cheddar creamed grated potatoes twice baked, mini chocolate and vanilla
lemony cheese cakes, rice pudding with toasted coconut and even caramel
chocolate chip cookies that somewhere survived the rehearsal and Bible
study of the night before. There were naps and snores followed by
strolls, strolls around fields, newly tilled fields and fields
burgeoning with dark green shades of alfalfa, sun shining brightly
through a gentle breeze. Then there was more laughter, music and prayer
as we closed the Sabbath.
But, this Sabbath-rooted stream of consciousness was yet to be over! To
top it all off a bonfire with veggie dogs, chili, jalapeño cornbread,
freshly baked cookies and brownies layered thick with chocolate fudge
icing. The flames danced to and fro into the night as embers broke free
and traced their outlines, rising higher and higher into the sky. The
full moon seemed to carry them even higher, creeping in and out behind
feathery clouds that at once seemed to form finger bones connected to a
hand bone. The weary hand stretched outward in a curved motion as though
backhanding, pushing her aside, saying ‘You’re certainly no object of
inordinate appreciation.’ Slowly the nimbus-like fingers and hands
formed arms and a torso, the torso connected to a waist and hips, hips
connected to legs and feet and before long he spoke. At first it was
just a whisper as sprinkles dotted our freshly combed and curled hairs,
sliding down our necks and raising the hairs on our arms. We didn’t
listen, laughing and conversing. Eventually the old man stopped
whispering softly into our ears and fell asleep, snoring loudly as
sprinkles turned to drops, falling faster and faster, coats and vests
became saturated, curls went flat and freshly combed hair began to look
more wild as the snores disheveled strands to the left, to the right.
What a blessing the old man turned out to be! We clambered into the warm
house as embers in the fireplace smiled sinisterly, their golden reds
now being the only supply capable of satisfying the demands of thirsty
eyes, smiling as though they knew that their outdoor counterparts were
being snuffed out and extinguished. Conversations quickly ebbed and
flowed and rumors of games floated from one side of the room to the
other. Much to the chagrin of many weary hands, a clearing was made near
the fireplace for a game of Slapjack. The children, uncontained with
enthusiasm, quickly slid between the cracks of adult knees and hips,
finding themselves kneeling at the card table, starring back at each
other’s smiling faces as the adults looked on with amazement and
expressions of ‘What just happened to our game?’ Laughter came barreling
out in all directions. Before long a separate game of Attack Uno was
set-up for the young-ins who were no less enthused and bewildered as
another deck of colorful cards was laid out in front of them. Although
the laughter of the adults sprang out at various times much louder than
the youngsters, their faces teemed with joy and excitement that spoke
just as loudly, if not louder.
The minutes rolled away and out into a mist that seemed to hover over
the close of the evening. One game finished, another started.
Conversations ebbed and flowed and before long groans of laughter turned
to yawns and weary eyes. Soon came cordial goodbyes, followed by hugs,
smiles and waves; an effervescent Sabbath had taken its course, wadding
through waters brimming with love and hope, atop mountains that had once
looked way too daunting, through valleys reminiscent of darker days, yet
with wayward paths over the horizon that still revealed darkness not yet
come to light. It was a great day, bubbling like a spring that tickled
our hearts and souls, encouraging our minds, leaving us full and
complete, showing us the way to deeper and deeper intimacy with our
Creator, preordained, restful and shared, equally and alike.
My country tis of thee, God blessed us joyfully, may He bless our
president and all those, great and small, forever yearning to bring us
closer and closer, higher and higher! May He bless all nations joined
together against tyranny, abuse and oppression, whereby voices and flags
of freedom and opportunity may rise and fly forevermore! May He also
bless those being affected by earthquakes and tsunami’s, those who have
lost or are now losing loved ones, and especially, those who have yet to
know Him and be welcomed into His loving arms.
All glory to His holy name. Amen.
