The Deacon's Bench - March, 2011

From time to time I get together with my friend Pete and we play clarinet duets together. He’s much better than I am, but he’s also kind and patient enough to play at my level. More often than not it sounds pretty good, provided we’ve been practicing. If we haven’t been, it sounds, shall we say, “interesting.”

One day not too long ago God dropped in unexpectedly (it’s always like that, isn’t it?), and asked me how the music was coming along.
“Oh, it’s fine,” I lied.
“Been practicing, Tim?” God asked.
“When I can,” I explained, “…often enough.”
“How often is that?” God wanted to know.
Coming to my senses, I realized I’d better stop trying to hide and confess.
“Not very often,” I admitted.
“What does it sound like when you play but don’t practice?”
“It sounds like mass murder in a chicken coop,” I said. “Is that why you’re here?”
“Actually I’m more interested in harmony, Tim,” God said.
“Isn’t harmony music?” I asked.
“The harmony I care about is the harmony between me and my creation,” God said. “And between all the wonderful creatures I’ve loved into existence. I care deeply about harmony between us all.”
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“Let’s not phrase it that way, Tim,” God explained. “Problems just get solved. It’s more like there are opportunities.”
“For improvement?” I asked.
“Nope – for growth. Think about it. One creature’s “improvement” might require another creature’s suffering. The opportunities I mean are the opportunities within disharmony that lead to growth and more perfect harmony.”
“I don’t get it, God,” I said plaintively.
“OK then, Tim,” let’s start simply,” God said. “What does it sound like when you or Pete plays the wrong note?”
“Like a train that just came off the tracks.”
“Right. The disharmony’s pretty obvious, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Amen.”
“Don’t get holy on me when I’m trying to explain something to you, Tim,” God said. “Oh, sorry, God,” I said, and God continued.
“Is there any point in trying to hide disharmony?” God asked.
I laughed. “That would be like trying to hide a freshly shrunken head on top of a birthday cake, God.”
“Yes – something like that,” God said with a grimace.
“Then what do you do?” God asked.
“Well, we replay the passage slowly until get the notes and timing right. Sometimes we don’t know what to do. Maybe there’s a better fingering to use, or sometimes it’s just plain difficult and we make notes to ourselves to practice. Next time we play, it’ll probably sound better, but you never really know.”
“Do you think life’s a bit like that, too, Tim?” God asked.
“Oh, now I see, God – I think,” I said. “But life is crazy – some folks really DO try to hide the disharmony and even keep it secret. How can they ever get the song of their lives right if they never admit that they’d ever gotten it wrong?”
“You teach statistics, Tim. What would you say the probability of that is?” “Zero,” I said. God nodded, maybe in agreement, but perhaps it was something else.
“You have faith in me, too, I happen to know. Suppose they come to their senses and decide to practice the harmony I care deeply about, and to practice it in my Presence. What would you say about the probability then?”
I laughed. “100%!” I said, and we smiled happily at each other.
“Amen,” said God and we played a quiet duet of prayer together.