Oh, Poetry...

The chamber choir commissioned some pieces from Chris Theofanidis for a concert we performed in this weekend. They were all a cappella and beautifully set, but the one that has captivated my thoughts for the past several days is "When You Are Old and Gray" by William Butler Yeats.

I don't read a lot of poetry, but whenever I have a reason to ponder the words to a certain poem over a long period of time, it seeps in and invades me in a way that is powerful and slightly alarming, actually.

So, here is the world I am in at the moment. I wish you could hear the sonorities that Theofanidis wrote to accompany these words, but assuredly, they stand alone just as well.

When You Are Old
When you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Creation's Restlessness

I'm still reading Randy Alcorn's Heaven, slowly but surely. It is so wonderfully written. It has plenty of creativity and imagination, but it's not without scriptures to thoughtfully and carefully uphold it. It's truly captivating.

I read something today that really resounded with how I feel. Perhaps it is the melancholy artist/musician-type within, but I feel this all around, every day.

Do you ever sense creation's restlessness? Do you hear groaning in the cold night wind? Do you feel the forest's loneliness, the ocean's agitation? Do you hear longing in the cries of whales? Do you see blood and pain in the eyes of wild animals, or the mixture of pleasure and pain in the eyes of your pets? Despite vestiges of beauty and joy, something on this earth is terribly wrong. Not only God's creatures but even inanimate objects seem to feel it.

God has made us all so differently. We all feel his presence, his power, love, and sense of unworthiness before Him in different ways. For me, it's through the things mentioned above, especially the animals. I can't count the times I've cried for forgiveness for my own sinfulness after witnessing or hearing of the suffering of animals. Without my sin nature, God's creatures and all of His creation would not have to suffer. This is terribly distressing for me.

Alcorn goes on to say:

But there's hope, visible in springtime after a hard winter. As Martin Luther put it, "Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime." The creation hopes for, even anticipates, resurrection.

Oh, Lord, how long?

The Wise Women

I spent the last week in long rehearsals for last night's production of Conrad Susa's The Wise Women. It's a "Christmas mystery fable" that looks at Jesus' birth from the perspective of the Wise Mens' homegirls. I wasn't so much into the story nor the feminist slant, but the music and the visual aspects were, in some spots, simply stunning. I played one of the wise women. (C'est moi on the right near the bottom, in the burgundy robe).

The director was Vern Sutton. He is a long-known, talented singer and director. He is occasionally featured in some way on Prairie Home Companion as well. It was great to work with him again and some of the other extremely talented singers and artists who contributed to the production. Gosh, I love what I do.