Sun., Mar. 22

There's a thrill approaching the door,
inside, clothes a little more upscale,
at least a bit less frayed.
Those who preside are all in black,
there are programs at the doors,
Conversations are quiet throughout the hall
punctuated by sudden distant laughs;
then movement to the front directs
attention to the platform,
all eyes shift from comparing fabrics
and waistlines, to the proceedings
that drew us together here.
Is it a concert, or a church service?
There's a liturgical solemnity
to a chamber ensemble performance,
a vocal recital, a string quartet.
It feels like church:
indeed, more like church than most churches
as they gather anymore
(and many avoid the name church anyhow).
Is it what churches have lost,
what classical music has gained,
or what they are last to let go of?
But i love that moment,
where conversation is no longer required,
when the conductor's baton is raised,
when the violinist's foot taps once,
in the still small pregnant quiet
about to fill with sound
that has intonation, evocation,
if not explicit meaning --
a direction for thought
that is not directive, that opens
and leads
and nudges from behind.
Perhaps it's the lack of a sermon,
the absence of lecturing,
the deference to sound over words,
but my thoughts go places
and come together in forms
when at a classical music concert
that never happens anywhere else.
The brain is engaged, and active,
but released, and open, and freed --
with expectations.
The daydreaming distracted mind,
or the fantasizing, diverted thought,
they're not at home
in the atmosphere of structured sound.
It's imagination and thinking dancing,
like Fred and Ginger, but on a first date.
And the way of looking at the world,
not with a soundtrack,
but to a score, following an arrangement,
part of a larger symphony,
an expression of an absent composer,
lasts beyond the final encore,
echoing in my day and week and for some time,
but fading, fading
until i get to relax into a seat at a concert
once again, restoring and refreshing
that pattern, those sources.
When worship is like that,
sparking associations and linking ideas,
lasting well into the week,
it was a good service -- but i don't know it
until long long after.
At least not 'til Thursday.
Can a concert be judged a success the same way?
That may not be their intention,
but it is mine: for the time spent listening
to help me hear, and even to understand,
not just in that moment,
not just with that audience.
And sometimes you just wonder when it'll be over,
and check your watch. But not often,
not if I can help it,
and apparently I can.