Stop the Music?

Music has been a huge part of my life since I was young. I should clarify that, particularly in this age of CD music for "Infants in Utero" and the occasional child prodigy. I was actually a late bloomer, relatively speaking, picking up the cello in 6th grade. But once I started I never looked back. While I matured to become a mediocre cellist, my love for most things musical flew off the charts.

For me though, I was more interested in music than being a musician. I was fascinated by singers but wasn't passionate about being one. I loved the piano but wasn't interested in playing it. Looking back now I think I loved the idea of making music, but in the background. The idea of performing wasn't appealing at all. The problem with this is that there are no courses of study--that I'm aware of--to teach you how to become a non-performing musician. That title is usually reserved for people who become proficient in music theory or for those who never quite make it as a performer. I was surely becoming the latter.

The turning point for me came in 10th grade. My mom started taking piano lessons. Her teacher, in addition to being an accomplished church pianist, was also her good friend. I wasn't there, but as far as I can tell lessons were more like social gatherings between two women. They talked about children, ministry and shopping rather than about notes and rhythm. I'm sure it was quite fulfilling for both of them, but mom was getting no closer to Carnegie Hall.

But, she did bring those piano books home. And an eager, 10th grade, wanna-be musician set aside geometry and history books for a self-educating crash course in church music. I felt like I'd hit the jackpot. I went through those books with a flurry of enthusiasm, and in about three weeks I could play most of the hymns in our hymnal. Of course, my technique was horrible--I had no concept of fingering, attack, etc. It was raw! But most people were impressed. It was maybe just short of miraculous.

So this was cool. I had a real hobby now. And I didn't have to perform. Except for myself and a few other forgiving ears.

Just so happened, we lost our church pianist all of sudden. Being a really small church at the time and with very limited resources, Dad looked to me as the no-brainer replacement. You gotta be kidding, I thought. I'm not a performer. This is just a hobby. I only use three fingers in the left hand!

So now, less than a month after cracking open my first easy-method piano book, I was the church pianist. This wasn't fun anymore. In fact, I thought it was pretty dumb. That was until people started telling me that I was pretty good. They were lying, but it made me feel good and built my confidence. So I started practicing, and practicing more. Every piece of church music I could get my hands on was fair game. Even the hard ones. I gave 'em the old three-finger try. Oddly enough, I played them well enough to be recognized.

My parents thought that lessons would now be a good idea. (We did things a little backwards). So, I started taking lessons. Now I was pumped. This would be a breeze. I'd just let the teacher know that I already play the piano and she could show me some moves. Like when you slide down all the keys or play standing up.

Shocker. She wasn't into "moves." On day one she brought in this book, John W. Schaum, Piano for Beginners. It was a big, thick book that seemed like it had a thousand pages. What was I supposed to do with that? Sit on it for height? Don't think so. But she was determined to teach me out of that book. Every lesson, every connect the musical dots page, every hand-clap exercise. Nothing was to be missed.

Problem was, I had needs. I needed to play for the congregation, I had to play offertories and invitations. I had to play choir and special music. I didn't have time for coloring books and counting. I was already a pianist! This was a serious problem. She was determined to teach me traditionally, while I was trying to not look stupid on Sunday morning.

These "lessons" went on for a few weeks without much progress. Finally, after calling in a fourth grader to play a lesson that I couldn't, my teacher declared that I was not "cut out" for the piano. As this would be our last lesson she also recommended that I go back to cello or maybe try the organ.

In my imagined recollection, I got up from the bench, threw the midget fourth grader through a plate glass window and smashed the piano in half. But my real memory tells me that I walked out discouraged and determined. I do remember going home and pleading with my parents for a new teacher. They obliged. And a couple of days and phonebook calls later I was back at the bench.

Ed Behrens was an unusual guy. He wore a clip-on tie with short sleeves and flip-flops. (And pants, of course). But what he lacked in fashion sense was made up in his musicianship. He was a fantastic player and teacher who had the ability to take my skill, albeit misguided, and channel it into a proper discipline. He grilled me on the fundamentals, exposed me to classical technique and instilled in me a love for playing the instrument. All of this while helping me meet my requirements as a church pianist.

Thanks to Mr. Behrens, two years later I was off to college and ready to major in Music with a double major in Theology. I quickly learned that I still had a long way to becoming proficient, but at least they didn't throw me out of the music department.

I know that God put music in me and that He gave me my ability for a reason. I also realize that I could have given up in 10th grade and today I'd be blogging about polygrams or the Battle of the Bulge.

If there's any lesson in this rambling entry it's that you should never let something or someone stop you from developing your gifts. For some, talent is clearly evident, while others of us are late bloomers. By the way, that's up to God. We have no right to take credit for our talent nor should we complain for our lack thereof. I believe we all have at least one gift. The question is whether we will sharpen it for Lord's work or bury it in a comfort zone to avoid the risk of looking stupid on Sunday--or any other day of the week.

"Wherefore I put thee in remembrance that thou stir up the gift of God, which is in thee by the putting on of my hands." 2 Tim. 1:6