It often surprises me how I remember things. Strange things that make no real sense for me to remember, and some things that make perfect sense. There's probably some crazed pattern to it -moments from my life when I was particularly observant for some reason or other, or something that was drilled into my head repeatedly until I had no choice but to incorporate it into myself. Either way, it sometimes amazes me.
This was a weekend full of memories. I was lucky to get to witness the retirement of a Serbian Eastern Orthodox priest, who, for the last 37 years has been in service in a single parish. Now, it's rare to get to witness the retirement of any priest in any religion, but to find anyone who has been in the service of a single parish for that long a time is even more rare. Of course, the outpouring of love for this man was simply astounding. Speeches were given, Kola dancing was performed, choirs sang, and then, the person everyone was honoring stood up and said his many thanks. But then he said something that made me understand just why the crowd of 400 was there to honor him.
Slightly stooping with age, in his broken English, this man simply said, "I would ask you to forgive me. Forgive each other, have no fear or anger in your hearts when you come to church, or anywhere you seek God." Wow. His retirement, and all he wants is to be forgiven. 37 years of service, and he asks, of all things, to be forgiven. This is the picture of humility. In this exceedingly cynical age, where most organized religion is looked down upon by the media in general, it is so nice to see that there are still humble people who recognize the gifts of mercy, kindness, simplicity, and love.
The following morning, I was given permission to sing in the choir during the Divine Liturgy. Now, growing up Catholic, I thought the Roman church was pretty strict, and that an hour long Mass was long. An Orthodox service is usually about twice as long a Catholic Mass, and it's all singing. Well, almost all of it. And the choir is...pretty darned important. Indeed, it's essential to the Liturgy. THey take the choir pretty seriously, and here, a stranger who doesn't know the music and doesn't know the language (yes, some of it is in Serbian) was allowed to sing in the choir. Luckily, I can sing, and I can read music quickly. It seems the director of the choir is VERY picky about whom she allows to sing...and I was invited back to sing any time. I guess I was trained pretty well.
I owe much of that training to one man, whom, I found out after the service, passed away, I think that morning. Jim Callaghan, long-time teacher, mentor, and friend, taught me to learn music, learn it quickly, and to trust my voice. He taught me to sing with gusto, and if I was going to make a mistake - own it. He taught me what it meant to lead and to follow, and to recognize the qualities of leadership in others. He taught me that music is born from within, that it lives in the soul, and that the gift of music - or any art, for that matter - lies not in posessing a talent, but in sharing it with others. He taught me that the reward was not to be found in the accolades one might receive, but in watching the faces of those reacting to art, and making their lives, for just a moment, a touch better. He taught me how the arts have a power to bring about change. He especially taught me that music is a prayer. There are prayers said before battles, and prayers said before celebrations. There are prayers of sorrow, and prayers of joy, prayers of loss and prayers of reward. I like to think that on Sunday morning, the prayers that I was singing maybe helped Jim along his way to a choir of another sort - that of the angels of Heaven. Thank you, Jim, for all that you have done for me and for countless others. May you know a heavenly rest.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
