Songs of Christmas (28 page)

“I know it’s only four days until Christmas,” he went on, “but there’s no ignoring the storm and its consequences. I’ve decided to preach on that, and I think the choir should set the tone with some familiar hymn of comfort. Something that sends the message that we’ve all been through a mighty test but must hold fast now to our faith.”

Amanda felt the same. It would be the fourth Sunday of Advent, but the effects of the storm still hung over the town, and she knew that it had washed away the holidays for many in its wake. It wouldn’t be right to just paper over those feelings with the usual holiday cheer.

“I was thinking about that, too, Reverend. I’m not sure what we could sing, though . . .” Amanda gave the question some thought. If Sunday hymns were a category on
Jeopardy!
, she would never win the round. But she had sung in the choir for a few years, and a familiar standard came to mind, one she had always loved that was written by William Cowper. “How about ‘God Moves in a Mysterious Way’?” she suggested. “Is that the sort of hymn you mean?”

“That would be perfect.” Reverend Ben sounded pleased by her suggestion. “I can even work some information about Cowper into the sermon. He faced many challenges and dark hours, but still expressed such steadfast faith in his hymns and poems. The choir can sing it for the introit. And I was thinking we might close with something upbeat and faith-affirming, like ‘This Little Light of Mine.’ It will be an intergenerational service, and the children always enjoy that one.”

Amanda agreed, glad of the changes. For the first time since she stepped into this job, she understood what it meant to work at a place of worship and to try to help people find peace and comfort, hope and connection, and how those things could all come through the music. “Oh, and Frank Borge called me yesterday. He won’t be in church,” Reverend Ben added. “He has to go down to Marblehead to help his mother.”

Amanda expected quite a few members of the choir would be absent on Sunday, their lives still unsettled by the storm. But their starring tenor was scheduled to sing a piece of holy music by Verdi.

Maybe they would just skip the special music, Amanda thought. Frank could sing the piece in a few weeks. But before she could respond, Reverend Ben said, “I wonder if you could play something for us on your cello instead—if it’s not too much trouble. I’ve heard you practice in the sanctuary. You play remarkably well.”

Amanda was surprised. She hated to refuse the reverend this favor, but it was very short notice. “I would like to step in, Reverend, but I feel unprepared,” she said honestly.

“Oh, play anything that comes to mind. It will be a real treat, a wonderful distraction for people from their worries right now.”

Amanda knew that was true. She decided to play part of the Vivaldi concerto, the one she’d been practicing for possible auditions; the one that Gabriel liked so much.

* * *

WHEN AMANDA ARRIVED ON SUNDAY MORNING, THERE SEEMED TO
be a different feeling at church, just something in the atmosphere. The few choir members who were able to get there arrived early, as she had asked, and they held a short rehearsal, going over the Cowper hymn.

As members of the congregation drifted in, they greeted each other warmly. It was normally a very friendly group, but everyone seemed even warmer and more caring today.

The pews slowly filled, and she noticed that there were almost as many in attendance as there would be on Christmas Day. Less than a week ago, their world had been shaken like a snow globe, and they had come seeking some solace and guidance, she realized.

Her family soon arrived, taking seats in the middle section, not up close, thankfully. It was distracting enough having them here.

She smiled at her sisters. Lauren gave her a thumbs-up while Jill and little Betty waved.

The choir was gathering in the narthex with Reverend Ben, getting ready to come in. Amanda was about to turn back to the piano when she spotted Gabriel. He had slipped into a pew at the very back. He looked at her a long moment and slowly smiled. Even at that distance, she felt their deep connection.

Amanda played the prelude as the congregation gathered. When the choir was ready to enter, she struck the first chords of the opening hymn, feeling a deep sense of purpose.

“
God moves in a mysterious way . . . His wonders to perform . . .”
The choir was reduced in number by almost half, but sang with double the spirit and energy, she noticed.
“He plants His footsteps in the sea . . . And rides upon the storm . . .”

As their voices rose and filled the sanctuary, Amanda felt her spirit rise, too. She wasn’t sure why or when it had happened. She just felt different, very present. She wasn’t just sitting here playing in a competent and dutiful way, as she had on Sundays past. She was doing something more. She put her heart and soul into each note.

She could tell from the expressions on the faces in the choir that they noticed, too. She felt them pushing themselves to reach higher with their voices, lift their notes to heaven in sonorous harmonies. When the hymn ended, Amanda blinked back tears.

Reverend Ben then began his sermon about the storm, about the bewilderment and anger people experience facing such great losses.

“It’s only normal for us to question, and even to doubt. To say, ‘Why God? Why me? Why did You do this?’ Life doesn’t seem fair or just. God doesn’t seem fair. Or even loving.

“But I ask you to look back on the words of the poet William Cowper, the stirring lyrics of his most famous hymn, which the choir sang so beautifully for our introit today. As some of you might know, Cowper was a brilliant poet, whose work set English literature in a new direction. But he was also plagued by mental instability and great emotional anguish. Had he lived in our time, he might have been diagnosed and treated, and gone on to live a relatively normal life. But back in the late eighteenth century, this brilliant and sensitive artist endured a long confinement in a mental institution, called an insane asylum in his day. One can only imagine the primitive, brutal treatment of the patients. Cowper somehow survived and returned to normal life, and was taken in by the famous minister John Newton and his wife. He lived in relative peace and comfort for a time, but again faced a dark hour and attempted suicide.

“But rising out of those painful depths, he wrote this hymn, ‘God Moves in a Mysterious Way,’ acknowledging God’s power and superior intelligence and wisdom, which are so often beyond our frail, human understanding.”

Reverend Ben paused and picked up the hymnal. “‘Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, the clouds ye so much dread . . . Are big with mercy and shall break in blessings on your head.’” He paused. “These lyrics strike me as particularly relevant to our feelings about the storm. ‘Where is the mercy? Where are the blessings of this disaster?’ you may be asking.” He paused, giving the congregation time to consider the question.

“I see God not in the senseless, random destruction,” Reverend Ben said, “but in the many stories of survival and the many lives spared. We have all heard those stories and even experienced some of those events ourselves.”

Amanda thought about her own ordeal, stuck on the road with her mother, Betty, and Mrs. Honeyfield. It seemed almost miraculous that they had made it home that night unharmed.

“I see it in the amazing way people have prevailed during this trying hour,” Reverend Ben continued. “And while full recovery will take months or even longer in some cases, so many are already starting to repair and rebuild. What courage that takes. What energy! Surely God’s hand and breath must be at work in these efforts.

“Mainly, I see it in the opportunity God has given us to be the living instruments of His love and mercy. Of His charity and goodness. To be the channel of His undiscriminating love for all, by reaching out and lending our hands to others, to anyone who’s hurting and in need of help right now. By being love in action, that’s how I see God in all of this. The storm is a disaster. But the aftermath is an opportunity, truly a gift and a blessing.

“We’ve seen it in the news and right in our neighborhoods. We’ve seen it here, in our church. As Cowper reminds us, we may not comprehend God’s mysterious purpose in this event. But it is unfolding, petal by petal, hour by hour. ‘The bud may have a bitter taste, but sweet will be the flower.’”

He paused again and looked out at the congregation. “This morning, I encourage you to trust that some good comes of even the darkest hour and most dire event. Like William Cowper, I encourage you to carry on in faith and prayer.”

The church was silent a moment. Then Amanda played the anthem. She was very moved and had to force herself to focus on the music. The reverend’s wise words had helped her, and she felt sure they would help many others who had come to church this morning. She felt quietly proud that she and the choir had helped bring some comfort and a sense of renewed faith to those attending, too.

When it came time to play her cello, right before the offertory, Amanda put forward her best, and her audience listened intently. Maybe they were not music connoisseurs who had paid a hundred dollars or more for their seats. But Amanda played one of her favorite Vivaldi pieces for them as if they were the most important audience in the world.

This was what the reverend meant about giving service with her talent, the gift God had given her. She had thought she had understood. Now she realized that she had only understood intellectually, but had never truly experienced it in her heart.

It was finally time for the closing hymn, “This Little Light of Mine.” Amanda was already seated at the piano and gave the choir the signal to start. The choir and congregation all stood and sang with her. Reverend Ben was right; the hymn was a crowd-pleaser, and they all sang with full, joyous voices.

Her family rushed up to her as soon as the service ended. Her mother looked like she had been crying and gave her a kiss on her cheek. “You were magnificent! Absolutely fabulous. I was so proud, I could bust!”

“You played beautifully, Amanda, every note,” her father said.

Her sisters chimed in with rave reviews as well. She was so busy accepting everyone’s praise that she didn’t notice Gabriel standing nearby, just outside the family circle.

She caught his eye and beckoned him closer. “Mom, Dad, this is a friend of mine, Gabriel Bailey,” she said.

“Hey, I remember you . . . Didn’t you come to the shop on Thanksgiving Day?” Molly asked.

Gabriel grinned. “Guilty as charged. And you gave me a pumpkin pie.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Molly laughed, remembering. “Well, stop by the shop on Christmas. Maybe I’ll give you another one.”

Amanda cringed. Her mom could be so embarrassing at times.

She glanced at Gabriel, wondering if he felt awkward, too, but he just laughed. “That would be too generous. But I do love that hazelnut cheesecake you make. I’ll definitely order one of those.”

“Good choice. That’s my favorite, too. I invented it,” Molly said proudly.

Amanda was relieved that Gabriel had artfully turned the exchange into a compliment to her mother’s culinary skills. But she also knew that this subject held its own danger; Molly could talk for hours about her cooking. They could be here all afternoon.

Her father, sensing her distress, said, “Let’s go say hello to Reverend Ben, honey. The line is very short now.” He glanced at Gabriel and smiled. “Very nice to meet you, Gabriel.” Then he took her mother’s arm and ushered her away.

Jill and Betty followed, but Lauren lingered. “I’ve heard so much about you, Gabriel,” she said in a teasing tone. She glanced at Amanda, and they exchanged a look. “Hope to see you soon.”

Amanda wanted to choke her but knew that would be very inappropriate in a church. Why were families so embarrassing? Wasn’t she too old for this?

Once they were gone, Amanda was too tongue-tied to speak. Gabriel must think she had been talking about him with Lauren nonstop. Well, she had a little. But not that much.

Gabriel helped her put the cello in its case. Then he carried the instrument back to the choir room for her.

“Your family is very nice,” he said finally.

Amanda busied herself straightening up her desk and checking the choir robes. She still felt too embarrassed to speak.

“Your mother is a real character,” he added.

“She has a very memorable personality,” Amanda agreed.

He smiled and finally managed to catch her gaze. “Well, I’d say that runs in the family.”

She finally relaxed and smiled back at him. “Memorable in a good way, I hope you mean?”

He laughed. “Of course . . . most of the time.”

* * *

HIS TRUCK WAS PARKED ACROSS THE GREEN, AND AMANDA APPRECIATED
the first blast of fresh air as she stepped out of the church and began walking. The town maintenance crews had done a good job of cleaning up after the storm, but there were still piles of tree trunks and branches everywhere, and even big raw holes in the dirt where trees had been totally uprooted.

They stood side by side for a moment and gazed out at the water. The harbor was calm today, reflecting the clear blue sky and drifting white clouds. The serene scene contrasted sharply with the long wooden dock, which was ravaged—a piece at one end torn from its wooden pillars and half-sunk in the harbor.

“Look at the dock. It snapped right off, like a stick,” Amanda said.

“I know. It’s sort of sad looking . . . But this will all be rebuilt even stronger. Just like Reverend Ben said, storms come and go. But the human spirit prevails. That’s just the way we’re made,” he said simply.

Amanda glanced at him. When they had first met, she never suspected that he had such strong faith. But he did, and she had come to like that about him. She was even beginning to share that same faith.

Gabriel took her hand as they continued to walk. Then he said, “I forgot to tell you, the music was great at the service today.”

She glanced at him shyly. “Thanks. I wanted to do a good job, to have it be more meaningful. I felt sort of . . . different as I was playing and the choir was singing. I hope the congregation felt lifted by it, at least a little.”