Piano Lessons

I took piano lessons as a youngster and continued to do so until I was about 15 years old.  I never developed the way I should have simply because I wasn’t committed to practicing.  I often dreamed about becoming a great pianist, but when it came to putting in the effort, I was a slacker. 

I temporarily concentrated on improving when I was fourteen and in the ninth grade.  I took my lessons at a huge, old, classic downtown Lutheran church when we lived in Mankato, Minnesota.  My teacher was soft-spoken and encouraging, and I immediately valued her instruction.  She was an accomplished classical pianist of some renown who also played with the Minneapolis/St. Paul Symphony.  I loved her gentle nature and kind way of expressing correction to my mistakes. 

We often would have lengthy discussions about all types of music.  She was as familiar with the Beatles as she was with Beethoven.  She was genuinely curious about why I liked a certain song or a particular music style.  Another initiative she took was to switch my focus from the piano to the cathedral organ.  When I practiced on the massive, six-panel pipe organ in the upper balcony of the church, I felt like I had been dropped into a scene from the Phantom of the Opera. 

Although I do not remember her name, I still remember things about my piano teacher such as her sparkling laughter and warm-hearted approach to my lazy practice routines. But what I remember most about my teacher was the way she acted when she started to play. 

Within a minute or two, her eyes would close, and she would be transfixed into another world, forgetting all that was presently around her.  When she finished a piece, she would sit motionless for a minute or two, gathering herself, after which she would blush and say, “Oh my.  I am so sorry.  I guess I got carried away a little didn’t I.” It happened every time she played.  I knew even then that while I enjoyed music, I did not share the same passion for it that she did.

Following my freshman year, we moved to a new school district much further away, where I gave up my keyboard training in order to focus on sports.  I never became a great musician, but my experiences did teach me to understand and value all kinds of music – from classical to country, blues to marching band, rap to rock and roll. 

Job 38:7 tells us that at the time of creation, “The morning stars sang together.”  Apparently, music is so important to God, that it was crafted even before humanity.  The Book of Revelation describes how one day we will gather around the throne of God with a chorus of heavenly angels singing “worthy is the Lamb, who was slain” (Rev. 5:12) 

If it is true that music was created before the earth, and that there will be singing after this life, it stands to reason that there should be a lot of singing while we are here on earth.      

In a poignant moment, my teacher shared a poem with me.  She read it slowly, with deep conviction and unfathomable emotion.  I recently re-discovered that poem and I would like to share it with you.  I pray that it will make an impact on you and perhaps influence you to consider what kind of song you would like to have in your heart for all eternity. 

The Lost Chord

By Adelaide Anne Proctor

Seated one day at the organ,

I was weary and ill at ease,

And my fingers wandered idly

Over the noisy keys.

I do not know what I was playing,

Or what I was dreaming then;

But I struck one chord of music,

Like the sound of a great Amen.

It flooded the crimson twilight,

Like the close of an angel’s psalm,

And it lay on my fevered spirit,

With a touch of infinite calm.

It quieted pain and sorrow,

Like love overcoming strife,

It seemed the harmonious echo

From our discordant life.

It linked all perplexed meanings

Into one perfect peace,

And it trembled away into silence

As if it were loath to cease

I have sought, but I seek it vainly,

That one lost chord divine,

Which came from the soul of the organ,

And entered into mine.

It may be that death’s bright angel

Will speak in that chord again

It may be that only in heaven

I shall hear that grand Amen.

With love,

Pastor Mike