Music in My Soul?

Recently a good friend, who also loves Bluegrass and the Steep Canyon Rangers, sent me this clip from NPR Tiny Desk.  I have purchased the Steep Canyon Rangers new album (featured above), and can't stop listening to it.

For some time now, I have wondered to myself, why I find some forms of Bluegrass so appealing, so heartwarming, and so strangely familiar.  Music from home, if you will.  I am beginning now to wonder if this affection may be something in my DNA.  Is that possible?  Can you love a style of music because perhaps one, or two, or three or more generations past, someone in your lineage also listened to and lived with and maybe also loved this music.  At this season of life, I'm beginning to think this might be so for me.

Perhaps this has a lot to do with my own lineage, my DNA, and perhaps something of well.... my soul.  Over the past decade or so, I have been slowly gathering information about my family heritage in online and some personal travel research.

As it turns out, I am very American - with both sides of my family extending many generations back.  Pictured at right is my great-grandfather, Andrew Jackson Norris, who was born on December 4, 1850, in Winston, Mississippi; he married Elizabeth Martha Morrison on December 17, 1878, in Panola, Texas. They had nine children in 18 years. He died on December 21, 1929, in Frankston, Texas, at the age of 79, and was buried there.

I like to imagine Andrew and Liz heading to the County Fair, or perhaps a Saturday night social in Frankston, more than 100 years ago.  They would sit on the edge of the barn and listen to the local band play music quite similar to the Steep Canyon Rangers play today.

Is there music in our souls?  Can something we hear today ignite a small spark within us from many generations before?  Maybe it's so.

Enjoy.

"I Fall" - Tony Silvestri - Lyrics, Eric Whitacre - Scoring

It was supposed to just be a night at a concert. 

But we left feeling as if we had witnessed someone’s heart being broken, and then, very slowly, healed.  It was excruciating and yet hauntingly beautiful.  And it all happened in choral song at Disney Hall. 

A number of years ago there was a lovely young lady who was part of our church college department whose name was Julie.  Julie met a young man named Tony Silvestri, and soon became Julie Silvestri.  Two young lives brought together in a wedding in the church sanctuary.  Soon, along came two beautiful children, Thomas and Emma.  It was a lovely life.

And then, to Julie came cancer.  After a rugged and difficult struggle, it took her life.  Tony and the children were on their own, left with their faith and friends to sustain them.  Our family watched this all happen, and if I am honest, this loss is on the top of my list of questions in life.  Why God?  Why did this death happen, to such good, and warm, and loving people?

Back to the night at the concert.  Several weeks ago we were at Disney Hall to enjoy the Los Angeles Master Chorale and choral composer Eric Whitacre.  There was to be a new piece performed that night, entitled “I Fall”.  What we did not expect was when Mr. Whitacre took the stage with the Chorale that evening – our friend Tony Silvestri would walk on with him.  We were floored, here was our friend, who has suffered such loss, standing on the stage at Disney Hall. 

Tony was there that night as over the past decade he has become a recognized choral composer.  And over that same time period he has formed a deepening friendship with Mr. Whitacre, as they have worked on various choral pieces together.  Tony took center stage, was handed a microphone, and told the audience of his journey of love and loss with Julie.  He said, “Now, after 10 years, I am finally able to write lyrics about this loss.  These lyrics are about the night Julie passed away, in the Emergency Room.  This work has been the deepest writing I have ever done.”

And then, “I Fall” was performed.  I cannot recall a time in all my years where we have quietly wept through an entire choral piece.  The music and words were profoundly piercing and yet strangely and wonderfully redeeming, altogether in a way I cannot begin to articulate. 

The lyrics, Tony later shared with me:

Listening to your labored breath,

Your struggle ends as mine begins.

You rise, I fall. 

Fading, yet already gone;

What calls you I cannot provide.

You rise, I fall. 

Broken, with a heavy hand

I reach to you, and close your eyes. 

You rise, I fall. 

Psalm 77 says to us, “You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me with honor.  Whom have I in heaven but you?  And there is nothing on earth that I desire other than you.  My flesh and heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” 

Julie rose, indeed.  And Tony fell.  

And yet, with time something beautiful, and mysterious, and redeeming has emerged, in song.  And in Tony’s life.  Redemption is slowly having its way.  With us all.  May we be open enough, with time, to recognize it happening.

  

Below, a short excerpt of Eric Whitacre and Tony Silvestri’s “I Fall”.  This piece is proposed as a part of series, to be recorded in London in the coming months.  Stay tuned.

Solo Deo Gloria

Wait. Lent.

On the church calendar, it is Lent, a time of waiting.

But our worlds leave no time for waiting.  We have that big meeting on Tuesday with a client, that business trip to plan, the schlepping of the kids to school each day, that needy relative or friend who demands our time.  And the shopping, when will we find time for that?  We don’t have time to wait; we are too darned busy for that.

But wait.  What is the ending of the season of Lent?  A lowly, mysterious, confusing Jewish man betrayed.  Confused followers, some denying they even knew him.  A brutal death, and after moments of silent pause, an empty grave/cave - the single point in history in which the cosmos were cleaved in two.  Easter Sunday. 

This was a moment and a day that changed history.  Forever.  This odd man, this Jesus, commanded us to love our enemies, be ridiculously generous with our money and possessions, live lives of deep integrity, and plead for us to seek justice for all. He called his ragtag little bunch of followers to go to the cold places, the broken places, the dark corners of the world, the ragged edges; not just to proclaim good news — but to be, to live out into history, the good news of God’s love.

Recently, the LA Times published an article about the completely uncommon desert bloom of flowers, brought on by the record rains of this year.  I recently traveled through the Mojave as well, and was struck by a color I have never seen before.  Green! It's literally everywhere  in the desert. 

And yet, as we all know, this green is temporary, it will not last.  It is ephemerel - “of, for, or during the day, living or lasting but for a day, short-lived, temporary”.  

Summer will come, the green will fade, the flowers will wither.  We hear much of this language in the Scriptures as well.

Wait.  We who have chosen to follow this Jesus, we are not ephemeral people.  We are part of something ancient and timeless, that leads slowly to eternity.  And there are big peices to this deep tradition to which we all belong….

We Strive to live with Fearless compassion

In the third century, plagues ravaged the Roman Empire. Imagine the panic as a killer disease — probably smallpox — raged from person to person. While others banished the sick in fear for their own lives, Christians distinguished themselves in ways people had never seen before, described by Bishop Dionysius of Alexandria: “Heedless of danger, they took charge of the sick, attending to their every need and ministering to them in Christ … drawing on themselves the sickness of their neighbors and cheerfully accepting their pains.”

This impulse to put other people’s need ahead of our own, to sacrifice greatly for others, is the mark of a believer who embraces the words of John 15:12: “My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.”  This is earthchanging.  

Wait.  We are part of a movement of timeless, fearless compassion.

We long to Love without labels

Imagine living in an era when people were rigidly ranked by race, gender, economic status, and even slave or free. This was the world Jesus entered — and shattered. He and His followers offered equality for all people created in God’s image. The early Christians preached that through the saving grace of Jesus, everyone is loved and forgiven, regardless of status. Galatians 3:26-28 expressed their new identity: “So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. Amazing news for those on the bottom of society’s totem pole!

Today, our culture persists in affixing labels to people, dehumanizing entire groups and making them less worthy of our mercy and compassion. Some of those groups might be illegal immigrants, refugees, or Muslims, or even teenagers.  As Christ followers, we must learn to reject labels and look at people as God does, as valued and beloved beyond comprehension.

Friends, wait.  We are part of a clan of believers descending through history.  Hand to shoulder, this strange clan trys to extend deep friendship and real, tangible support to those who suffer under negative stereotypes.

These things, this Fearless Compassion, this Loving without Labels, these are what we try to do....

Our worlds leave little time for waiting.

Wait.  It’s Lent, friends.

We are not ephemeral people.  We are the people of God, we are part of something ancient, and timeless, and beautiful.  

Amen.

Good Night, Dear Heart

Good night, dear heart.

These words seemed to sound familiar to me.....

There are two stories of sadness associated with these words, which resulted many years after their writing, in the sublime beauty of a choral piece.  These are words that originated out of great loss on two separate occasions.  Another illustration that from great loss, with time, can come great beauty and hope for us all.

Good Night, Dear Heart, by composed by Dan Forrest:

Norris Family Christmas Letter - 2016

Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot, and days of auld lang syne?

Auld Lang Syne - “For the sake of old times” - is the translation of the Robert Burns poem, penned on the cold Scottish coast in 1788, and something many of us have sung on New Year’s Eve without a thought as to what the words might mean.  For us, this year, we choose to remember you – our long time and dear friends, as you take a moment to catch up on our family’s events of the past year.  You will not “be forgot”, and you are often brought to mind.

As the change and uncertainty of 2016 comes to a close, all the Norris clan gives thanks for our vocations, our friendships with you all, and the promise of a bright future, despite occasional clouds and sadness.  We know Who holds our future.

A year of milestones, new challenges, and opportunities for us all.  For Nancy, a season of transition out of her long-time role of Board Chair at Club21 (support for families and children with Down Syndrome) in Pasadena.  The Summer and Fall have brought new opportunities for mentoring and support raising with Elizabeth House, a home for single new mothers, also in Pasadena.  And this past year, Nancy has made new friends of the 1,500 pound variety – with horse riding lessons with the famed Rose Bowl Riders.  Her year also involved visits and some family change in Toronto, where her Mom and Dad have moved to Assisted Living; a time of transition, some loss, but grateful they are together with excellent care and in a beautiful setting.

For Kelly, the Fall meant back to school again in Room 1 at LAUSD Gerald Lawson Academy – in her classroom of eight autistic K through 2nd grade children.  Challenges and gifts, all rolled into one every school day.  Her classroom is new, bright, and filled with the artwork and study efforts of her students.  Her Mom and Dad are nearly bursting with thanksgiving and pride for Kelly’s faithful efforts each day.  Her pad in Mid-Wilshire is rumored to be the center of all fun social activities for Millennials in Mid City.  This Thanksgiving found Kelly in Chicago, visiting college friends, and 2017 will find her in Cuba.  Stay tuned!

Heather has successfully completed Phase I of her matriculation, with a wonderful sunny graduation ceremony at Husky Stadium at the University of Washington.  Family and friends gathered.  There was laughter and (parental) tears.  Heather is in the midst of studying for the GRE and filling out almost countless applications to nursing schools located mostly in the Western portion of the Fruited Plain.  In the meantime, she is providing specialized care for two teenage girls with Cerebral Palsy – challenging work that she finds deeply rewarding.  Dad had the chance to meet both of these girls and their families in Seattle in November – it was a great privilege, an encounter with what real courage looks like, and a morning I will always remember.  In her spare time, Heather sleeps.

And then there is the bald guy looking smug in the attached card.  He got a smidge older, not very much wiser, and a bit more wistful about this stunning group of beautiful ladies who form his family.  He is involved in somethings new – the Advisory Panel of the DePree Center for Leadership at Fuller Seminary, as well as assisting with Global Ethics efforts through the Royal Institute of Chartered Surveyors.  Teaching at UCLA continues to challenge and inspire.  His team at the office continues to tolerate his often foggy late middle aged leadership, and they impress clients in spite of him.  In all things, he is entirely undeserving and thankful beyond speech.

There it is, our family life summed up in less than a page.  And there you are, our dear friends out there, reading this both near and far.  Together, there is a world out there for us to care for, and to hope to make better in the New Year.  We’ve had enough division.  We need some kindness.  With this in mind, we gift you these lyrics from Robby Burns, again….

We two have sported in the brook,
from morning sun till dine;
But seas between us have roared and swelled
since auld lang syne.
 
And here is a hand my trusted friend!
And give me a hand o' thine!
And we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne!

Christmas Grace and Peace from all the Norris Family!

Unexpected Encounter with Silence and Dignity

Recently, an early Saturday morning found me in a coffee shop in Seattle.

I was in town to enjoy a weekend with my younger daughter.   The morning would be full of conversation and breakfast, catching up as Dad and daughter.  Later in the day, we would head to Husky Stadium, part of an unbelievably loud crowd of more than 70,000 yelling fans. That evening would come dinner with dear friends, celebrating 22 years of their marriage.   I had just a few moments, and stopped into the coffee shop to acquire the caffeine I would need to start the day.

It was just a routine stop.  Or so I thought.  Until I was visited by Silence and Dignity.

As I stood in line waiting to order I noticed out of the corner of my eye a group of four construction workers come in the door.  They queued in line behind me, but in a silent fashion not typical of guys who spend their day either making loud noises with heavy equipment, or yelling at one another in order to get the job done.  After a moment, I began to notice the growing quiet.  Others in the line noticed as well, so did the baristas; together we spied a lively conversation was occurring right behind us in line - all taking place in sign language without a single uttered sound.  Vivid facial expressions, accompanied by the rapid hand movements of sign language filled the silent air.  Conversation, connection, community, all occurring in utter stillness.

As this conversation continued, I smiled and took in this rare moment.  In the midst of a massive noisy city, on what would be a busy, sound-filled day, in a world filled with unceasing motion and noise, I was strangely drawn to this quiet yet vivid conversation taking place entirely without a single sound.  It seemed as if the whole mood of the coffee shop seemed to calm in response to these new visitors.

As my coffee came, the workers settled into a corner of the shop to continue their intense chat in an animated fashion that seemed to fill the room, all in absolute quiet.  In those wondrous still moments in that otherwise mundane corner of a busy city - a profound silence broke out.  How can quiet make so much beautiful visual noise?  It was wonderful.  Quiet in the midst of rushing.  Calm found in a completely unexpected place.

Something else was there.  Dignity.  These men, who were so animated, so vital, so at ease in the mist of their Saturday morning work break, seemed to exude a very special form of poise and dignity.

This was a normal work day for them in 2016.  But if we just remember back several decades, these same hearing-challenged folk would have been relinquished to occupations far more simple - and placed in a quiet corner of society, typically out of view of the rest of us.  And now, they were there with us all - a normal part of a working day.

I was reminded me of the words of the Apostle Paul,

"But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

This small group of otherwise ordinary working men spoke without words to me of the unseen power of silence, of self-confidence, and of the dignity of work.

There is depth of meaning and strength to be found in places that look, well, muted and weak - at least to those of us who might take a few quiet moments, and listen.

Henryk Górecki - Symphony No. 3, Op. 36 with Lyrics

This piece is know as the "Symphony of Sorrowful Songs", and was composed by Henryk Górecki.

First Movement

My son, my chosen and beloved
Share your wounds with your mother
And because, dear son, I have always carried you in my heart,
And always served you faithfully
Speak to your mother, to make her happy,
Although you are already leaving me, my cherished hope.
(Lamentation of the Holy Cross Monastery from the "Lysagóra Songs" collection. Second half of the 15th century)

Second Movement

No, Mother, do not weep,
Most chaste Queen of Heaven
Support me always.
"Zdrowas Mario." (*)
(Prayer inscribed on wall 3 of cell no. 3 in the basement of "Palace," the Gestapo's headquarters in Zadopane; beneath is the signature of Helena Wanda Blazusiakówna, and the words "18 years old, imprisoned since 26 September 1944.")
(*) "Zdrowas Mario" (Ave Maria)—the opening of the Polish prayer to the Holy Mother

Third Movement

Where has he gone
My dearest son?
Perhaps during the uprising
The cruel enemy killed him

Ah, you bad people
In the name of God, the most Holy,
Tell me, why did you kill
My son?

Never again
Will I have his support
Even if I cry
My old eyes out

Were my bitter tears
to create another River Oder
They would not restore to life
My son

He lies in his grave
and I know not where
Though I keep asking people
Everywhere

Perhaps the poor child
Lies in a rough ditch
and instead he could have been
lying in his warm bed

Oh, sing for him
God's little song-birds
Since his mother
Cannot find him

And you, God's little flowers
May you blossom all around
So that my son
May sleep happily
(Folk song in the dialect of the Opole region)

Bon Voyage, Vin Scully!

Bill Plaschke of the LA Times, tells it true, here.

Arcturus, Hokule'a, Star of Joy

The Ancient Sky
When a city dweller is placed in a location where the night sky so easily reveals itself; there is a change to pause, look up, and wonder anew.

A Zenith Star is the point on this celestial sphere directly above an observer.  Zenith stars have been used for eons by explorers to way-find their way around this globe; something simply mathematical and quite amazing altogether - that by looking up, you can find your way forward.  I've been thinking about this the past couple of days.

This week, our family, all four of us, are taking some time away from the constant onward rush of life to rest and vacation.  And we find ourselves again in the Hawaiian Islands, which our youngest daughter refers to as "Dad's happy place".  And so it is.  I am very happy, thankful and grateful.

Part of my gratitude is expressed by taking the time each evening to walk outside, and simply take in the wonder of the night sky.  To pause and consider my nearly infinitesimal smallness in the scope of the universe.

The Zenith Star of the Hawai'ian Islands is the star Arcturus, which is known by the Hawaiian name Hokule'a.  Hokule'a is also known as the "Star of Gladness" or "Star of Joy" in Hawaii and Polynesia. This star is 36.7 million light years away from Earth, which I have learned, is not that far in terms of celestial measurement.  Hokule'a is also one of the brightest stars in the night sky; a good star to find your way by.

For Hawaii, Arcturus moves along a circle which passes directly overhead, through the zenith, once every twenty-four hours.  Traditional ancient way-finders use the rising and setting of the stars to navigate across the open ocean without compasses or other modern equipment; in effect, steering by the stars.  And as we'll learn, this is still happening even today.

How quaint, how ancient, how outmoded.

The Modern Dilemma 
But we modern folk, what need have we of the stars?  We have smartphones in our pockets that contain thousands of times the computing power that found the way of the Apollo lander on the moon.  We have modern science, world-renowned universities, medicine, and the self help book section of Amazon.  Certainly now, stars are of little use to us, other than to gaze at on vacation, and perhaps have a brief moment of existential wonder and then, back indoors.

And yet, life happens to us, and oftentimes it hurts beyond measure, and bewilders us.  We are left entirely without answers.  Friendships dissolve for reasons that make no sense.  We loose our jobs, and wonder what in the world will happen next.  Wars rage, with no end in sight.  A frightening diagnosis comes in a call from the doctor, and we cannot see the way forward through our fear.  Children, the most undeserving and innocent of all, become sick, or are abused or abandoned - and it makes absolutely no sense.  We feel rage, often at God.

Jackson Browne once wrote in a song "The Night Inside Me":

I used to lay out in a field under the Milky Way

With everything that I was feeling that I could not say

With every doubt and every sorrow that was in my way

Tearing around inside my head like it was there to stay

With all that seems to give life order, often things do not work out in order at all.  It makes no sense.

That Star 
As it turns out, there is a boat named after that star.  Hokule'a is a twin hulled ocean going canoe, built by the Polynesian Voyaging Society.  For many years now, Hokule'a has been navigating the oceans of the world, showing us all that wayfinding is a remarkable achievement.

The amazing voyages of the Hokule'a are undertaken without modern navigational equipment such as GPS devices, and even without compasses: ancient traditional navigation techniques are employed instead. In a remarkable book entitled The Wayfinders: Why Ancient Wisdom Matters in the Modern World, author and National Geographic Society Explorer-in-Residence Wade Davis describes in compelling prose the techniques used on these journeys:

Enshrouded by the night, the canoe itself became the needle of a compass that was the sky. Behind us sat the navigator, a young woman named Ka'iulani, Nainoa's protege. She would remain awake for twenty-two hours a day for the entire voyage, sleeping only for fleeting moments when the mind demanded a rest.

Ka'iulani, like her mentor Nainoa and all of the experienced crew, could name and follow some 220 stars in the night sky. She knew and could track all the constellations, Scorpio and the Southern Cross, Orion, the Pleiades and the North Star, Polaris. 

More than 20 centuries ago, it seems the Polynesians knew more than we do.  They had committed the patterns and rhythms of the night sky to memory - they had taken the sky into their heads and hearts - and by this found their way across an ocean to a new future.  They looked up and found their way forward. Simple, yet elegant; plain yet stunning in its geographic reach.  A guiding star - what a concept.

In the ancient, we find something of great use to use to moderns.  Just look up; for guidance, but also for wisdom, for courage, hope, and for gladness and joy.

And so, we have come more than 2,300 miles to this lovely, sublime tropical spot in the middle of the Pacific.  Almost mysteriously, we arrived here at jet speed, by GPS guidance and world-wide communications systems, on board the most modern of aircraft.  We will go home the same way, all that distance in a matter of hours.  It never ceases to amaze me.

But this time, on the way home, I'll look out of the window at the sea below, and remember Hokule'a the star and the boat.  I'll also remember the Maker of all the stars in the Universe, set so beautifully in order above us all.

If only we might look up, we can make our way forward.