It was a bit like the biblical stories of the wedding banquet and the multiplying of the loaves and fishes all at once. A sing-thru of the choral music from my new show, Audience of One, scheduled to happen in Towson, Md., with 8 invited people who couldn't come at the last minute, ended up happening the same day in Landisville, Pa., with 17 different people who could come, also at the last minute.
While my enthusiasm had plummeted when the first group wasn't going to happen, my friend Jen Felty, in spite of being sick with a cold, had the stamina and resources to serve as banquet host and issue the S.O.S. invitation to the next group. Another friend, Tim Bistline, who was actually part of the original Audience of One trip, scrambled to make it possible for us to gather at the last minute at the church where he pastors. Bunches of people rearranged schedules to do what they love most—making music together. And suddenly, there we all were. A miracle.
Hearing the music that has swirled around in my brain and heart for months on end suddenly be transferred to these extraordinarily talented and loving human voices was beyond exhilarating. We made our way through five songs and then had to bring it to a close with just one more—"This Peculiar Meal"—a song about Communion, the moment in the musical when the youth choir receives it on the mountaintop before their concert.
And as the words, "The Body of Christ has been broken for you, the Blood of His mercy shed also for you" washed over me, I broke open. At the final fermata, I stood up at the piano and buried my face in my forearms and thanked everyone through my tears. Communion has come to mean everything to me. Their singing was like handing me the bread right from Jesus' hands.
On my way out of the church, after a heavenly two hours with this fine group, I turned to see the sun in a blinding crossfire right over the sanctuary where we just were. I couldn't even look, just aimed my camera, hoping for the best. I don't go looking for signs in the skies or writing on the wall, but I'll gladly say thank you for what I'm given—a literal exclamation point of clouds and light on a profoundly glorious day, a much-needed blessing and infusion of fuel for this often faltering creative heart. —ab
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