Time change. What a misnomer. Time does not change. It steadily marches forward at the same precise inevitable pace whether we perceive it that way or not. In the company of those we love, it seems to slow. In the process of trying to get everything done, doesn't it speed up? Summertime is always more leisurely and school time more agonizingly slow. Friday night fun and games slides by way too quickly while sometimes Sunday sermon minutes drag their feet.
Today we set our clocks ahead by an hour and lose precious sleep time. We hate that. We gain daylight hours at the end of our work shifts and can drive home not in the dark - we love that. It means summer is closing in on us.
Church attendance today betrayed those who had forgotten. Empty seats scattered here and there told the story. Thank goodness the choir was there, and our guest cellist, right on time. I am blessed. Warm up and rehearsal went well. Our young man has studied the score and practiced up. The music is in a better place. We run it three times and each time it matures and mellows, beginning to take shape and become what it is destined to be.
It is a moving rendition. The story of someone sick and desperate, thirsty and weak trying to find living water, overcoming desert treks and mountain hikes to finally finally get that life saving drink of cool water. The music is built to tell the story. The pianist coaxes the singers and the cellist to tell it well. Don't mumble. Speak clearly. I encourage them to tell the story.
In the service, about two thirds of the way through the song, we lose the cellist by a beat, but the momentum already created carries us and he rejoins before the ending. Yes, the story is heard. The pastor is touched by it. The congregation brought up short by its dramatic force.
Come, ye who are weary. Don't let the setting ahead of the clock keep you from a much needed drink at the well of Christ. Come be refreshed. Come be restored. Come be touched by the love of God.
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