Even All Things

Easter morning, I awoke to the lilting sound of mockingbirds enshrining the backyard in song. The sun, soft and golden in the cold clean air of the dawn, whispered his temporal light through the bedroom curtains.

"Arise, and know that he is risen."

I've never been one to enjoy a holiday. To me, the celebration and circumstance has usually outshone (or overshadowed) the essence of the occasion. But this morning, I awoke to the earth quietly rejoicing in his name. I kissed my sleeping wife and left before eight, almost giddy at the prospect of lending organ and accordion to the music at Greg Adkins' church. Ever since the church acquired a Hammond B-3 with a Leslie cabinet, I've been almost jittery in anticipation of playing there. For one thing, I worship better with an instrument beneath my fingers. For another, I think that both my accordion (Mabel is her name) and the Hammond are resurrection stories in themselves. The organ is actually on loan from Danny Rosenbaum, a fellow whose name crops up now and then in conjunction with other old New City Cafe names. But the organ itself predates Danny. It predates my parents. Its story is one that I do not know, but it indeed has a story to tell. This year, that story entered the chapter of resurrection.

Mabel also predates my parents. Who knows her history? She hails from Italy, and certainly languished in at least one garage or attic in her time (probably several, truth be told), wondering when she would again find her voice. She found her way to my mother-in-law's music classroom at the hands of a man who simply didn't want the thing taking up space anymore. I fixed a couple of keys, and she has new straps. And again, through the radio and over the internet, she has traversed great distances and played in the hearts of people. A new chapter, resurrection.

May we, the languishing, the dead, the overspent, find new birth at his hands. May he grant that we should be the tools of his workmanship. May the songs we bear extend from his heart.