22nd Ordinary Sunday (Year C)
Ecclesiasticus 3:19-21,30-31 | Psalm 67(68):4-7,10-11 | Hebrews 12:18-19,22-24 | Luke 14:1,7-14
Today’s readings focus on humility, and there’s been cause lately to examine my own role as a music leader under that lens.
It began two years ago, when I was forced to step down as a choir head during a parish-wide ministry renewal process. Truth be told, I was getting a little tired of the role, and I wasn’t all that good at it, so it was something of a relief. Anyway, I was still conductor, so I could focus my efforts on that role.
Then came a series of interactions with the newer members of my choir, in which I glimpsed the latent talent just waiting to burst forth.
But most of those voices went quiet after a while, and I never thought to ask why.
It escalated with an article in the latest Catholic News (originally posted here), wherein Archbishop William Goh reminded us all that true leaders need to consciously prepare their successors for a smooth and orderly transition.
And it culminated in my suddenly coming awake in the early hours of this morning with a sobering realization: I’m casting a very long shadow, and that’s not a good thing at all.
Experience is a boon in most situations. It lubricates existing operations, and helps everyone avoid the potholes that have been run over before, or the ones you know are lurking over there in that deceptively-smooth road, though no one else has seen them yet.
But experience also casts a deep and dark shadow. It helps point out a safe way to navigate unknown territory, but it can also ossify into “this is the Way, now and forever, amen”. It shields others from the harsh spotlight of criticism and doubt, but it can also block out the gentle life-giving sunlight that fosters growth and exploration, and quash with fear and uncertainty the tiny young voices that would speak of a newer and better way.
Alas, after almost thirty years at the music helm, I’ve become Odin Borson, All-Father and King of Asgard, literally thundering corrections and exhortations in equal measure, and casting a shadow so long that only a few of the newer choristers dared to speak up, and sometimes not in a good way.
But God always provides.
In this instance, He’s arranged for me and my fellow long-standing conductor to be away for an extended period, leaving us no choice but to have one of our younger members stand in during the coming weeks. (I’m sure everyone would also welcome a respite from the weekly thunder.)
He’s also caused me to work closely with a newer member in the tricky process of hymn selection. That she has chosen hymns that I knew myself, but never thought to pick, is a very encouraging sign, and kindles hope that there’s still much talent waiting for the opportunity to spread wings and fly.
So it’s also a good time for us to begin the process of grooming the next generation of music leaders, to step down from our rostrums, to shorten the shadows we cast, letting the light of Christ pour over the newcomers and giving them the time and space to blossom into a new creation, a new way.
When I first began pondering today’s scripture, I misread the source of the First Reading as being from Ecclesiastes. I don’t think that was happenstance, as Ecclesiastes 3 (rather than Ecclesiasticus 3) begins with one of my favorite Bible passages:
There is a season for everything, a time for every occupation under heaven
Ecclesiastes 3:1
It’s the growing season now, and it’s time for this old farmer to step sideways out of the sun, and nurture fresh apprentices. Time to move to the lowest place, lifting a new generation up with fraternal guidance and correction.
Because, in the end, my way must be Christ’s Way, now and forever, amen.