Amazing Grace

Last week, Son #1 called me to let me know the LDS Church had just downloaded the first small selection of hymns for its new hymn book, whose publication release date is sometime next year. Though he loves music, he is the least likely family member to be chosen to do a solo in church, so I figured there must be some other reason for his interest. And there was—one of the new hymns was written by a long-time friend and, for many years, neighbor—Annette Dickman.

Once when I worked in our local stake Relief Society organization, I asked Annette if she could compose a hymn for our women’s choir to perform during Easter week. Instead, she composed a full-blown cantata, frantically writing a new section for each Saturday morning’s choir practice over a 2-month period. What is unique about the music is that the Easter story is told from the point of view of the women who first saw the resurrected Christ. The music is sublime, and several times in the last 25 years or so, I’ve been to performances of the cantata by large choirs all over the state.

I’ve always wondered how the heck does someone become a composer? How could you even know what a composer is when you’re a kid? (I once actually had an honors student whose goal was to become a composer. It was a memorable day when our high school orchestra debuted his first symphonic composition!)

When I went back to teaching English as a mid-life career, my first job was at a middle school, which also needed an instructor for a 7th-grade music class designed for students who weren’t in the choir or orchestra. Everybody else had more tenure, so naturally, I was the default choice. The class was a stretch for all of us—both the students and me. Having absolutely no idea what I was doing, I built a curriculum designed on music history and basic skills. I remember reading somewhere about Tchaikovsky waking up as a three- or four-year-old and screaming to his nanny that there was music in his head; he was terrified. It took her considerable time to soothe him. Legend has it that years later, he wrote down the music that had haunted him as a child: the theme to Swan Lake—music which still has the power to haunt all of us.

I’ve found that music often helps me reflect on who I truly am. The other day I woke up dreaming about the parable in the Bible where Jesus rubs mud on the blind man and tells him to go wash his eyes in the water. When he obeyed, it occurred to me that the first thing the blind man saw was himself—his own reflection in the water. What if he also saw the reflection of his soul? Not only a physical miracle, but a spiritual one? As far as I know, there’s no record in the New Testament of how the life of that blind man changed when at last he could see. But there may be parallels in history–whenever I hear the hymn Amazing Grace, I am reminded of its author, John Newton, who for years was a slave trader in the 1700’s. At some point, he recognized the horror of what he was doing, changed the direction of his life, became a beloved minister, and penned the lyrics to one of Christianity’s most famous hymns–Amazing Grace–as the text of a New Year’s service in 1733. (Note: A Newton biographer suggests the hymn is currently performed around the world as many as 10 million times annually.)

I have always had considerable admiration for Newton–there is perhaps nothing more terrifying (or at times as hopeful) as facing our true inner selves. Emily Dickinson believed it could be the most frightening of all experiences.

The Brain has Corridors — surpassing

Material Place —

Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting

External Ghost

Than its interior Confronting —

The Cooler Host —

Far safer, through an Abbey gallop,

The Stones a’chase —

Then Unarmed, one’s a’self encounter —

In lonesome Place—

I have to agree with Dickinson’s conclusions. Every now and then, I become uncomfortably aware of some negative behavior that I have never had the courage to acknowledge before. I used to tell myself metaphorically, “I’ll just set that aside on a shelf in the back of my mind until I have the courage or the strength to deal with it.” But change is painful. And exhausting. For me, at those times, music has often been the only therapy I could afford. Over the years, when I have been in need of comfort or of peace, even though it’s been three or four decades since I first sang it, the music of Annette’s Easter Cantata still rings in my head, “He came with healing in His Wings to set His people free.” Amazing Grace, indeed.