These are a series of reflections on moments in life, shared from time to time, through out the year.
Reflection is probably not the right word here. Rant might be more appropriate!
First, the nice part. For two years now I have been privileged to attend a party hosted by Jeff Davis and his partner. This is because they are friends of my good friend Tom Tragardh and David Cortez. So sometime around Christmas, we all bundle up, wander through the night time wonder of the the University of California at Berkeley - first having had a good meal somewhere in the East Bay, and then entering the solitary door and taking the old elevator to the top floor. Then its a quick flight of stairs, and there you are.
Inside a small windowed room sits the console for the
carillon. It is magnificent in its simplicity, a set of hammers and pedals
all connected to the music of the spheres by trackers of metal. Some of
the hammers are slightly warn by the hands of those who have played here.
All is silence right now, because the concert has not begun. I turned to
the huge grills that hide the bells and am in awe of the lights of Berkeley/Oakland/San
Francisco that are splayed out below us. It is indeed a beautiful sight.
There is sparkling wine, and a bottle or two of chardonay are making their
rounds.
We are all bundled up, because it is cold outside, and there is a prevailing wind coming off the bay that reminds us that we should really be in a nice warm home somewhere, rather than challenging the wind of the new storm that has just arrived. This is an occasion out of the norm, however. Not everyone gets the opportunity to sit so closely beneath these bells - so we warm up by huddling next to the little "shanty" that holds the console.
We took a side trip to a surreal Longs Drug Store (housed in an old Theatre, where you can buy drugs and stuff under the watchful eyes of pealing putti). I bought ear plugs. As it turns out, they were of negligible value, but did keep the sound down to a dull roar.
Jeff came up and entered the shanty, and began with the "Carol of the Bells". What was being heard way below as a tinkling of brass and celestial ringing, was up here roaring with overtones, double tones, loudness, and the vague semblance of the tune heard so clearly below. One adjusts however, and can enjoy not only the over-blown music, but the artistry of the hands that are striking it. It is a delight. We are treated to about four to five pieces and then a fifteen minute rest, and then more music. There is Divinum Mysterium, modern carols from Italy, familiar carols from many lands. They are all jumbled together in my ears, and as I look at my friends, Tom and David, we are close to heaven - literally. One does begin to understand Edgar Allen Poe, however.
Poe is
a good segue, for all is not heavenly in this heavenly realm. Now it is
time for a rant.
Not all who have ascended have come with the same expectations for the evening.
And this is a big problem. I first encountered this in a concert with the
Moody Blues in Saint Louis, Missouri, when I was in seminary. My ex-wife
Joanne and I went to hear the concert, but all around us people were talking
and whispering. Then it hit me. They were used to listening to this music
in their homes on a phonograph. Talking didn't matter. There was no audience
to disturb. So why not talk in the concert hall?
Some of the other guest who gathered with us in the Campanile had not come for the music. Strange as it sounds, they came to talk. God knows what they were talking about - but it must have been very important. This has happened both times I have come to this party. Perhaps they never go to concerts, or don't like bells, or don't appreciate the music. It was all very strange as our fellow guests screamed in order to be heard over the wonderful bells. Heaven and hell gathered into one place. It was so disconcerting (great pun) that I wondered if I was descending into curmudgeondom. In the end the delight overwhelmed the distraction.
But what those poor souls missed!
MTH 12/28/06