God fills the autumn afternoons in Wisconsin with soft breezes. He paints the forests in yellows, oranges and reds, and wrings the humidity from the air. And God gives Wisconsinites one more gift on Sundays in the fall: the Green Bay Packers.
On a particularly perfect Sunday for a game last year, I was meant to be in front of the TV watching my team face off against the Cincinnati Bengals. But I had a dilemma. My daughter, Katie, was a student at Gustavus Adolphus College in Saint Peter, Minnesota, a couple hours’ drive from home. She played piccolo in the band, and had invited her mother and me to attend the Sunday concert—my Packers vs. Bengals Sunday—in Christ’s Chapel at the school. If Katie wanted me there, I had to be there. That didn’t make it any easier to give up my front seat to the televised game. The teams were pretty evenly matched, and it was going to be a nail-biter.
“Don’t they have any respect for professional football in that state where Katie goes to school?” I said to my wife, Trish, on the way there.
“You’ll survive,” she said, but I wasn’t finished. “It just seems like somebody didn’t get the memo,” I continued. “How could they schedule a band concert this afternoon? I feel like God’s calling me elsewhere.”
“God is not calling you to watch football,” said Trish.
It’s not that I was against band concerts in general. I appreciate a rousing march played before kickoff as much as the next guy. But band concerts, in my experience, tended to be short on rousing marches. Or rousing anything. They favored multi-movement pieces written by men I’d never heard of. At least I had Katie’s piccolo parts to concentrate on while she was onstage.
“By the way,” Trish said casually, “it’s not just Katie’s band playing this afternoon. The elite band is performing too, and so is the orchestra.”
“Anyone else?” I asked just to be sarcastic.
“Yes,” said Trish. “Both choral groups will perform, as a matter of fact.” I wanted to bang my head against the windshield.
When we got to Saint Peter, we took Katie out to lunch, then dropped her off at her dorm to pick up her piccolo and music. Trish and I headed over to the chapel to find a seat.
I’d heard a lot about Christ’s Chapel—the school was quite proud of it—but I’d never been inside. It was designed by the same man who designed the chapel at the Air Force Academy and was specially constructed to provide excellent acoustics. Stepping through the door, I stopped to look up at the vaulted ceilings and soaring stained-glass windows. When Trish and I walked down the aisle, our footsteps rang out with amazing clarity. “They weren’t kidding about these acoustics,” I said. “Why don’t we go up front?”
Trish looked at me in surprise, since I usually preferred the back rows of an audience. But I wanted Katie to see us there supporting her. We sat close enough to overhear the conductor giving the musicians a last-minute pep talk. It made me wonder what Coach was saying to the Packers in the locker room. To keep myself focused, I picked up the concert program. Big mistake. Fugues, quartets, concerto in F flat—the list of performances was long, and all the italics made it seem even longer. I am definitely going to miss the whole game. I turned off my cell phone to guard against the temptation to watch it in secret. I couldn’t risk the possibility that I’d start cheering in the middle of a fugue.
Already I squirmed in my seat. Tapped my foot on the floor. My taps echoed in surround sound. Trish glanced over at me sharply. I had to do something to relax while I was stuck in this…chapel. But of course! A good prayer was in order: God, let me feel your presence. Guide my spirit to find yours. Bring me closer to you. And above all, help me stop worrying about the Packers and keep my mind on the concert. I was ready to face the music.
A choir took the stage. As a final preparation, I put my program away so I wouldn’t get involved in a countdown. God was here to help me through this, I told myself.
All at once, the choir members opened their mouths in song. I’d heard plenty of choirs in my life, from neighborhood church choirs to professional choirs who sang on the world stage. I thought I knew what to expect. But this was a completely different experience. The melodic voices seemed to wash over me. I listened, transfixed by the sound. The music seemed to touch all my senses. I not only heard it; I felt it in every fiber of my being. This is more than song, I thought. More than acoustics.
I closed my eyes and felt myself being carried. Literally carried, as if on the wings of angels, beyond the vaulted ceilings and up into the sunlit sky. My earthly distractions fell away as I rose. The world was in God’s hands. All of it. I felt strangely relieved when I realized I’d lost all interest in who would win the game. There would always be another game, but this was a moment to celebrate. I was so elated I almost joined the choir in singing.
Eventually I came back down to earth. I was a little disappointed when I opened my eyes, looked around, and realized I was still part of the world—and, admittedly, I still really wanted the Packers to beat the Bengals. But I knew I was right where I was called to be on that particular autumn Sunday. Katie had never played so well, and the Packers even managed to win without me.
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