It was Easter. But this particular Sunday I was far away from my native New England, in Honolulu, Hawaii. I was uncertain as I walked slowly from my hotel to church. Would it really seem like Easter in a strange city and a strange church? I missed being home.
As I entered Kawaiaha’o Church, I was awed by the clean, simple beauty of the building as well as by the sheer glory of the magnificent flowers which filled every available bit of space.
The members of the University of Hawaii concert choir filled several long rows in the large church. Their faces were delightfully youthful, glowing and fresh—I could not even guess how many races were represented.
As my eyes went from face to face, I understood what made Hawaii such a special state—so many backgrounds, so many rich heritages.
When the time arrived for the choir to sing, the director stepped forward with his pitch pipe. He approached the girl on the end of the first row and blew the tone of the pitch pipe softly into her ear. At once the girl hummed the same true note into the ear of the girl next to her. In turn that young lady caught the tone and sounded it to her neighbor.
As choir member passed it to choir member, the sound of the note grew louder and clearer and more lovely to hear. I felt tears spring into my eyes.
When the music was over, the minister stepped forward and asked that we bow our heads in prayer.
“Let us follow the example of these young people from the university choir,” he prayed. “Let us, each and everyone, allow God to sound a true note of Christianity into our ear and then let us pass this note on to the one next to us so that in time the note will be heard throughout the world.”
Suddenly I was sure it was Easter! And you know—of course it’s my imagination—but whenever I speak out for the Lord since that day, I seem to hear that clear note, growing as it is passed on.
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