Good morning church family,
It doesn’t take much for a class of seventh-grade students to turn into a jumble of sleepwalking moon bats. It takes even less when those same students are just one ring-of-the-bell away from embarking on their Christmas break. On this particular final school-day of December, the transmogrification was brought about by the presence of risers in the school gym. The students had filed into the large gymnasium following their lunch of pizza, crinkle-cut fries, apple slices, and candy canes when they saw the three-tiered semi-circle risers placed just in front of the basketball goal at the far end of the hardwood court. For the last couple of months, all the Crosby Middle School students had spent their chorus period learning a number of Christmas carols and classics ahead of the annual holiday concert held on the Friday before break. Those chorus periods had been held in Mrs. Swicker’s music room. To say that the vast majority of Crosby kids – especially Crosby boys – were unenthused during these chorus periods would be a very kind understatement. But despite the fact that most of her pupils behaved like uncooperative hostages, Mrs. Swicker had still managed to prepare a fair program with a serviceable choir to perform it. But now, as the students assembled for the dress rehearsal before the concert later that evening, the moon bats, with bellies full of pizza and peppermint, were disorganizing themselves on, around, and underneath the risers.
Mrs. Swicker, the school’s chorus teacher, would have attempted to bring the chaos into order but she needed to manage her own chaos first. A slight, middle-aged woman wearing a smart skirt, tight-fitting silk blouse, and high-heeled shoes, Amanda Swicker was simultaneously trying to set up a conductor’s stand, arrange her music, turn the sound system on, and ward off a cadre of high-strung overachievers who were shadowing her every move.
“Okay! Okay everyone,” Mrs. Swicker boomed; speaking into a hot mic. “Please. Would everyone please find a place on the risers? Let’s have the eighth-graders on the top two platforms and the seventh-graders on the bottom two. Don’t worry about it all making sense right away – I’ll move everyone around once I can see how everything looks.”
Mrs. Swicker needn’t have worried that any of her students were concerned with things making sense. They weren’t. But with the help of a couple of classroom aids and multiple threats of holiday homework, the group finally took their places and stood at reasonable attention. Mrs. Swicker wasted no time in firing up the accompaniment tracks that would carry the choir through the program as a cruise ship might carry landlubbers across the Atlantic.
For a public school located in a very progressive part of Tacoma, Washington, the song selections for the holiday program were remarkably sacred. Of course, the majority of the songs were radio favorites; things like Jingle Bells and Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. But just about every other song throughout the program seemed to have something to do with Jesus. The kids had spent months singing Go Tell it on the Mountain, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Joy to the World, and O Little Town of Bethlehem. No one seemed to be offended at the mention of Jesus but no one seemed very moved by it either.
“Well, okay everybody,” Mrs. Swicker said after the choir had run through the entire program of songs while only stopping a handful of times for direction, “that’s not half-bad. Please try and watch me at the beginning and end of every song. Some of you were jumping the gun on some of those songs and some of you were holding notes at the end like opera singers. Not a good look or a good sound. And whatever you do, try and blend your voices together with the other ones singing around you. No one should be able to hear any of us singing but only hear all of us. Comprende?” Mrs. Swicker tapped the top of her music stand with her pencil. “Alright, in just a minute I’ll give you some final instructions on how we’re going to enter into the auditorium tonight and how we’re going to exit. I’ll also be giving you some reminders about how to dress and,” shooting a look over at a motley bunch of seventh-grade boys, “how not to dress.” Impish laughs bubbled up from the boys in the lower risers and a gust of sighs descended from the risers above where girls with arms crossed rolled their eyes. “Now, are there any questions?”
Isabella Carpenter raised her hand. “Do you know where our parents are going to be sitting? Will they be able to see us from here?”
“Yes, Isabella. Don’t worry – everyone will be able to see you. Anyone else?”
Cassidy Paradis raised her hand. “Did you want me to sing the mezzo-soprano part on Joy to the World? It’s no problem. I know the music.”
“No, Cassidy,” Mrs. Swicker said; beginning to look a little defeated. “Please just sing the melody with everyone else. Thank you. Okay, are there any more questions?”
It was then that Kegan, a chubby, somewhat cerebral kid who had a Vulcan manner of talking, raised his hand. “Maybe I should have asked this a long time ago but I didn’t think about it until you told us to try and smile while we’re singing. I have no idea who this Jesus is or who the ‘dear Christ’ is who’s supposed to ‘enter in’.”
Mrs. Swicker folded her arms and cocked her head in earnest consideration. She knew Kegan wasn’t grandstanding or clowning and deserved a thoughtful answer. The question had turned the room unusually quiet. “Jesus was a Jewish messianic figure,” Mrs. Swicker began; her speech careful and halting. “He lived back during the Roman Empire, I believe. Think of him as a symbol of good triumphing over evil; or at least wanting to. Jesus is something like a promise of all that’s good with mankind and the world.”
“So, these songs are Jewish then?” Kegan answered sincerely.
“You know, Kegan,” Mrs. Swicker said; looking to quickly put a bow on this topic, “I’m not really, entirely sure, but…”
“I’m pretty sure,” Kegan interrupted his teacher, “that Christmas is a Christian holiday.”
“Well, certainly Christmas is Christian, Kegan. You’re certainly right about that.” Mrs. Swicker lowered her voice an octave and spoke in a summary tone. “But none of these songs have anything to do with religion for us. These are just some traditional folk songs that we’ve chosen for their beautiful music and uplifting lyrics. If you’re having trouble smiling as you sing, just replace Jesus in your mind with whatever warm and sweet thing you love and find hope in.”
Mrs. Swicker, who had a soft spot in her heart for Kegan, looked over at the young man and dared a follow-up by giving a knowing nod. “Okay?” she asked.
“I guess so, Mrs. Swicker,” Kegan answered, plunging his hands in his pockets; only just then noticing that everyone was looking at him. “I just think it’s strange. Why a religion would make such a big deal about a little baby.”
“I guess I don’t really know,” Mrs. Swicker said, cocking her head again. “Perhaps it’s something to look into.”
“Maybe I will,” Kegan said under his breath and mostly to himself. “It might be nice to have a real reason to smile.”
We’re looking forward to gathering together tomorrow to sing and celebrate the good news that we know and believe with all our heart! Our light hearts are a triumph of Heaven. But the heavy hearts of our neighbors are the charge of Heaven for our lives. What a great and joyous work it is to go and tell the good news to others. We are blessed! May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!
- Pastor Tate
