Doxology is Disruption
I welcome disruption of Autumn's time.
The cooling temperatures and falling leaves begin the sonata for a much larger symphony. Disruptive variations and themes form the movements that intrusively dive into my personal space: my time, my worship, my rhythm, my thinking, my rest. Rather than pausing to catch a breath, these movements weave themselves in and over on each other, like white capped swells applauding the chaos beneath- knowingly grinning for what's to come. A coda here, a random fermata there, a few tacit bars- it's unpredictability unsuccessfully holds back Doxology's main goal: praise.
Praise is disruptive defiance, and praise splashes all around the fall. As the leaves lazily fall to sleep, I prepare again to sweep them clean- my own version of a sort of OCD praise. Tend to the fall. Do my very best to sing loud. But my time is short- I only have a few days for this. The fall leaves a mess all around. Thank God for big, barrel chested hugs, and laughter, and shared quiet. I stand and sing again, some familiar choruses with loud voices, bouncing off the ceiling, reminding me throughout this fall I am surrounded, the buzz lifts my head. I close my eyes and just exist, and it's okay. No one expects me to compose or perform. This symphony is all around me, I'm a part of it, but I don't have to do anything. I can just be here. I don't know who is conducting us, anyway, nor do I care. The fall falls into the background.
Just days ago I walked in slow motion as the world whirled around me. I'm used to being more fast than this, but I'm working to pay attention to this movement- largo. My need to be efficient was lost somewhere- like a piece of luggage I never really liked but I carried it because it was at the front of the closet. Maybe it's under the water somewhere. Covered. Like my schedule- I don't quite know where it went. When we started singing, I just felt it all slow to a stop.
I still haven't cried. I need to. I'm reminded that Jesus weeps. Maybe he can cry some for me- maybe I'm out of tears for a while. Maybe He's just reminding me that He's here, and there, and here again. D.S. al coda infinitum. At least that's what it feels like He's doing tonight. He's playing in the music, under the water, high-fiving the baggage guys that lost our efficiency. We eat. We are filled. We laugh. We're quiet.
Doxology is disruptive. It's menacingly slow, but it's loud. And it does come to an end, in one sense at least, each year, like the fall. When the waves calm to glass and the fortissimo descends to a soft hum, and the slow pace picks up again, I will remember this symphony of healing. I sure as hell won't be looking for that lost bag.
Autumn makes room for new leaves.