Music to My Ears

I have been attending the big Catholic Church here and it’s turning out to be a very good thing. (I’d say it’s a good thing, no matter what your orientation.)  Most everyone attends this church. There are quite a few people I’ve met in my get-abouts who seem to be very happy to see me there and I feel the same about them.  The language of the mass flows like a river.  I hear “Seek Ye First the Kingdom of God” — a melody very familiar to me — with the words being sung in my new language, then the allelujahs ringing out at the end.  I listen to the strong voices of the people around me, singing in Guaraní with abandon, and then later during the passing of the peace, they look into my eyes and we give each other heartfelt hugs.  I think about humanity and our differences, then look around at our similarities down here in a place so unfamiliar, and I like the way this feels in the moment — where categories and stigmas and suppositions and assumptions are laid aside and the dignity of us all is simply honored.

I stood around after the church service a few Sundays ago, just examining everything.  I had not had the chance to look over the images lining the walls and above the altar.  I saw the padre in the back and went to speak to him and to the guitarist with the beeyootiful voice, Alfredo, to introduce myself.  I told the padre that I had found a booklet with the Mass so I could follow along in Castellano, and I complimented Alfredo on the lovely music.  I mentioned that I’m a musician and his face lit up.  We talked about the viola and the violin.  The padre smiled when he heard us talking about the possibility that I might play with the group when my violin arrives.  I’ve come to find out that Alfredo has an obviously big heart, a smooth, well-developed singing voice and is savvy and bright.  He has become my good friend and we have shared some music, listening together, and translating for each other as the lyrics are sung, using gestures where needed.  That in itself is a powerful experience.

Later that week, around town, I asked about borrowing a violin ’til I can get mine from the states.  “Does anyone know of someone who has an old violin that isn’t being used?”  “I’ll fix it and use it just for two months!”   In a matter of days, two student-quality instruments turned up here in my little town!  What a happy thing.  My violin will arrive in November via the parents of a friend, Caraline, a Peace Corps volunteer who is from Hickory, NC, just a short forty minutes away from Charlotte, where Bess, Lee, and Gdawg live, and where all my things now reside.  That’s music to my ears.