Sometimes the Organist saves the Day

Yesterday at church we honored our Organist, Dr. Ted Tibbs who has been playing at our church for 50 years! That must be some kind of a record. He is a splendid musician and has studied, literally here and abroad. I began to think about sitting in that spot for fifty years. FIFTY YEARS?? After serving as Pastor almost that long I know the ups and downs of church. From his perch he must have seen more things than he would like to admit. Fuming, fussing, fighting. Church splits. Church take-overs. Boring sermons, sometimes terrible. He was there during the segregated days when Ushers stood at the door and nodded their heads at the black folk. And he was there when the Ushers didn’t do that shabby deed anymore—and the doors swung open—wide open to everybody. He played for baptisms, funerals and weddings—and worship when once in a while God really did walk down the aisle and come to his church. He stayed on the high holy days and the low Sunday after Easter and after Christmas. I don’t think we appreciate the work and faithfulness of our musicians. Even the Director gets more accolades than the organist. But at this church—and so many others-- the thread that ran through it all was the splendidly-played music that was played and sung and meditated on year after year.

When E. Power Biggs the great Organist died, a cousin of Biggs read these words at his Memorial event. They come from the writer, Ray Bradbury. “Everyone must leave something behind when he dies. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched someway so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there. It doesn’t matter what you do so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching. The lawncutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.” I tip my hat to our Organist. Fifty years of touching those keys Sunday after Sunday. Making a difference. More than any of us realize.