I apologize for being lazy and merely reposting. But, for the first time in six years of leading liturgy and music at Spring Arbor University’s graduate program in spiritual formation, I am neither looking ahead to possibly being involved or actually being involved. Now, there is the ache of the reality that neither of those are now true. This is what I posted upon graduating from the program. I do so again because I don’t get over stuff quickly or easily…
My oldest son, Calum, and his songwriting partner, Eli, recently wrote a love song entitled The Highs of Hellos. It is a love song of sheer genius on more than one level (but, of course, as a shameless stage Dad, what would you expect me to say?). The opening lyrics paint a black-and-white Casablanca type scenario of longing for love but also of its elusive quality:
“She says hello, monotone,
staring over the glass of a cocktail an hour old.
She says there’s no need to explain,
But then a restroom break turned into a departing plane.
And that bar piano man, he started playing…”
My point is not to depress everyone with sad love songs. What I will say is that, when facing the unspeakable ache of leaving with beloved faces in the rear-view mirror, songs with uncertain endings often make for good travel companions. Elton John once…
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