Trembling, I sat at the bench. I had been preparing for this moment for at least six months. My mother and my piano teacher had driven all the way to Holland for the day just so that I could sit at the Steinway on the stage at Hope College's chapel and play in front of a couple of prestigious judges for the Michigan Music Teacher's Association's SAT Semi-Finals.
Long story short, I bombed it. Badly. I messed up in places I had never even considered messing up before. Louis Nagel, a concert pianist who went to Julliard and teaches at U of M, wrote in his critique, "In measure 42 check your notes- not B sharp in the left hand chord."
Not B sharp?! Are you kidding me? The man must have ears like a bat!
Of my final piece he only wrote, "What makes this music 'modern?' You obviously enjoy playing this- I hear your energy."
Ah, the hilarity. Was that meant as a compliment?
Bozo the Clown had energy, too, Mr. Nagel.
This week I sat at another piano bench, but I this time I wasn't trembling. And this particular instrument was the absolute worst piano my eyes (and ears...) have ever beheld. Some misguided inventor decided to make a shortened form of the piano that was missing about a dozen keys on each end, and an equally misguided person purchased it for this nursing home. (Not to mention the fact that some of the keys stayed down once you played them, and some of the notes were so out of tune that they sounded like other notes.)
But the beautiful thing was that no one noticed. Even I forgot about the horrendous sound as we all sang "Amazing Grace" and "In the Garden" together in worship of our King.
My grandmother has told me time and time again that she's absolutely tone deaf. When I was little I used to listen to her sing her heart out to Jesus in church and wonder if He minded that she was a little off-key. I pictured Him sitting on a throne like Mr. Nagel and saying, "Praise Me! Praise Me!" One misplaced B sharp and its out the pearly gates we go.
Of course He doesn't mind.
When it comes to worshipping Jesus, I truly believe that all He yearns for is our sincerest worship. I've heard plenty of beautiful singers "praise" Him with an American Idol sort of flair, but sometimes I wonder who the praise is for. If we are truly at His feet in worship, then no one else exists. And the purest, holiest praise is what He asks for. Whether it comes from a high-pitched, off-key voice or a broken piano, it's all beautiful to Him. Thankfully, He doesn't have a pencil and a critique sheet in hand, either.
He's too busy being in love with us.
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