Charles Hulin IV, 2012
As many of you know, 2010 to the present has been a turbulent time in our home because of the dynamics of a difficult adoption process. Due to this unpredictability, I unexpectedly found myself traveling to Lasker alone last December for my annual Christmas concert. Several friends joined me there for a performance of my Advent cantata, The Promise of a Child, which Kathy would have conducted if she had been able to travel with me.
As I looked around Lasker, I was moved by the many changes in the landscape since the previous July. Hurricane Irene had ruined rooftops and fruit trees, and the grove behind the church was mostly gone. Across the street, a modular home had sprung up where stately magnolias had bloomed just a few years back. Being in this changed scene without my mate heightened my awareness of my own uncertainty and of the pain of dear friends in the area. Those feelings threatened to eclipse a bit of what I thought I knew about my own purpose and work.
But travelling an entire day by car to play that performance did remind me of the value of my work, or at least of my own level of commitment to it. I had made my way past scores of towns, over various terrains, and across numerous state lines to share an hour or so of music. I was reminded that while my December 2011 journey to Lasker was unique to me, a performer’s path to Lasker is now a well-worn way of self-discovery that is sometimes taken at a pivotal point in one’s life.
My very first experience of Lasker Baptist Church was an evening worship service during the Christmas season of 1995. I was home on break from Juilliard and we had driven over from Bertie County. It was a cold night, but there was great warmth of spirit in the love of the Lasker community. I played for the congregation to sing “Silent Night” in a moment that was deeply sacred to me: I felt and heard the “glories streaming” of the hymn text, and I also knew the tenderness of my family finally being at home.
In subsequent years, I have often thought of the Bethlehem of the first century and how Lasker might be just a bit like it, at least in its size and the interconnectedness of its citizens. Also, Lasker is a place people travel to, just like Joseph’s Bethlehem.
A great many people travelled to Bethlehem that first Christmas, and their journeys were also uncertain and unique. Mary and Joseph undertook their uncomfortable, inconvenient trip just to be turned away, perhaps by their own family. The shepherds, no doubt desperate for any bit of good news, came in from their work outside the village. And the Magi were making their way from who knows where through the territories of hostile and suspicious potentates. They all trod those paths to worship. On arriving, they met one other who had journeyed a very long way – Jesus from Heaven on high.
I think we also travel to Lasker to worship. Perhaps this type of travelling is the most “Christmasy” thing we do. Some travel with spouses or children, some with friends, and others make their way alone. For others still, the journey consists of a thought or a movement of the heart. And in practice and performance we travel from one moment of worship to the next, from glory to glory.
However we make the journey, we do travel to worship and to meet. And like that first Christmas, the meeting can only happen if both earthly and heavenly parties travel to a common point. The stirring of the worship senses requires God and us.
Let us draw near this year.