One of Leonard Bernstein’s best serious compositions is the five movement Serenade for orchestra and violin. The movements are each named after characters in Plato’s dialogue, The Symposium, and the setting is a banquet at the house of Agathon where the host, Socrates, and others speak on the subject of love. Bernstein wrote of his composition:

“The music, like the dialogue, is a series of related statements in praise of love, and generally follows the Platonic form throughout the succession of speakers at the banquet. The relatedness of the movements does not depend on common thematic material, but rather on a system whereby each movement evolves out of elements of the preceding one.”

The elderly Israeli lady whom we normally find sitting next to us at NZSO concerts was not there the other night. We usually enjoy her entertaining insights and perceptive little comments on members of the orchestra, but we know she is not one for 20th century composers… which probably explained her absence. I cannot make such a blanket statement about any “Age” of music as I often find something to like in all of them. On this occasion we were treated to the exceptionally brilliant talents of Taiwanese-American virtuoso violinist, Cho-Liang Lin, who seeks out contemporary composers and puts heart and soul into his playing. The performance was pure magic for me, but not so for hubby who prefers a common theme to an evolving development of elements. For neither he nor our absent companion, despite his physical presence, did it start where either of them happened to be.

So how many places can one person be? Whereas one’s body is anchored to a set of physical dimensions, it is fun that the mind can experience some freedom from those physical restrictions and travel the realm of ideas. We can find ourselves in many places that way. And in varying degrees, according to the measure we each have of the ability to empathize with others, we can also place ourselves where another happens to be.

The other day someone who said he was not very religious voiced a question about God, about how one can know for sure that God exists. Not being very religious, this was more of a casual interest… just a question he had in the back of his mind, he said. What I was hearing from him was no pressing need expressed on his part, no intensive search after God. It was just a question… rather like one might wonder at breakfast time what one should plan for dinner tonight. To my way of thinking, a good answer should meet the nature of the question, and in this case using this analogy be appealing to someone who had just eaten breakfast and is not too serious about dinner just yet. Of course, the faint wafting aroma of newly baked bread and freshly ground coffee can arouse the appetite of even the most replete breakfaster. Savouring this can lead to a pleasurable anticipation of dinner later in the day. On the other hand, the immediate delivery of a second plate of bacon, sausages and eggs is just too much, and when served up with the ubiquitous epithet “Enjoy!” or some other supposedly well meaning comment that overshoots the mark, I cannot leave the scene quickly enough. Yes to the aroma, but No to the second helping. That does not start where I happen to be.

On the one hand I enjoy and applaud the enthusiasm of Christians for whom the Gospel message is so evident in their lives, and completely understand their wish (and our Lord’s command) to share the truth. I appreciate the sense of urgency that goes with it too. And yet on the other hand, I find my own enthusiasm is tempered by another consideration. It is not I who deals with the souls of others, but it is the work of God who uses me. Therefore I must listen to His voice and heed His direction. There is a little matter of obedience, of self control and discipline, and something that I see as being the hallmark of God… that which He gives matches perfectly the need that exists. I believe that God starts where someone happens to be.