One Friday morning in January, 2007, a violinist stood next to a wall at a metro station in Washington, D.C. He opened his case, threw a few dollars in as seed money, and began to play. Almost no one stopped to listen. People rushed past, eager to catch their trains and get to work. The violinist finished his first piece, and no one clapped or acknowledged the music. He began to play a second piece, and then a third. Occasionally a head would turn, seeking the source of the beautiful sound. A few dollars fluttered into his open case, quarters and pennies clinked together as they landed.
Though he was dressed in jeans and a baseball cap, the violinist was Joshua Bell, an internationally acclaimed musician. His violin was a 300 year old Stradivarius, worth $3.5 million. The whole thing was a social experiment in collaboration with The Washington Post, meant to answer the question: Would the music and the musician be appreciated in a metro station the same way they were at a concert hall?
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| Photo by Matteo Bellia on Unsplash |
The answer was…no, not really! Bell played for 43 minutes, six classical pieces echoing off the glass doors and concrete walls. In that time, over a thousand people walked past, but only seven stopped to listen, really listen to the beautiful music made by a passionate violin player and his violin. At the end of the performance, his case held $32.17, a miniscule sum when compared to what folks usually paid to hear him play.
Those running the experiment were surprised by the results, to say the least. In their planning, they had run through scenarios where security would have to be called in for crowd control, anticipating that at least a tenth of those walking through would recognize Bell and stop to appreciate the music. And yet, with the exception of one person, the crowd did not know him, and, in some cases, did not even remember there had been music during their morning commute at all.
In today’s Gospel reading from John, we get a creation story of sorts. We hear “In the beginning”…word bringing things into being…light….life… - all of it echoes the first creation story in Genesis. And yet, later in John we hear that, though the world came into being through him, the world did not know him, did not accept him. What would it take for the light, for the Word, for God’s glory to be known?
First, the Word must become flesh and live among us. In Jesus, the Word spoken at the beginning became human, coming to live among God’s beloved people in a specific time and place. Jesus the Word knew the joys and pains of being human. He connected with others and ate meals, grieved and suffered, he experienced joy and vulnerability and love.
In the experiment, some people did stop to watch and listen to - or at least turned their head to see - a real person making beautiful music. Had a CD of Bell’s music been played over the metro loudspeakers, I doubt that anyone would have made notice of it at all.
Second, it helps to have a witness, someone to testify and prepare and provide context. For Jesus, it was the work of John the Baptist, and, through the ages, the work of every person who notices God at work and proclaims it to others. Testifying to the light - preparing people to receive the light - makes a difference.
In the experiment, of the few people who stopped to really listen to Bell’s performance, many of them had a musical background, and specifically had studied violin. Though they did not recognize Bell specifically, they recognized the skill and talent in his playing. Perhaps if they would have spread the word, had helped people understand what they were hearing, perhaps more people would have stopped to listen.
And finally, context matters greatly. As we think about God’s presence, and grace, and truth, where and how do we expect to see them among us? Are we distracted often by other things, in a hurry to get on with our day? Are we so locked in to our plan and our way of doing things that we take no notice of the surprising and unexpected ways that God is at work? Do we expect to see God in displays of power, might, and conquest? Or do we know to look among the suffering and poor to find our suffering God?
Just days before he played at the metro station, Bell played at Boston’s Symphony Hall, where even the “pretty good” seats cost $100. His performance at the metro station was just as good, but the context was all wrong. No one expected to hear that quality of music for free. And, to be fair, the morning commute is not often a time of day when people have time to spare. Had it have been a Friday night, or a Saturday afternoon in a park, there would have been more flexibility, perhaps, for people to stop and listen.
But in the metro station, of all the people who turned to notice, there was only one demographic that consistently turned their head to listen. Any guesses who it was? Children. Every time a child walked by, they turned to find the music and tried to stop and listen, only to be tugged along by their grownup, in a hurry to get to the next thing.
The story of Bell’s metro performance offers us poignant insights into how we might better be attuned to remarkable things - attuned to moments of grace upon grace.
It helps to be free from time constraints and distractions, but perhaps more than that, we can get used to noticing grace in ordinary places, and making a point to wonder and marvel at its presence. The delight of grace, however, is that whether we stop to notice God’s presence or not, it is for us - a free gift, simply to be received.
In Lutheran circles, we understand Word and Sacrament to be the central ways that we experience God’s presence. How appropriate, then, that these are referred to as “means of grace.”
Grace, when we read Scripture alone or in community and hear the story of God’s never-failing love for us. Grace, when we hear the Word proclaimed in preaching or song and somehow it is exactly what we needed for that day. Grace, announced in the forgiveness of sins. Grace, taken into our bodies through the simple act of eating a small piece of bread and drinking a sip of wine. Grace, when the presence of our siblings in Christ offers encouragement, and help, and a listening ear just when we need it most. Grace, when we are called beloved and claimed by God in the waters of baptism, through no merit of our own. Yes, “from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.”
As we move through this new year, my prayer is that we might better notice God’s presence and grace among us. To stop to notice, and listen, and marvel, and wonder, with that childlike joy, all that God is doing in our midst. For the gift of God’s presence in our midst, whether we notice it or not, we give thanks and praise.
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