A Song for Roger

I love musicals. My collection of DVDs includes a whole shelf of musicals and old monster movies (I’ll have more to say about the monster movies in a future post). I’m embarrassed to admit that I have several DVDs that I’ve only played once. This isn’t the case with my musicals. I watch them over and over.

At times it is fashionable to proclaim that the musical is dead. We are told that musicals are simply a flight from the very harsh realities of life. In real life, people don’t break out into song. Films should tell the truth rather than provide escapist fare.

I recall a Candid Camera episode that took up this theme. The crew set up a coffee shop with singers, dancers and hidden cameras. When an unsuspecting customer placed an order the whole place burst into a song and dance number. The scene gave rise to laughter because normal people don’t really know what to do in a musical. It was very funny. I noticed something else, however. The customers rather enjoyed the experience. In real life we don’t burst into song and dance. Maybe we should!

In high school I was in several school musicals. I was Baby John from West Side Story, an understudy in Oklahoma and The King and I, as well as the mayor of Munchkin city in the county of the Land of Oz. When I watch these musicals I’m flooded with wonderful memories. My passion for musicals, however, isn’t simply nostalgic. Musicals, even some of the silly ones, express what is for me a profound truth. I live in a world full of song. I hear music all around me. When I sing, I join a chorus. Many will say I’m delusional. Perhaps I am. Then again perhaps I hear something they don’t or can’t.

Roger, a friend and brother in the Lord, died last week. Like me, Roger loved musicals. He loved to sing. He would often walk into a room singing or break out into a song suggested by our conversation. Even while approaching death he sang. A few weeks ago at the hospital he sang The Sound of Music with so much joy that a nurse joined in.

Roger, you gave much to me and to everyone that knew you. We will miss you. Your life was full of grace. Concerning music, you were right. The hills really are alive with the sound of music.

 

A Salute

In August of 2005 I received the terrible news that a young boy, who had been one of my Sunday School students, was killed in a road side bombing in Iraq. As I remembered his joy of life I couldn’t help but weep. I complained to God about what was to me an unthinkable waste. I found no peace in the matter. I had been for the war. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain and sorrow that his parents went through.

 

I later found a small bit of solace in a most unexpected place. Last year I read, for the first time, Don Quixote. I had never read it before because I looked at it as a comedy and I have never been all that enthusiastic about comedies. I was in for many surprises. There’s a place in the book where Don Quixote, in one of his lucid moments, gives a discourse on the topic: which is better, the life of a scholar or the life of a soldier? As I read this it became clear that I had a very different standard for evaluating a life than that of Cervantes. Cervantes’ standard was that the better life is the one that gives the most for the community. My standard was that the better life is the one that has the richest experiences. Don Quixote concludes that the life of the soldier is better because the soldier sacrifices the most and without the soldier there could be no scholars. After reading this I will never again think of the life of a soldier as wasted. It’s a precious gift. Even if the gift is wasted by politicians and policies, the life itself still stands as a life well spent.