In 1972 while stationed with the 2nd Air Force Band in Shreveport, Louisiana, we got word that our next gig was a parade in downtown Houston. On the appointed day we gathered at the staging area in full dress uniform, instruments at the ready. For some reason we had too many trombone players that day, so we in the trombone section drew lots to see who would march the 5-mile parade carrying a clarinet. I drew the short straw and the unfamiliar clarinet. What was I going to do with it? I was a fair trombone player and knew our parade music by heart, but this…I had no clue how to honk a clarinet, let alone play one. For five grueling miles in the summer sun I faked it. I don’t even know if my finger position on the keypads was proper. Seen from a distance, our band looked and sounded great. But on closer examination, there was at least one fly in the proverbial ointment: me and my fake clarinet playing.
To the trained eye of another musician, especially a clarinet player, I was an easy ringer to spot. I’m sure I held the clarinet (and honked it) in a way that telegraphed my complete unfamiliarity with this difficult reed instrument. To the musically untrained I was just another clarinet player looking good as I marched in crisp cadence with my fellow bandsmen.
That experience caused me to ponder our relationship with our Heavenly Father. Life is our parade. The music of service and charity is our purpose. The untrained spectators are our fellow men. God is the trained eye who can spot a ringer from any distance. And we who claim discipleship sometimes prefer the relative ease of going through the motions of the music. Moreover, we know when we are faking it. Discipleship, like an excellent parade, cannot be faked. Eventually the discord of an unskilled note sours even the most melodious intentions.
The Lord has said: “I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would that thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm, I will spue thee out of my mouth” (Rev. 3:15-16). Minor sins constantly repeated, service half-heartedly rendered, callings met with lip service, are all lukewarm disciple killers.
It took me years of practice and hard work to learn to play the trombone at a professional level. Hard work is the formula for any musician who takes pride in his craft. While talent helps, there is no substitute for hours of practice and miles trudged up the steep learning curve of experience. Sometimes our relationship with the Lord is based on a desired shortcut. Our rush to discipleship may manifest itself in the faux-discipleship of rote prayers, half-hearted missionary efforts, or spotty temple attendance and home teaching. Because we’ve played in dozens of life’s parades, we feel we know the music and deserve a break. We are “entitled” to rest on the laurels of past performance. We tend to self-promote this fiction when the winds of adversity blow our direction. The basic idea is that God will bless us this time despite our sloth.
Perhaps the key to enduring to the end is that, despite trouble and hardship, we submit our will to God and put our efforts where our mouth is. Stated another way, the point of the parade is to see if we bear our burdens (be they clarinets or curve balls) with grace, dignity, and an unflinching never-give-up resolve to the end. Beethoven was deaf when he wrote “The Moonlight Sonata.” Helen Keller was blind and mute when she taught us the definition of determination. And a lowly carpenter’s son, unsung in His own country, changed the world forever. May we play the beautiful music God intended for each of us. May we resolve to never fake our feelings or our actions in life’s difficult parade. Besides, when Jesus is at our side there are no discordant notes.
