I am an organ music aficionado. It's true. My name is David, and I am an organ music aficionado. One of my favorite pieces is the Cesar Franck Chorale No. 2 in B Minor. I love the simple theme, the way it develops over the course of 14 or so minutes into a grand wall of sound, the seemingly endless variations. I could listen to it over and over again, because to me there is always something to listen to, something new.
The one recording of this piece I own is on a CD that was recorded in the cathedral in Freiburg, Germany. I know Freiburg, because my father's family is from there, I've visited often, and I know the cathedral (the Muenster) well.
When I was in Freiburg recently, I thought it would be nice to hear this piece played in the Muenster. But, of course, that would be impossible. What are the odds this piece would be played in this space while I am here? Slim to none.
Then, on my last full day in Freiburg, still jet lagged, My father and I decided to take a nap on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in our room with the windows opening onto the Muensterplatz, the public square where the cathedral is situated. There were flower boxes in the windows of the room, and before I went to lay down I stood by the windows and noticed tiny hummingbirds fluttering around the blossoms.
Later -- it must have been about an hour or so -- my father woke me, and told me there was music coming from the cathedral. I listened, heard the Chorale No. 2 in B Minor, got dressed, ran over there, and listened for 45 minutes to someone practice this beautiful piece in this grand space. It was like a gift, unearned, undeserved, but gratefully accepted.
There are so many ways to look at the world, and so many ways to interpret our experience in it. Some see miracles everywhere, and some are loath to see miracles anywhere.
Frederick Buechner once wrote, "I believe that people laugh at coincidence as a way of relegating it to the realm of the absurd and of therefore not having to take seriously the possibility that there is a lot more going on in our lives than we either know or care to know. Who can say what it is that's going on? But I suspect that part of it, anyway, is that every once and so often we hear a whisper from the wings that goes something like this: 'You've turned up in the right place at the right time. You're doing fine. Don't ever think that you've been forgotten.'"
So, maybe it was a random occurrence. Maybe it had been ordained long ago. I don't know. But what I do know is that all I could think of to say to my father when I returned from the cathedral was, "That was not an accident." I believe that as sure as I know that the sun will rise tomorrow and I will need to get up in the morning. Time alone will tell if I'm right.
It was just a Sunday in beautiful Freiburg, but certainly not a typical Sunday for me. I hope there are more to come.
