While in college, I briefly considered a music major. I spent most of my free time in the music building, between various ensembles and lessons, so most people thought I was already was. I’d even spoken to the department head about it, a woman I was close to, anyway, for being the band director. But the idea was fleeting. I’m not an educator or a pro-level performer, and any other musical career was a foreign concept. I ultimately stuck with my writing major, a useful skill regardless of my future career.
Unfortunately, that means I fell away from music after graduation. My parents sold the piano from lack of use; my flute was stashed in a closet somewhere. Sometimes I’d dust it off for special church services, but I never did anything close to actual practice. When faced with a keyboard, I barely remembered how to read bass clef. It depressed me (12 years of lessons!), but with my non-musical path, it didn’t seem all that important.
Music was outside the realm of “real life,” something to enjoy in the background while I drove or blasted while cleaning the apartment. I didn’t think myself good enough for performance—where would I play, anyway?—until a friend recruited me for her community orchestra. Despite my hesitations, I attended rehearsal. There, something clicked. As I drove home afterward, I remembered. Cruising down Route 3, which had uncommonly light traffic, I rolled down the window and cranked the classical station. In that moment, I understood that music was an essential part of my being. I had found myself again.
I was always annoyingly talented at music. I was the kid who didn’t practice and got first chair in band. I received a music scholarship without even knowing I was eligible. Music was fun, and while it didn’t end up being my career, it was more than just a hobby. Its absence made me incomplete, and its renewed presence sparked my love for life again.
We’re often asked how we can use our spiritual gifts for God. I would reluctantly volunteer my writing or Internet skills, but my heart wasn’t in it. I doubted that my special calling was to update a group’s Facebook page. But when my local parish hosted a ministry fair, I gravitated toward the music table. There were plenty of behind-the-scenes ministries I would be good at, because those were the ones I’d volunteer for in the past. But this made sense.
That is a spiritual gift.
In my old church, I’d play a solo offertory hymn and call it a day. Here, I was to be part of Mass itself. My first musical church experience was for a prayer service. It was a low-key way to gauge my ability, one that left the music director asking when I’d play again. I’m still that annoyingly talented kid. It isn’t enough to play in community groups or to arrange music with no musical training, as much as I enjoy them. Now, I’m finally giving back to God. It’s like blasting music on the drive home from rehearsal, but better.
I once considered myself “not very good” because I didn’t get that music degree. Now, I consider myself an “amateur professional.” Music brings definition to life, and someone of my talent helps that definition. Not just for myself, though that’s important for honing the gift. But also for others, in the ways I bring music to the Church and to the community. Music provides meaning. I’m not pro-level, but I’m still a musician.
