Diocesan Council, 2006:    

     “In a time before time, but not so long ago, there was a man.  He was a very special man.  He was special because he had a very special job.  His job was special because he lived at a time when no one else in the whole world had this job.  He was a composer.

     You don’t know what a composer is?  He is someone who writes music.  You say you know how to write, and I’m sure you do.  But composers don’t write like the rest of us.  We write d-o-g, and that spells dog.  And we write e-p-i-s-c-o-p-a-l-i-a-n, and that spells Episcopalian.  But composers don’t write like us.  They write do, re, mi, fa, so, la, te, and that spells nothing.  Do, re, mi, fa, so, la, te, sounds strange, doesn’t it?  As a matter of fact, it’s not a foreign language at all, since everybody in the whole world knows it.  What makes it different is that you don’t say it, you sing it!  Or you can play it.  You don’t just say it, because when you just say it, it makes no sense at all.

     Well, one day a do was walking around all by himself.  He was very happy being a do.  Everywhere he went people said, “Hello, do!”  Since he couldn’t talk the way we do, he greeted them back by just humming his one note.  He loved his note, so he hummed it everywhere.  “Dddooooo!”  People didn’t mind at first, but then he got to be boring.  After all, people get tired of hearing the same note over and over again.  But do couldn’t help it if all he knew was one note.  That’s all he knew, so that’s all he could hum. 

     It wasn’t long before do found that life was getting difficult for him.  Whenever people got together to talk, do would happily join in and hum his one note.  Gradually, one by one, the others would leave him until he was humming all by himself.  “Dddooooo!”  This was very discouraging and really unfair.  He was sure he had a well-rounded personality.  Was it his fault that it was rounded around just one note?

     Finally, he heard that there was someone who could help him---the Composer.  Do went to see him.

          “Well, my beautiful friend,” the Composer said.  “I believe I know your problem.” 

     Since do couldn’t talk like people, he just hummed.  Dddooooo!

     “You’re all alone and lonely.”

     Do hummed excitedly.  The Composer was on the right track.

     “Well, I know I can help you.  But...”, here the Composer paused for a long time to show the importance of what he was about to say.  “...You will have to give yourself up---completely---to me!”

     Do gasped.  How could he give himself up completely to anyone?  After all, he was unique.  He was special.  This demand was unreasonable.  Ridiculous!  He turned his back and walked away. 

     So do began a solitary trek through life.  However, everywhere he went it was the same.  The same old note over and over again.  He felt dejected, played out.  He had almost come to the end of his monotonous tune when the thought occurred to him, “There must be others like me in the world?  There just has to be.  I must go out and find them.” 

     Thus he began his search.  It led him far and wide, but his intuition proved to be true.  Do found six others.  Only six in the whole wide world.  There were like him, but different.  They all knew only one note, but each note was a little higher or lower than the others.  He tried over and over to come to accord with them but they were all too individualistic, like himself.  He found fa was too flat for his liking.  Ti was too shrill.  And there was no questioning that mi was much too self-centered.  Mi hardly ever listened to him or any of the others.  He found sol to be too melancholy, too moody.  La, on the other hand, was too flighty.  Of all the notes, he felt closest to re.  But somehow, even that was not very consoling.  So in the end, do always came back to himself.  Besides, seven was an odd number that needed rounding out.

     As a group, they tried pairing themselves off or moving together in threes and fours, but they ended up at odds with one another.  They were so determinedly individualistic that coming together always resulted in discord. 

     In total exasperation, do shouted out over their noise, “We must do something about this or we shall be lost forever.  We must go to the Composer.” 

     “But he demands too much,” they argued.

     “He wants us to give our all to him,” ti shrieked.

     “Maybe yes or maybe no,” said la.

     Fa wanted to leave do flat.  Re wanted to side with do, but didn’t really want to get involved.  There was no wondering about whom it was that kept shouting, “Oh, mi!  Oh, mi!  Poor sol just sat and cried and cried. 

     “It’s either the Composer or oblivion,” do said.

     In the end he won out.  They went over to the Composer as a group.  The Composer arranged them and rearranged them.  Over and over again, in different combinations, different groupings.  They began to sound harmonious.  They began to be melodious.  They were orchestrated, syncopated, and rhapsodized.  They became...music! 

     One day after performing in concert, the notes sat together for a coffee break.  Do was feeling especially high, so he broke into a soliloquy.

     “I must confess to all of you that at first I was quite frightened about surrendering myself completely to the Composer.  But now I’m eternally grateful that I did.  I didn’t lose myself as I thought I would.  Instead, I feel fulfilled.  Somehow I know this was what was meant for me in the first place.”

     “Me, too,” said mi.

     And all the notes laughed together in harmony.”

      Dear friends, would you think me uncharitable if I suggest that one of the problems in the world today is that we are humming our one note so loudly that we can’t hear those around us.  Somehow, we have forgotten that we have a Composer.  And the Composer alone can make harmony out of the present chaos.

     I find myself wondering what might happen if we stop humming our note so loudly and begin to listen to those around us.  What difference might it make in our parishes, in this diocese, in the Episcopal Church, and in the world at large if we made a recommitment to the Composer, searched again for the things we have in common and not dwell on our differences, and became more harmonious?

      Every single one of us hums a beautiful note.  Sometimes we might be a bit off-key; even a bit sour.  I doubt that we know enough to fix it with our unaided strength, intelligence, or skill.  Only the Composer can do that.  Turning again to the Composer can help us live into the words contained in the hymn we sang, “For Christ alone, whose blood was shed, can cure the fever in our blood.  And teach us how to share our bread and feed the starving multitude.”

     A broken world looks to each one of us to join with others and sing in harmonious service again in the name of the Composer.  Amen.