The universal language of music

During the three days a week I teach for Durham Music Service, I visit a number of different schools, sometimes teaching whole-class instrumental tuition and other times teaching small groups. All the schools I visit value what music has to offer the children and the life of the school in general, and each one invests quite a considerable amount of curriculum time and money to offer Music Service provision to its pupils.

Last term, one of the schools in which I teach was hosting some visitors from Sri Lanka who had come over to the UK as part of a school exchange program. During their visit, the classes that I teach performed some music by way of welcoming the visitors to the school. The children sang and played beautifully and with such earnestness, and their performances were very much enjoyed by the visitors. Later on that afternoon, the visitors listened to my small group of flautists play, and then taught us a Sri Lankan welcome song. Much of the afternoon had been centred around music and the sharing of our musical heritages, and was an important part of the communication and developing bond between us all.

At another school I work in, the staff went on a school exchange to Tanzania  in the Autumn term. One of the classes I teach learnt and recorded an African song to offer as a gift from them to the children in Tanzania; it was so well-received and helped to build friendships across the miles.

Music can do this; it can transcend time and culture and is a universal language. For whatever purpose it might be used, music has the power to move us, to uplift us, and to create and develop bonds of friendship and community, whether we are performing it or listening to it. The experience of  appreciating music and sharing in this experience is so affirming and one that is so central to who we are as human beings.

The composer Gioachino Rossini (1792 - 1868) puts it beautifully:

The language of music is common to all generations and nations; it is understood by everybody, since it is understood by the heart.

The Difference

School mornings in our house can sometimes be a bit on the frantic side. Getting three children (and myself) up, ready and out of the house on time can be something of a challenge, much as I try and be organised and get things ready the night before; the putting on of shoes and coats and actually getting out of the door and into the car seems to take ages! On the very occasional mornings like the one a few weeks ago, it was even more rushed; I turned the alarm clock off instead of onto snooze, and the alarm clocks on legs (the boys and the cat) had, unusually during lighter mornings, also remained fast asleep. I am told that the BBC sitcom Outnumbered portrays the school morning routine in a very amusing fashion, although I haven't yet got round to watching it.

A busy morning doesn't give much time to think beyond the next task that needs doing, and can sometimes leave me feeling as if I'm rushing from one thing to the next all day which isn't conducive to making the best of what the day has to offer. I was looking through my bookcases recently trying to find something, and I found a small card with a prayer on inside one of the books:

The Difference

I got up early one morning,

and rushed right into the day.

I had so much to accomplish,

that I didn't have time to pray.

Problems just tumbled about me,

and heavier came each task.

"Why doesn't God help me?" I wondered.

He said, "But you didn't ask."

I wanted to see joy and beauty,

but the day toiled on, gray and bleak.

I wondered why God didn't show me.

He said, "But you didn't seek."

I tried to come into God's presence;

I used all my keys at the lock.

God gently and lovingly chided,

"My child, you didn't knock."

I woke up early this morning

and paused before entering the day.

I had so much to accomplish,

that I had to take time to pray.

First thing in the morning is not a time that I had really thought feasible to find quiet time, and had learnt to find such times at different points in the day or evening when I could. My children are at the age now, though, when they rarely wake through the night and, although they wake early, it's not so early that I couldn't get up a little bit before them and take the time to pray, and to ask for God's help for the day ahead.

At the beginning of Holy Week I read Stephen Cherry's blog post entitled "How to Make Holy Week Holy." Part of this includes the suggestion to listen to silence and to slow yourself down. Although this was written to think about specifically during this week, its message is one that can last beyond. I am going to try and take that little bit of time first thing in the morning, to listen to the silence, to slow down and pause before entering the busyness of the day. This won't change what I have to do, but it may well change how I go into it, and how I experience the day. I might also try and find and watch the relevant episodes of Outnumbered; not only will it provide amusing viewing and solidarity, but I may well also learn some very useful tips!