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I play the violin.

I do not play it well, and I never have. This fact is not terribly problematic for me– not in terms of ego, anyway. I don’t expect myself to be good at it because, well, I have never been good at it.

Not even when, in high school, I daily absconded to the practice rooms in the school’s music wing for the second half of my lunch period just to get my practicing in.

Not even when, again in high school, my orchestra friend, who was a year younger than I, was promoted to the first violin section while I remained behind with the seconds.

And not when, finally promoted– as a senior– to the first violin section, I knew it was an act of kindness on the part of our long-suffering orchestra conductor.

I am not good at playing the violin, and That Is Fine. We can’t all be good at everything, you know. We can’t even– not most of us, anyway– be good at most things. Maybe each of us is just good at a few things, a little pocketful. And there are some things we do– for better or for worse– just for the sheer pleasure of doing them.

Which is why I play the violin.

I started in 5th grade and continued through high school. I listed “orchestra” and “violin” among my “interests” on my college applications. I took my violin to college. I never took it out of its case.

I was doing Other Things.

We had been married for at least a handful of years when Bill commented that he didn’t believe a violin lurked inside the instrument case that he’d moved from home to home over the years. Why should he believe it? He’d never seen it. He’d never– obviously– heard me play.

And then, when I was 34 years old, my dear friend Emily encouraged me to play in our church orchestra.

I balked.

I am bad at playing the violin, I told her. That orchestra doesn’t want me, I said to her. Honest, they are better off if I just don’t join.

She would have none of it, and so I joined (she is Very Convincing). And when I took my school-issued, purchased-in-5th-grade violin from its case at the beginning of that first (for me) rehearsal, it was the first time the instrument had seen the light of day in 17 years.

I hadn’t touched it for Half My Life.

And yet.

I could still play. I could still read music. I found that I enjoyed myself– perhaps? Yes! more than I had in high school. I was still bad at it, but I wasn’t awful. The conductor did not kick me out.

Nor has he, in all these years (nine!) that I have played in my church orchestra. We don’t have many rehearsals– but I wouldn’t have time for them if we did. And I still play in the hinterlands of the second violin section– which is absolutely as it should be. And I don’t practice at home (not nearly enough) in the in-between times.

But I love it.

Our conductor chooses the music wisely. He has some real talent among our players– and then there are people like me. The music he chooses sometimes (at first and second glance) frightens me. The runs, now and again, can Intimidate. But for the most part, I find that, by the time we are playing in the worship service, I can play the whole of each piece. For the most part.

Our Easter service is a pretty spectacular service to play for. After playing– along with choir and often congregation– pieces that have recently been new to us, we always play a joyous, highly melodic, waltzy little number called “This Is the Day.” And when the singing reaches the word “hearts” in this song, the congregation– that beautiful body spread out in the hundreds all in front of us there in the orchestra– starts to move.

Starting at that moment in “This Is the Day,” all congregation members who desire to do so leave their seats and join the choir on the stage. And when the song is over and the persons are all assembled (we have, by this time, a choir of perhaps 100 voices?), we sing and play Handel’s “Hallelujah” chorus.

Oh My.

This is not an easy piece to play. I am confident that I never get it absolutely right. There are runs (heavens!) and shifts of position. There are vital (and therefore terrifying) rests. And my intonation (it must be admitted) is Poor.

But it is a glorious thing, nonetheless, to be a small cog in this tremendous wheel of worship. The sound and the praise and the we-absolutely-believe-what-it-is-we-are-singing is just… well. I think maybe you have to be there.

And that’s the last piece we play on Easter Sunday, because what (from a musical standpoint, on Easter Sunday) could possibly follow that?

But this year I had a moment. It was a just a little hiccup. It readily passed. But still. I had one.

It was during our rehearsal on Saturday. The choir was assembled, the orchestra, too. And I learned there was a Change of Plan.

No, no. The Hallelujah Chorus was still there. It was something about the piece before it. The joyous little waltzy one. The “This Is the Day” one– which happens to be a piece I can play Well.

Yes, I can. I can play it very well (which goes some distance in expressing its simplicity). And there is a moment (the conductor said this once) during which (can you believe it??) the second violins carry the piece. He said that. He did. And it’s true. It’s brief, but we’re carrying it, and we’re doing it well, and I Like That.

Furthermore, this piece builds in both volume and power. The affirmation voiced in the lyrics of the final chorus makes one’s spirit soar. And during that part of the song, the second violins are doing some wonderful flourishes that simply add so much joy and are so fun to play and that I– yes, again– Can Play Well. Moreover, this part is one that we play Twice.

I Like This Very Much. I like those moments when the second violins (and I) shine. I thrill to it. It is simply magnificent, I am telling you, to play those lines so well and with such joy.

And on Saturday, it was declared to me– and to the whole of the orchestra– that we would only be playing that part Once.

Just Once.

But for why, I wanted to know. We always repeat this chorus and, very frankly, we Should. These are important words and good ones– and the second violin part is so thrilling— and how much can it cost us, really, to just leave the repeat IN???

Because. I was told. Because we have to mind how long the service runs. And this, I was told, because of the baptisms.

Oh.

My.

Yes.

We had baptisms in both of our Easter Sunday services this week– something I don’t ever remember our church having done before. We had Quite a Few baptisms, and these take Time.

And what better day for it, I ask you? What better day than the observed day of Jesus’ Glorious Resurrection to be baptized? For you yourself to declare that you are His and you are Rescued and you have died to yourself and your selfish aims and are living instead the glorious life that He gives you– one in which you no longer have to worry about promoting yourself or about what other people think of you or making sure you get yours— because instead you’ve realized that you are His and all good things– the things you do well and the things you don’t– come from and belong to Him? Him. He Who is the Giver of All Good Things.

Yes. Easter is the celebration of death’s defeat– and so also of the freedom to truly and finally and absolutely Live. What better day to be baptized?

And what better day– even if it is your brief and shining moment in the back of the second violin section– not to shine?

We only played the chorus once in each service, of course. We do what our directors tell us.

I loved playing it like that.