Joy and sadness

I’m listening to the music of Joseph Bologne, Chevalier de Saint Georges. I’ve never heard of this person before. Apparently he was an absolutely stunning violin performer in France before their revolution. He started life as the son of a French planter and a Creole slave woman. At age seven he was taken to France, where he became an accomplished fencer. He was taken into the king’s household as a guard, learned violin and composition, and became director of the Paris Opera. His appointment ended when the principal singers refused to work with him because of his race. Instead he wrote operas. He continued to fence and reportedly could hit any button, as well as shoot a pistol accurately. He served in the French military. Joseph Bologne became nobility and lost his fortune during the revolution. He worked towards the abolition of slavery, only to have Napoleon reinstate it.

Listening to this music, its joy and its haunting sadness, tells me that maybe what God is seeking in our lives is not worldly success at all. What He wants is for us to grow into our talents. To do that, he must crush us and let us change. You can’t make wine without crushing grapes. They must give up their sweetest juice and it must ferment. This process is full of change, as is making bread. Christ is the bread of life. He gives us life, but also crushes the grain, mixes it violently, presses it and lets it rest and then presses it again, and then puts it through the fire to become the pure loaf he wants. We can’t see from here what we will become. We only feel the process; we see mere glimpses of what is coming. We are told of joy and sadness, and we experience both, in full measure… or in what we think is full measure, until the next pressing comes and we wince and stretch. There must be hope, hope that the fire will end, that this pressing will lead to rest, that there will be glory and delightful smells and tastes afterwards.