Essays, Art and Plays by Dan

(Dan stands on a busy sidewalk. He doesn’t begin with words. He lifts a battered harmonica to his lips and slowly plays the opening verse of “Amazing Grace.” The familiar melody drifts through the noise of the street. People begin to slow down. A child tugs at her mother’s hand. An old man quietly hums along. When the last note fades, Dan lowers the harmonica and smiles.)

Come here a minute.

Stay with me now.

Don’t leave while God’s talking.

Amazing Grace.

Most everybody knows that song.

Some of you sang it in church.

Some of you heard it at a funeral.

Some of you haven’t heard it in years.

But look what happened.

You stopped.

Music has a way of finding us before words ever can.

Can I get an amen?

Now look at this little harmonica.

Nothing fancy.

Just a piece of metal that fits in my pocket.

But hear this old preacher.

This harmonica can’t make one single note all by itself.

Not one.

It has no song until somebody breathes through it.

That’s when it hit me.

A whole lot of people are walking these streets just like this harmonica.

Good-looking.

Well dressed.

Busy.

Successful.

But empty of breath.

The Lord formed Adam from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life.

Dust became life because Heaven breathed.

Friend, it ain’t enough just to exist.

You’ve got to breathe with the breath God gives.

(Dan lifts the harmonica and plays the next few lines of “Amazing Grace.”)

Hear that?

That’s one breath.

One breath becoming music.

Every breath you’ve taken today is a gift.

You bought your coffee.

You paid your rent.

But you didn’t buy your next breath.

That came as mercy.

Can I get a witness?

Now let me tell you something about the blues.

People think the blues is about giving up.

No.

The blues says,

“I’ve cried…

But I’m still here.”

“I’ve stumbled…

But I got back up.”

“I’ve buried people I loved…

But somehow the song keeps playing.”

That’s hope.

That’s perseverance.

David sang in caves before he sang in palaces.

He cried before he danced.

He wept before he worshiped.

The Bible never says you have to pretend life doesn’t hurt.

It says the Lord is close to the brokenhearted.

(Dan plays another verse of “Amazing Grace,” slower this time, allowing every note to linger.)

Did you notice something?

A harmonica breathes two ways.

Blow…

Draw.

Blow…

Draw.

Give…

Receive.

Praise…

Listen.

Some of us are always blowing.

Always talking.

Always rushing.

Always trying to fix everything.

But even a harmonica knows you can’t keep blowing forever.

You’ve got to draw breath again.

The Psalm says,

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

Maybe you’ve been running so hard you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Hear this old preacher.

Rest isn’t weakness.

Sometimes it’s worship.

Now look around.

Every face passing by has a song.

Some are singing joy.

Some are singing sorrow.

Some have forgotten the words altogether.

But every soul still carries an instrument waiting to be played.

Don’t let bitterness clog the reeds.

Don’t let pride steal the melody.

Don’t let fear silence the song that was placed inside you.

(Dan closes his eyes and plays the final verse of “Amazing Grace.” The last note hangs in the air before disappearing into the sounds of the city.)

Did you hear that?

It wasn’t a concert.

It wasn’t perfection.

It was just breath…

Passing through something ordinary.

And that’s how God has always worked.

Through shepherds.

Through fishermen.

Through carpenters.

Through ordinary people willing to become instruments of grace.

So maybe the greatest miracle isn’t this little harmonica.

Maybe the miracle is that the Lord still takes ordinary lives…

Fills them with holy breath…

And sends them into the streets to become songs of hope.

Stay with me now.

Don’t leave while God’s talking.

When you walk away today…

Take a deep breath.

Thank God for it.

Then let your life become the music somebody else has been praying to hear.

Amen.