The church service I attended was about stars. While it might have been fun to swap the time to midnight, and meet on a high hill, the minister did a good job of bringing stars to us. He had a power point of constellations, and those pictures that cultures have named by connecting the dots. Not everyone sees the same dipper, or bear, as it happens. Plus there are visions that can only be seen in the southern hemisphere.
The minister held up a sexton, whose handling eludes me. Somehow with the guidance of a bright star a sailor could find his or her way in the dark. What stopped me in my tracks, though, was the news that a different ship, headed to another port, could focus on the same star for guidance. Both would find their way.
Stars shine like truths in the absence of daylight. Although they seem smaller than the sun, smart people assure me that they are enormous. When we tether them into a collection, it spins a story. The congregation was invited to look at the handout on our chairs, and the sprinkling of stars on it. We each found our own image, and named what the individual truths were that compose it. I looked down to see the makings of a musical note. Drawing lines between the stars, I identified
them.
Music brings people together
Songs from scripture are precious
Singing with others is a blessing
She who sings prays twice
Music is a way to praise God
The awareness that someone else could easily find a completely disparate, yet equally plausible constellation keeps me humble. There are times when I feel an urgency to shove my interpretation in the direction of someone who can't see what I do.
But maybe they are headed toward a different harbor.