My husband and I had a pleasant weekend in store. We were driving to Chattanooga to attend a performance of Handel’s Messiah. The pale winter sun accompanied us as we drove along picturesque back roads to the medium sized city. We arrived in less than two hours. The downtown hotel was packed as Neal and I joined the throng to check in. I noticed the stately, decorated tree in one corner of the pretty lobby. Normally, I don’t find the check in process particularly pleasant, just necessary. However, that was not the case on this festive Friday afternoon. People were chatting with strangers; laughter punctuated conversations. To my surprise, one of the hotel managers was offering coffee as we waited. As there was an event at the adjoining convention center, many in line were attending the function. I felt their happy anticipation.
I’ve set the stage for what I knew would be an enjoyable time: a nice hotel stay, excellent food and festive moods. However, something more seemed to be going on. Perhaps I was sensitive to a mood shift in the crowd in part because it was a crowd. During the Covid years, life itself was on hold; people were withdrawn and sad. Here we were amid a noisy group, and I was not annoyed by it—rather, energized and engaged as I too, spoke to strangers. I was aware of the contrast. (How many of us think of Covid as a benchmark, pre and post?). The difference was palpable.
Later, on the way to the old Presbyterian church that was hosting the Chattanooga Symphony Orchestra with an attending choir and soloists, we observed a Christmas display that took up a city block. Within minutes, we pulled into a parking lot and walked a short distance to the church. We found seats amidst a large sanctuary that was filling up rapidly.
As the orchestra readied itself, a collective hush came over the packed venue. I have attended many Christmas concerts that featured Handel’s popular oratorio and in fact participated in several performances. As I glanced over at the well-dressed crowd, I noticed a lot of young people interspersed throughout. I love to see events that are intergenerational. Clearly, there were many people who loved classical music at least as much as I did. I smiled inside as I glanced at my husband whose attention was focused on the performers.
As the familiar music swelled, memories stirred. In my mind’s eye I saw a pretty, middle-aged woman step forward to sing “Rejoice Greatly”. My mother had a beautiful lyric soprano voice and was a featured soloist often. As the decades rolled back, I felt tears behind my eyes, this night five decades later. I turned my attention to the audience. I saw people’s eyes closed, others mouthing the lyrics silently. I suspected many had sung the stirring oratorio. Perhaps memories were moving within them too. The atmosphere was vibrant yet reverent. These were no ordinary spectators.
During the 20-minute intermission I talked with two woman who were seated behind us. I was not surprised to hear of their previous experiences singing Messiah. The orchestra was superb, as were the chorus and soloists.
Does a brief encounter in an ordinary city merit such praise, almost to the point of adulation? That’s for you readers to decide. Have I been successful in conveying what I was feeling on that Friday evening? Beautiful music that inspires has always held a special place within my soul. Last week’s experience conveyed something to me. Not only did I feel something profound, but something sacred; I felt others’ appreciation too.
