I was witness to several grand finales this weekend,  each with its own particular character and flavor.  The first of them was Saturday night, when the Racine Theater Guild’s amazing production of the musical “Chicago” came to an end after four weekends of performances and weeks of preparation before that.  This was an irreversible ending, and while many of these cast and crew members will work together again,  it will never be exactly these people presenting this particular work.  This chapter is over.   Then Sunday morning,  the senior choir sang for the final time before beginning its customary summer hiatus. This is the gentlest sort of finale because, God willing, all this will resume in the fall for most if not all of us, but something is still over.  Finally,  Sunday afternoon was the commencement exercises for Tremper High School – and for all the ways that such an event is both literally and figuratively a beginning (a “commence”-ment)  it is also the emphatic ending of something,  and to pretend it isn’t is to disregard the truth.   And for sure, all three of these events underscore the undeniable certainty that those grains of sand keeping falling through the hourglass,  and what once seemed like a lazy trickle is starting to look more and more like an avalanche. . . time moving ever more quickly.   And the sweeter life is,  the faster we seem to fly through it. . . the faster those grains of sand seem to pour from top to bottom.

Actually,  I am greatly relieved that life after 50 has not turned out to be the Time-Roaring-Ever-Faster ordeal that I thought it might be.  Maybe it’s because I was already thinking a lot about the passage of time as far back as high school – and perhaps by now I’ve grown comfortable with the notion that we’re not here forever, which is part of what makes life so precious and worth savoring.

All three of these finales had musical soundtracks that I’ve been thinking about.  “Chicago,” of course, is a musical – and not exactly the most philosophical work ever created.  But the last song of the show,  sung by Roxie and Velma after they’ve both weathered so many up’s and down’s, wins and losses,  is a surprisingly poignant reflection on digging your teeth into the present and appreciating it for all it has to give.  “You can like the life you’re livin’ – You can live the life you like” they sing-  and that’s not a bad moral to take away from an otherwise shady show populated by very few what we would describe as fine, upstanding citizens.  But I think those words are also right on target for the cast and crew of this production who would, with almost perfect unanimity, agree that this was a really tough and demanding production in terms of time and commitment.  It meant working side by side with people who might not be anything like you,  or people you started out liking but who eventually drove you crazy,  OR who maybe drove you crazy at first before you came to appreciate and enjoy them more than you ever thought you would.  And for a few people, it meant trying to lay aside deep disappointment about not getting a particular role they coveted and trying to give their best and most heartfelt effort despite the hurt.  For one lead, it meant persevering through an illness which robbed them almost completely of their voice at one point- and for her cast mates it was an exercise in standing behind her and beside her through just about the worst ordeal that a performer can experience. For a couple of leads who had never performed before at the RTG, this was a great leap into the unknown.  Sometimes, this production was about falling short or failing your fellow cast members in some way.  Mostly, this has been about a lot of hard work and bone-weary exhaustion.   But after all that,  “it’s good.  Isn’t it grand?  Isn’t it great?  Isn’t swell?  Isn’t fun?”  For as tough a gauntlet as this was, I think the cast and crew of “Chicago” finished with feelings of enormous satisfaction and gratitude.   As the first song of the show (“All that Jazz”) puts it so perfectly, “Come on, babe, we’re gonna brush the sky. I betcha Lucky Lindy never flew so high!”  It wasn’t easy- but they flew mighty high!

The soundtrack for Sunday morning’s senior choir season finale could not have been more different, of course- but it was thrilling and exciting in its own way.   The choir was right down front, wearing our splendid new robes, singing the music of Schubert and Mendelssohn and having an absolutely grand time.  And as I looked over that group of singers,  I found myself so struck by the marvelous mixture of personalities,  abilities and backgrounds represented there. . . everything from a Milwaukee Symphony Chorus member to a singer or two who scarcely read music,  and everyone contributing something to the whole.   It was a mix of veterans,  at least one of whom has sung in this choir for almost 40 years,  and newcomers- including three singers brand new to the choir this year.   And somehow,  when that crazy quilt of singers join together,  there is this astonishingly beautiful blend for which I cannot take the slightest credit.  Well, maybe I’ve helped that along a little bit, but mostly it feels like an undeserved and cherished gift, for which I am hugely grateful.   And as I come up on my 25th anniversary as Holy Communion’s minister of music, I cannot put into words how thankful I am that I am continuing to have so much fun and deriving so much meaning and satisfaction from what a quarter of a century ago felt like a crazy excursion into something for which I actually had almost no experience and not all that much training.

For Tremper’s commencement,  the soundtrack as it were was the choir’s singing of “For Good” from the musical Wicked.  I have played this song and heard this song hundreds of times,  but I must confess that only today, as I looked at the lyrics themselves apart from the music,  have I thought about their exceptional beauty – and their wonderful appropriateness for the occasion.   The song is sung by two characters – Glinda the Good Witch,  and Elphaba, who will go on to be the Wicked Witch of the West . . . two people from opposite ends of the spectrum,  the unlikeliest of friends.  So anytime two bosom buddies sing this song to each other,  they’re actually obscuring what this song is really about.   This is an anthem to Unlikely Friends, to Bewildering Friendships that the world would think don’t have a chance.   First and foremost, this is a song about how much we have to learn from those in our lives who we might not even like, much less admire.   They are the people from whom we often learn the most important lessons and who perhaps shake up our preconceived notions – or who perhaps help us understand why we believe what we do and help to deepen our resolve about what matters most.  And what’s especially neat is how this ends up being a two-way street of sharing.  “I’ve heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason  – bringing something we must learn – and we are led to those who help us most to grow, if we let them – and we help them in return.”  In the lyrics that follow, such friendships and relationships are likened to a stream splashing into a boulder or a comet being pulled from orbit or a ship blown from its mooring. It’s the opposite of the comfortable, pleasant, placid picture of friendship to which so many of us gravitate.  This song is about the people in our lives who shake us awake.   Yes, it’s also about those with whom we feel perfectly comfortable and perfectly safe, with whom we laugh and cry easily, with whom we share very similar views of life and the world.  But I hope all of those choir members singing this song – and the graduates listening to it – took away some of that other story as well … because that’s the story which really gives life its most remarkable texture and character, and teaches us life’s most enduring and valuable lessons.

Pictured above:  This is Andrew McNair, one of my favorite private voice students,  giving the invocation at the commencement ceremony.  He’s off to faraway Texas for college, which makes me sad (I hoped he would choose Carthage) but I know he will do well and go on to great things.   And Andrew is a great example of the kind of voice student who has inspired me to be the best voice teacher I can be.  Sometimes that inspiration comes from students who challenge us in some uncomfortable ways,  but in the case of Andrew it’s been an entirely positive and affirming experience from day one.  So even though our relationship is not the Glinda/Elphaba tale of “unlikelihood,” I can still say “Because I knew you,  I have been changed for good.”