"C'mon, then, Michael, what've you got for us this evenin'?"       
                                                                                             

The head musician was, in some wonderful way, both gentle and insistent.  He knew how to prod the shy, without humiliating the terrified.  And his way with the kids was, mostly, wonderful to watch.

Cathy and I were sitting against the wall in the main hall of Brú Ború, the cultural and musical heritage center in Cashel, County Tipperary, Ireland.  We had seen references to performances at Brú Ború in a guidebook.  But when we arrived at the center, we found the entrance locked and most of the lights off.  Then, as we turned to leave, an angel appeared: a wee lass of a grandmother approached, trailed by a couple of grandkids with fiddle cases.

"Good evenin' to ya!  Would ya be comin' t' hear the music now?"

We explained that yes, we'd heard there would be music at Brú Ború and we'd come to listen, but found the doors locked.

"Aye, they are.  But those doors are almost always locked.  Come wi' me and I'll take ya 'round the side door.  It's just the kids t'night, but you're welcome t' sit in.  Come along wi' me now.  I'm Nora."

We fell in behind Nora and soon began to learn that the friendly grandmother was much more than the driver and chaperone for those kids.  The side doors were open and led into a vestibule where something like a registration table was set up.  When the elderly man behind the table looked up at him, Nora whispered a word to him and he suddenly smiled and nodded us into the main hall.  The hall was something like a small school gym, of a size and with a floor like a basketball court (more on that, later), but no hoops.  Instead of hoops, there were crested banners, corresponding to the counties (or perhaps the clans?) of Eire.  Nora invited us to take a seat anywhere and enjoy the evening.

A quick scan of the room indicated that "anywhere" would be a spot on the benches built into the walls around three sides of the room, for all the chairs in the center of the room (about fifty) were arranged in two concentric ovals... and filled with musicians wielding fiddles, pipes, harps and other, more exotic instruments.  We headed for the most inconspicuous corner and took a seat among all the parents and relatives.  Nora had given us the warmest welcome, but it seemed we had slipped into some kind of rehearsal for kids and their families.

Then John, the leader, stood up with his accordion, called out a word we didn't catch, followed by, "2, 3..." and launched the kids into a lively Gaelic air.  The kids were good.  Really good!!

After several spirited warm-up numbers, we settled into the main part of the evening.  John turned to one of the young musicians and asked, "Now then, Catherine, what've you got for us this evenin'?"  She was a great choice for the kid to go first, it turned out.  Catherine put down the fiddle she'd been playing and laid hands on the harp that stood next to her, announcing, "I've written a small piece."  Well, 'twas small all right, only about two minutes.  But it was terrific.  Wow.  These kids were good!

Catherine turned out to be, indeed, exceptional.  The kids who followed her did not play original compositions, but portions of well-known (to everybody else in the room) Irish classics.  The pattern was that each lad or lass, in turn, would play a solo that represented the first stanza of some famous standard.  Then the whole rest of the group would join in with gusto, bringing an amazing sound to the remaining stanzas.  Some of the kids were clearly virtuosos.  But there was more.

Eventually we caught on to the fact that almost all the kids played more than one instrument.  And, when their turn came to "let us have somethin' from ya this evenin'," they typically reached for their less-perfected instrument.  Sometimes, those opening solos were pretty weak and wandering... but as soon as they struggled through that first stanza, the rest of the group would jump in and the enthusiasm for the song became palpable.  And when the song ended, invariably, John had an encouraging word for the child who had so feebly started us off, "Aye, Willie, 'tis wonderful t' see the progress you're makin' wi' tha' pipe, now!"

What an evening.  The young musicians ranged in age from 6 or 7 to about 20.  They clearly loved music.  And, they clearly loved being together.  Sometimes a bit too much:  John's only harsh words were for the older girls who simply had too much news to share with each other to be able to sit quietly during all the introductory solos.  So, these prodigies really were just kids, after all.

Kids, learning to use their gifts.  The evening was a delight, and a lesson.  It was fun to see how even the most timid and faltering soloists would throw themselves into the music with gusto, when the cavalry came riding over the horizon and their friends all jumped into the song.  And, it was both fun and instructive to watch John at work with them:  patient, prodding, smiling, encouraging (except for a couple of moments with those teenage lasses!).  I noticed his model was also contagious:  at the end of each number, all the rest of the kids applauded the soloist, however limited.

Lord, let my teaching be like John's work that evening, helping new generations of leaders in the Body of Christ learn to use their gifts, and finding ways to enable their companions to be a great encouragement to them.  

And Nora?  What a surprise it was when, at the end of the evening, John announced that Nora Butler, a "living legend of Irish traditional music," would sing a solo, dedicated to the couple visiting from Philadelphia.  Unbeknownst to us, the modest Grandma who invited us to tag along with her brood and share the evening... has pipes!  'Twas an honor to receive such a song... from such a singer!

Humility and hospitality, modest folk with nothing-to-be-modest-about talent... we met many such people during our visit to Cathy's ancestral homeland.  We never kissed the Blarney Stone, but we hope some of those other qualities rubbed off!

May the Lord make you also an encouragement to those around you who, however tentatively, are discovering and developing their gifts!

Blessings,
Stan