Resonance

When I got serious about playing the guitar in my thirties, I took two years ofclassical lessons (none of which I now remember), and a year of fretboard theory (little of which I’ve retained except perhaps the ability to play an ascending diminished minor chord—the music that’s always played to build tension in silent movies when the maiden is tied to the railroad tracks and the train is bearing down. So at least I’ve got that going for me, which, I’m not going to lie, is nice.).

My teacher, Dr. Lovelady (his real name), a banjo (no kidding) and guitar virtuoso, was old school and not only hated but forbade digital tuners. Believing it developed a, pardon the pun, “sounder ear”, he required students to always tune with an A440 tuning fork. I still have mine. Acoustic guitars have a kind ofnatural resonance with that note, and when you place the vibrating 440Hz fork against the soundboard and get the A string tuned to 440Hz exactly, it’s a genuinely beautiful and resonant thing.

Because I now use a digital tuner when I play, I haven’t thought about this for years. What brought it to mind now is something Jesus said in this week’s Gospel. Like a tuning fork, our heart—what we love—resonates so naturally with a good but potentially dangerous thing we handle in some form literally every day, that unless we fundamentally reorder our loves, wherever “it” is, our hearts cannot not follow.

This is of such vital importance for his disciples that the Gospels record Jesus talking more about this than any other single topic.

See you Sunday.