Peering through his glasses, the bandmaster was satisfied that he had placed his music score at just the right height for viewing. And by bending his head down far enough to look over his specs, he could clearly see all thirty of his band members, obviously amused by his optical antics.

Still, he was proud of his musicians. Some were professionals who had worked a hard day at the office. Some were students, some teachers, some were busy mothers, and one was a Salvation Army Officer. All had their individual lives and schedules. But all were committed to the band and the sacrifice of time it involved.

And on this occasion they had rushed from work to participate in a special engagement held at one of Toronto ’s largest and most influential churches. Here the church provides a weekly program for sixty to seventy developmentally challenged individuals. This program, fondly christened the “Handicapable” Ministry, has its own pastor, and for several years now the pastor has invited The Salvation Army North Toronto Band to bring spiritual and musical encouragement to this special group.

Although some band members live a tiring schedule, carrying family concerns while under the pressure of work deadlines, they generously continue to respond to invitations such as these. This may not leave them time to present the best garden on the street, or have a recently washed car, but in light of eternity what matters more?

There were a few extra obstacles this time. A May shower darkened the sky, dumping its watery pellets over the city. Parking should have been available for the event, but the band found the lot to be full, apparently due to a miscommunication within the church. So the band sloshed several blocks through rain and puddles carrying silver tubas, trombones, music stands, and percussion equipment. Is there anything more uncomfortable than sitting for an evening in a wet tunic?

Finally the band was on the platform positioned to begin when they were suddenly informed the commencement of the program would be delayed. Those being transported to the concert had also been caught by the weather, as well as the resulting Toronto traffic chaos. So the band waited patiently, and waited… and waited.

It was at this moment that the bandmaster, looking over his music score, was seeing more than a brass band. Instead he saw fathers who themselves had fought their way through traffic, mothers who had left the ironing for another day, students who had left study books behind, all displaying a patient dedication, and he was so thankful for them all. But what could he do about the delay?

Spontaneously, he decided to test the acoustics of the church by playing hymn tunes. Why not fill the almost empty 1600-seat church with the music of God’s grace? What better way to test the soul of music-making by a band?

Soon the strains of ‘Deep Harmony’ and others filled the sanctuary, echoing around the columns and resounding through the church’s endless corridors. The bandmaster lifted his eyes once more and peered beyond the score, to the back of the band. There sat the percussionist, a visitor from overseas who had attended the Corps for the past several weeks. He had recently lost his wife, and had himself been battling cancer, but had eagerly seized the opportunity to participate. “It was therapeutic for him”, some said. For this event the bandmaster would have been satisfied if he had merely thrown a side drum into the trunk of a car, but instead he had gone to the Corps the day before, dismantled the percussion stands and equipment and brought it to the church. Going the extra mile was not troublesome for this gentleman. In response to his sacrificial spirit, the rest of the band members had pitched in to help carry it all and help with the set-up. If an artist had captured a picture of this positive group, it could have been the inspiration for a stained glass window!

Finally the audience arrived and was seated. The pastor stood to give the official welcome, and took time to thank the band for its inspirational prelude, which had ministered to him personally as he was greeting and seating the enthusiastic attendees and their volunteer helpers.

The band then played some marches and other rhythmic, upbeat numbers. This was not a time for dreary dirges in the minor mode. The trombones pulled off “Peter, James and John” with enthusiasm. Captain Phillip Birt sang, “The King is Coming”. Melissa Walter, a high school student, read the prayer she had prepared, and Jim Stoops Jr., a young tuba player, read Psalm 100.

A ‘grand march’ has always been a highlight of the band’s visits and this year was no exception. The volunteers helped those in wheel chairs join the others in a line. With the strains of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ echoing from the church’s vaulted roof, they merrily followed ‘Bill’, who had been selected to carry a large cross. The bandmaster pondered how easily one of these special needs congregants could have been his own son or daughter. In one sense, these happy Christian soldiers and dedicated bandsmen were for this moment in time, part of the same family sharing the same experience in the onward march of believing.

Then came the moment in the program for a few words of spiritual encouragement, tonight to be presented by the bandmaster himself. Looking over his study notes, taken from John 14, where Jesus spoke of sending his Spirit as a help and comfort, he suddenly felt a twang of inward concern that his message would be beyond his ‘Handicapable’ audience’s grasp. But there was no going back. All he could do was trust God’s promise that His Word would not return void, and that there would be someone present for whom the message was meant. He felt God’s Spirit comfort him with this thought as he delivered his short speech.

After the service a slight white-haired lady was standing by the chancel to meet one of the bandsmen. She was a member of that church. Some months previously, the bandmaster’s wife in her chaplaincy work at a tertiary level hospital had been asked to visit her, a person of means, but with spiritual hunger. As the bandmaster witnessed the exchange between her and his bandsman, he knew in his heart that his message had been for her. It may have gone over some heads, but not hers.

Bandmasters do need to keep their glassed eyes focussed on the music score, but they must look beyond the score as well. Salvation Army banding is more than music scores, and the instrumentalists are more than instrumentalists: they are all that life requires of them as fathers, mothers, employees, students and Christian soldiers. They are people motivated by a purpose which is greater than the combination of melody, rhythm and counterpoint which may often seem to be the main focus during the rehearsals.

If we look beyond the rehearsal score, we will see that rehearsals are the preparatory procedure out of which grows a spiritual pulpit from which the musical message is given, the sounding out of a proclamation with the power to create a new direction in souls. If it is not that, it is merely sounding brass and tinkling triangles.

As a bandmaster looks beyond the score, he sees people: Whether it be the bandsmen in the red-trimmed inner circle and or the people beyond it, all have degrees of limitation. All are hindered in life by deficiencies left from the fall. All need a new vision for living, without which hangs over their heads the clouds of eternal, grey separation from the good.

As the bandmaster looks out, he sees

wheels within wheels,

meaning within meaning and

miracles within miracles;

all from the music score, in the lives of those who minister from the score and in the lives of that larger circle to whom the Spirit speaks of new life.

- submitted by Lt. Colonel William Kerr