Unexpected Symphony

I saw the movie Mr. Holland's Opus when it first came out and, frankly, didn't think too much of it. For one thing, while Richard Dreyfuss is a terrific actor, he's not much of a conductor. It reminded me of Elaine's dance on Seinfeld. I kept thinking, "Couldn't they cast someone who looked like a real band director?"

The problem's much more noticeable when it comes to casting actors as athletes. Did any of us really see John Goodman as Babe Ruth in the movie about his life, or did he just seem like Roseanne's right-handed husband playing the left-handed Babe Ruth? Maybe that's why Kevin Costner makes so many sports movies. He, at least, is an athlete. Too bad he can't act.

I know my bias is showing, but it seems like finding an actor with musical skills should have been a piece of cake.

The other thing that bothered me about Mr. Holland's Opus was its overdrawn sentimentality. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where the movie was heading. Bottom line is, though everyone else raved about it, I didn't like the movie that much.

Until recently. I was cycling the other day when the closing scenes of the movie flashed through my mind. As I recollect, Dreyfuss' character is cleaning out his desk. He's spent (wasted?) a lifetime working as a small-time band director at a nondescript high school. His dream was to write a great American symphony. But the demands of making a living short circuited his plans.

Mr. Holland is not famous. He never published. He merely taught high school, a temporary job which became a lifelong vocation. And now the budget bureaucrats have eliminated his position, forcing him to retire. An old man, he ambles beside his wife, son and long-time friend out of the school for the last time.

Hearing commotion in the auditorium, he opens the door to discover that the entire student body has gathered to pay their respects to him, their beloved band teacher. On the stage is a former student, now state governor. Behind her are other students, now adults, from all walks of life, seated in sections with instruments in hand.

The governor said, "Mr. Holland, I know you are very disappointed that you were not able to publish your symphony. Instead you spent a lifetime teaching us. But never forget this: We are your symphony, your magnus opus." She calls him to the stage and he directs the symphony which he has been crafting at home all these years.

Yes, it drips with syrup. And he directs it poorly.

But it wasn't the poor directing which captured my mind while cycling toward Bartlett Lake the other day. No. I was reflecting on my life, it's changes, it's challenges, it's dreams, its ups and downs.

Frankly, I'm in a lot of transition right now: dreams which seem like nightmares, questions without easy answers, overwhelming challenges (like that hill on Stagecoach Pass). Will I ever get that symphony written?

Or maybe the symphony I'm writing is different than I'd imagined. Maybe, like Dreyfuss, I'm influencing people differently and in far deeper ways than I realize.

I don't know about that. The final credits haven't begun. But I do know this: I could kind of go for that syrupy Hollywood ending. Even if it's poorly conducted.

For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so that we can do the good things he planned for us long ago (Ephesians 2:10, NLT).