Some simply looked at the instrument, lost interest, and walked away. Others experimented. A few had seen people play the violin, and they at least had the idea of tucking it under their chin and drawing the bow across the strings. Others who had never seen a violin before experimented in many ways to try to get the instrument to produce sound. Still, the teacher simply sat and watched each child.
Some would come day after day and try. Some gave up after a few unsuccessful attempts. Others kept trying but became frustrated. Some learned to only pluck the strings and threw the bow away. Others sawed back and forth with the bow on the strings and made terrible screeching sounds. A few who had seen others play knew that they could change the pitch of the sound by placing their fingers on the strings. They experimented more and tried different things. And still the teacher sat and watched and winced from time to time at the horrible noises the children made. Many of the children eventually gave up and did not come back. A few persisted, and some of them figured out how to scratch out simple tunes. They were off-key, raspy, and sometimes hard to bear, but they began to make music of sorts. The dedicated students continued to saw away, and most of them became satisfied with their amateur attempts at making music. They played the same tunes over and over again, never getting any better, never achieving anything approaching real music. And still the teacher sat and watched.
And then one day a new student who had been at it for only a few weeks did something none of the other pupils had ever done. When he could not get the violin to sound the way he wanted, he took the instrument and the bow to the teacher, held them out in front of him and asked, "Would you show me how to hold the bow?" With a burst of delight, the kindly teacher demonstrated the proper technique for holding the bow in the right hand so as to run the horse hairs across the strings at just the right angle. And because the child had asked a question, the teacher also volunteered to show him how to rest the bowl of the violin on his collar bone and place his chin on the chin rest so he could hold the instrument comfortably. Satisfied with the new knowledge, the child return to practicing, and the teacher sat and watch with a happy smile.
The instrument began to produce much more pleasant tones in the hands of the inquisitive child. He began to play a semblance of a simple tune, but he was not happy with the dissonance of the flat and sharp tones when he tried to place his fingers on the strings. And so again he took the violin to the silent teacher, held out the instrument in front of him, and asked the old man to show him where to place his fingers to produce the notes of the song he wanted to play. The teacher patiently showed the child each finger position. And since the child had asked a question, the teach also showed him how to tune each of the strings so that they worked in harmony with each other. Excited by this new knowledge, the child return to practicing, and the teacher sat and watch with a twinkle in his eye.
Soon the child was producing pleasant sounds and playing a recognizable tune. After a few days, the student thought perhaps he could learn to play other tunes. And so he took his violin to the teacher, held the instrument up to the teacher, and asked the kindly man to show him another tune. The teacher taught him a new tune and also showed him techniques for bowing and fingering to enhance the music. Day after day, the student went to the teacher and asked to learn another tune. After he had learned to play a couple of dozen songs, the student asked the teacher, "How do you know so many tunes? And how do you remember them all?" The teacher pulled out from under his chair a portfolio filled with sheet music. The student examined the pages but was unable to make any sense of the scribbles on them. Having learned, however, that asking questions was the source of new knowledge, the student questioned the teacher about the marks on the pages. The teacher patiently pointed out the clefs and the staffs and explained how the notes rising and falling along the lines represented the rising and falling pitches of the tune. The student studied the music and experimented on his violin. He returned with more questions, and the teacher taught him about rhythms, quarter notes, half notes, whole notes, and eighth notes. He showed the boy how each note on the page represented a finger position on the string. With practice, the student learned to read the music and play the tune as it was written. And the teacher sat and smiled broadly and tapped his foot to the music of the boy's violin.
With great joy the boy learned to play the pieces in the portfolio until he could play them all well. Then one day he went to the teacher and asked, "Where did all of this music come from?" The teacher smiled with great excitement and explained that he had written all of the music in the portfolio. "Is that all the music there is?" the boy asked. The teacher clapped his hands with joy and said that the portfolio he had given the boy was only the beginning of his compositions. Would the boy like to play another portfolio? "Oh, yes, sir!" the student replied enthusiastically. The teacher produced another folder thick with more sheet music from beneath his seat, and the student went back happily to his chair and began to play through each page. And the teacher sat and closed his eyes in delight as he heard the beautiful music flow from the boy's violin.
Once the boy, now become a young man, had mastered the music in the second portfolio, he took his violin again to the teacher, held it up, and asked, "Have you written more music?" The teacher beamed with happiness and said that he writes music every day. He had whole libraries full of music, to which he was constantly adding on a daily basis. The young man considered for a moment and then asked, "Could you teach me how to write my own music?" The teacher pulled the young man to him in a warm embrace, and tears streamed down his cheeks as he told the young man that he would love to teach him to write music.
The young man spent many wonderful, happy hours at the feet of the teacher, who taught him about harmonies, chords, modulation, tension and resolution, crescendos, and on and on. The young man began to compose beautiful music of his own. It was hard work at first, but he became more proficient, and his melodies became more mature and sophisticated. He discovered point and counter-point, themes and quotations, as the music flowed out of him. And the teacher sat and thrilled as he heard the magnificent violin lift grand and moving melodies to heaven.
One day the young man, now a mature virtuoso, arrived at the teacher's studio earlier than usual. He stood in the doorway and listened to another student fumble his way through a barely recognizable rendition of a simple tune, which was full of off-key notes and accompanied by painful screeching and scratching sounds. When he looked around the corner, he saw that the player was not a child at all but a nearly grown man. The man dutifully played his sorry tune over and over for several minutes. Then he put down his violin and, with a look of satisfaction on his face, rose to leave. The virtuoso glanced at the face of the teacher, who had been sitting quietly on his chair. The old man's face was placid, even peaceful, but no beaming smile lit his countenance. After the student left the room, the virtuoso entered and approached the teacher. With questions swirling through his head, he said to his teacher, "That was pathetic. That fellow must be a new student." No, the teacher replied with a touch of sadness around his eyes. He said the man who had left had been coming to the studio for many years. "But his playing is so, well, raw. Surely it is hard for you to listen to such racket," the accomplished student said. The teacher explained that he was disappointed that the man had made no more progress than he had, but it was the best he could do, and the teacher was just happy that he continued to come to the studio every day. "But surely that man knows that his music is not very good. I mean, he should be able to play so much better than that by now. If he cannot learn, why do you let him continue to come and take up your time?" The teacher explained with great patience that the man was capable of learning, but he had become complacent with what he was able to play. Nevertheless,the man was diligent in coming every day. The teacher held out hope that the man would still improve and would one day play as well as his virtuoso friend. The pupil scratched his head and said, "But you are a magnificent teacher. You can surely teach anyone to play beautifully. I am proof that you are a great teacher. Without your help, I'm sure I would be playing the violin no better than that man. Why do you not teach him like you taught me?"
"Because," the old man said with a tear in his eye, "he never asked me."
We are each a child who has been invited into the music studio of the gospel to learn. The kindly teacher is our Heavenly Father. The violin is the gift of prayer. The question I ask myself is, "When was the last time I asked the teacher to show me more about how to use the gift He has given me?"
