Lawn extensions around town remain strewn with branches brought down by this winter’s destructive combination of ice, snow, and wind. The branches come from all kinds of trees, including ornamentals. Weeks ago, Anne handed me some downed pieces of her juneberry and, after some time in a vase of water, they bloomed. It was a pleasure to watch the blossoms slowly stretch themselves out of their buds to form delicate, five-petalled white flowers. They brought early spring cheer, and we were grateful for them.
Now we have bits of magnolia in the vase. Magnolias have large, plump buds, and I’ve been wishing for some to bring indoors. I see lots of magnolia in the branch piles, as the dog and I walk the neighborhood. A few days ago, I saw some on Rumsey that weren’t on anyone’s lawn extension. They’d been dumped in the street. So I tucked a pair of loppers into our car, motored over, and snipped off a few pieces.
The juneberries were fun to watch bloom. The magnolias are a blast. They’re powering out of their buds so fast, it looks like the buds are about to blow. Already, the fuzzy bud pieces have broken away from the stems and can only hang on to the tips of the emerging flowers. And the flowers have had color from the get-go, a deep reddish pink, dramatic against the grey bud covers.
So much is going on in that vase that we check on it frequently. In fact, I just told my husband that my hope is that all the flowers will pop at the same time, exploding bud covers out into the room and filling the vase with glorious color. He received this news calmly—he’s like that–and added, “A good time for that to happen would be Sunday.” Sunday, of course, is Easter. What an alleluja that would be!
Our particular brand of Christianity puts the word alleluja to rest during Lent, the lead-up to Easter. For forty days, it is neither said nor sung during in church. Our daughter reminded me, last weekend, that that discipline holds true at choir practice as well, even as the choirs practice Easter music chock full of allelujas. So what’s the work-around? Watermelon. No kidding. Every time the choirs will sing alleluja on Easter, they sing watermelon during practice. So, “Jesus Christ is ris’n today, wa-a-a-a-a-ter-me-e-lon.” We cracked ourselves up imagining Randall Thompson’s “Alleluia,” the lyrics of which consist entirely of two words: alleluia and amen, if it were practiced with the watermelon substitution. The piece is one of great gravitas. Never would watermelon have been given such a solemn affirmation.
We heard the Lenten tabu on allelujas broken last Saturday by no less a figure than the bishop of Michigan. The setting was the funeral for a great man and friend of ours, Gabi Weinreich. Gabi was one of my husband’s physics professors in grad school. Gabi’s daughter was a good friend of our daughter’s when the girls were in junior high school. When another of our daughters was a baby, Gabi would come by the house to read to her. He even practiced ahead of time, if the book he chose was a Dr. Seuss tongue twister like Fox in Sox, which he particularly enjoyed. He was endlessly curious about the world and how it worked and how it sounded. He was a man of great faith who, having been raised a Jew, became an Episcopal priest.
He also specified exactly the funeral service he wanted, one full of allelujas. It was the service most perfectly suited to the person that I’ve ever attended. Gabi was ninety-five years old when he died. He had time to plan a service suitable for a scientist, musician, and linguist. It was filled with beauty and wonder. Gabi chose allelujas in many forms. And at the end of the service and printed—presumably per Gabi’s specifications–on the cover of the service leaflet, came the quotation that always brings us to that moment of separation: “Yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.” Gabi knew that word in nine or ten languages. Maybe now he can learn some more. Certainly, God knows them all.
We have Good Friday to get through still, but Easter’s on the other side. Let the magnolia buds burst and flowers bloom. Let people of goodwill gather. Let the community of the faithful throw off its sorrow and rejoice. Let allelujas be proclaimed again. It’s time to forego watermelon and put things right. Watermelon is a placeholder. Jesus Christ is ris’n today, allelujah!
7 April 2023