Forget the Name Paul Plew

I broke Chorale protocol to swivel in my seat and spy out my parents and children, even though the rule was to never draw attention to yourself, even before getting to the stage. Ah ha! I attempted to catch their eye, but I was only one black dress in a sea of dark apparel and I knew there was no way they'd see me. Ah well. I knew I was the director's favorite (as were all the other 192 Chorale members) and thus decided I probably wouldn't get in too much trouble for breaking several concert rules. So I stood up and stared waving. Huh. They still couldn't see me. I grabbed my standing buddy, hoisted her up as well and we both started flailing our appendages to get their attention. Being my sister-in-law, she didn't seem to mind my enticing her into such a serious Chorale faux-pas, and seemed happy enough that her nieces and nephew finally waved back. I made eye-contact with my parents, and blew kisses to the kids, who held their Hershey's kisses aloft in response.

There were roughly 1300 people packed the gymnasium, and the general hubbub of friends and families chatting while they awaited the beginning of the concert filled the room with an ebb and flow of rolling decibels. I settled back into my seat, nudging my belongings further under the chair in front of me, and checked my binder for the third time. Songs in order, check. Tissue tucked into a pocket, check. Last sip of water, check. Binder held in my right hand so that it is farthest away from the audience, check.

Oh! Can't forget to start recording. I booped my phone and fired up the voicememo app, tossing the device onto my scarf just in time to see Doc give the signal to rise. As a unified wave of concert black, nearly two hundred vocalists stood and stormed the risers.

Well, not exactly. The young ones (the current chorale members) did an excellent job rushing onto the stage in fury and formation. The alumni, however (some of which were over four decades older than the freshmen) were acutely conscious of popping hips, balance issues, and general aging, which resulted in more of a mildly aggressive flurry rather than a storm.

The energy on stage was something I had never before experienced. Even 15 years after my last Chorale concert I could still remember the way my sternum would tickle the back of my throat, and the tightness in my lower back as my seldom-used heels changed my posture just enough to make me aware of the way I held my shoulders. I anticipated the excitement, the joy, and the little flutters of nerves but this... This was something different.

Physically, there was an ease that had never been there before, simply because I knew far better who I was and why I was there. Mentally, on account of being able to use sheet music, there was a freedom from my old nemesis of a forgetful mind. Emotionally, there was elation. To be surrounded by a representation of 43 years of music with a common conductor was a platform I had never considered enjoying. And reaching through each feeling and thought, and draped over the wonder of opportunity being in that place at that time, was a weighted blanket of... Well, there's no better way to describe it than feeling completely curled up and tucked in by a rich velvet cocoon of home.

I knew far better who I was and why I was there.

And then we began to sing. Doc's familiar hands led us the same way we had grown to love, and he directed us with the gestures and gesticulations unique to his conducting and character. Though many of us had not sung in a choir for several decades, Doc had trained us so well that his direction was intuitive and natural. With just a twitch of his pinky he was dropping us to the barest mezzo-piano and growing the intensity without hardly adjusting our volume, pulling the purple richness out of every consonant and breathing gold into every vowel.

And the power! When we were called to drive the song in forte and fury I realized I was leaning over my toes as a tangible wall of sound blew me forward. Even now, thinking about the force of that unified sound I have goosebumps crawling over my arms. THAT. If I only keep one physical feeling from that night it'll be the undertow of musical strength crashing into my rib-cage, filling every one of my molecules with a palpable energy.

That man, though. Dr. Paul T. Plew. The man we were there to recognize for his 43 years of faithful service to Jesus at The Master's University School of Music. The man who not only led us in music but also in character and upright living. The man who taught me that JOY is a choice founded on my trust in my God, rather than a response to my circumstances. The man who married Jason and I fifteen years ago. The man who remembers my children's names (most of the time) and checks in on us periodically to see how we're doing, and to see if we're "happy serving the Lord."

The man who will accept nothing less than honesty and transparency when he asks us where we've been "in the book in the last 24 hours." That man who cares more about a person's soul than their status, and calls them to excellence simply because he believes every Christian's purpose in every one of their opportunities and objectives is the glory of God.

There was a gymnasium full of people who had seen Jesus through Doc, and were the better for it to such an extent that they traveled as far as Cambodia to celebrate him that evening. Yet, when asked during a public interview, "What is the legacy... you want to impress on our hearts and souls?" Doc replied, "I want you to forget the name Paul Plew, and just remember, 'Give me Jesus.'"

I want you to forget the name Paul Plew, and just remember, "Give me Jesus."

And then that dear man spoke his heart for us, espousing his desired legacy in the midst of a growing challenge for the college and for churches who are in the midst of a broken world, urging us to live in such a way "that we will not be swayed by the culture, but we would be swayed by Scripture."

After a full evening of curated remarks and special musical offerings by some exquisite people who had grown under Doc's conducting hand and caring heart, there was a presentation of thanks by the school board. Much to the tearful delight of everyone present, the music program was given a new name: The Paul T. Plew School of Music.

As the applause quieted and folks sat back down, a board member stated, "Dr. Plew said earlier that he was content to see his name be forgotten..." As the bursts of laughter settled he continued, "It's gonna be a little tougher now. We've already made a plaque and stuff, so... I hope that's okay." Yes. Yes, it's absolutely okay.

"You can't stage this kind of affection." That was the sentiment as we all sang Great Is Thy Faithfulness and the Doxology followed by the Chorale benediction: You Are The Light.

"You can't stage this kind of affection."

And as the last note whispered away like a dust mote in a sunbeam, there was a collective breath. For everyone knew we had just experienced something special. Something that would most likely not be rivaled this side of heaven, yet would be echoed a million times over as the saints through the ages would one day be surrounded by the fruits of their faithfulness. And each faithful man and woman and child will take every accolade, and every praise, and every evidence of their love for Jesus and will carry them to the feet of their Savior with absolute joy, saying, "This was all for You."

May my legacy be one that showcases Jesus so well. For each person who sees Christ in me, and is thus spurred to know Him more and love Him more, therin will lay my greatest achievement and my eternal reward. After all, my purpose and objective in every opportunity is the glory of God. And thus His legacy is my greatest prize.

Slideshow Descriptions

• My amazing SIL; she's pretty much the coolest.

• Doc lifted up 5 feet so that everyone would see his pinky of power

• 193 voices, all crammed on one stage, in front of one man, for one Audience.

• Plew getting into the piece! (How Great Thou Art)

• The renamed school of music

Prove Your Love

When I hit the submit button I thought that was it. I knew my mom would see what I had written, and I figured perhaps three or four other folks might read the post. (If you were to measure my popularity by my social media followers you'd probably shake your head with a smile and say, "Aw, that's cute.") I don't write to the masses. I write to like-minded friends (or so I thought).

The next morning, though, I woke up to a handful of notifications, alerting me of private messages, comments, shares, and responses. And I was surprised... even more so when I realized not all of them were positive.

You see, my goal in writing (both on an offline) is to encourage myself and others to know God more, in order to understand who WE are, and WHOSE we are. I usually pursue this through encouraging comments, analogies, comments about the character of God, and other uplifting conversation topics. Very rarely do I post a straight-up conviction or call to action.

My goal in writing is to encourage myself and others to know God more, in order to understand who WE are, and WHOSE we are.

I thought I knew my audience. I thought my post would serve to encourage folks to keep doing what they were doing. I assumed my post would serve as a pat on the back, an 'atta girl,' and would simply be a spot of joy in my friends' lives.

Nope. It made some folks mad! Some people felt personally attacked, and many were offended.

I had shared that, if folks had a doctrinally sound church to attend, they should not avoid gathering with the congregation simply based on convenience or preference. Watching online services from the comfort of your couch for no other reason than you didn't want to go through the trouble of getting dressed and showing up was not actually attending church, but watching others attend church.

I was surprised at the number of responses because what I believed to be a foundational part of being a Christian was apparently up for debate. Whether it was misunderstanding, conviction, or anger towards church in general, I got a lot of pushback. And here's why I was so surprised:

If we love Jesus we will love God's children. (It's a package deal.) And being that we are commanded to "one another" 59 times, and as we are are the best ambassadors for Christ when we love each other, it stands to reason that true Christians should WANT to love each other, and should be thrilled for every opportunity to gather together. Right? Doesn't that make sense? Doesn't that seem logical?

True Christians should WANT to love each other, and should be thrilled for every opportunity to gather together.

As an introvert with extroverted tendencies (I am able to speak to many people and I enjoy a good party, but end up completely drained and need to recover alone afterwards), I can identify with those for whom being in a larger gathering is exhausting. Yet it saddens my heart when folks (myself included) choose to use their God-given personalities to justify their selfishness. Serving others is hard sometimes. But we're called to "one another" and it's impossible to do that without being with the others.

With that pushback came another realization... I have a wonderful church, and that's a rare thing these days. I am weekly surrounded by people who love me and my family, and who genuinely care for the well-being of others. We as a congregation have had rich teaching that takes the character of God and beautiful doctrine and weaves it into biblical application. We have been trained well and it shows. And this is sadly not a normal thing these days.

I have a wonderful church, and that's a rare thing these days.

It is far easier for me to want to gather with fellow believers now because it's comfortable. And I do understand that's a rare privilege. I have been very hurt by congregations in the past so I understand what what feels like, yet in each instance the call to gather together and love and serve each other does not change.

This is hard and holy work. Loving others when they are particularly unlovely is hard. Serving others when they see you as the servant is excruciating. But that's what Jesus did. (Please don't think I am advocating for staying in an abusive situation. Remember that this is in the context of being a part of a healthy, biblical church, with broken, sinful people.)

This is hard and holy work

What I still want to communicate was that Jesus has called us to love each other, up close and personal, and that it should be our delight to obey, even (especially) when it's hard.

Jesus has called us to love each other, up close and personal.

My first reaction to having folks unhappy with my post was to remove it, ignore it, make myself comfortable, and hide from the hard. But that's not love. Love is investment. Love is care. Love is hard. And love is a command. If I encourage others to invest in others I must do the same.

I must therefore continue to communicate what Scripture says, in kindness and clarity, whether or not others like what I'm saying. If I echo God's Word in love and sincerity, after having done the humble work of study and comprehension, then any disagreements folks may have with what I post is between them and Jesus. As the hymn says, "And may they forget the channel, seeing only Him." In that way I will prove my love for Christ, by seeking to love others.

Who's Talking?

How do you discern if you are hearing from the Holy Spirit or from Satan (or just your own sinful nature)? Consider using these two questions and a pondering:

Is the thought in line with Scripture or not?

Is the thought glorifying to ourselves or to Jesus?

Remember that the Holy Spirit will only counsel us in the will of God, which is our sanctification.

Therefore (as most clearly seen in the case of knowing the will of God), when we are faithful in pursuing Christ we will be continually reshaped to His likeness and our desires will match His own, allowing us to be instinctively drawn towards that which He wants for us, and we can then know how to speak, which job to accept, where to live, who to marry, which charity to give to… simply because our preferences will match those of Christ.

Essentially it all boils down to our relationship with Jesus; if we ache to know Him more and He is our absolute priority then we will know His voice and can discern His direction. (“My sheep know my voice and they follow me.”)