Jerry Young, one of the former presidents of the International Tuba Euphonium Association, reached out to me recently and asked if I knew anything about the stained glass window shown above. He had heard that it was featured in a church in Pennsylvania, and with me being a pastor in that state, as well as a fellow-tuba player, perhaps I might know something about this curious work of art.
I confessed to Jerry that I had no idea - and I struggled to imagine what would possess a church to commission and display such a window! Don't get me wrong - I loved seeing it, but, I don't know, could it perhaps be just a tad irreverent - or at least rather baffling to worshipers?! I was eager to see if I could track down the story behind the window.
With a little online snooping, I located it. The window is in the entryway of St. John's Episcopal Church in Ithaca, New York. Here's the exterior of that church, from their Facebook page:
As you enter that red door and look up, that window is the first thing you see, crowning the inner doorway to the sanctuary:
But why? What was the story behind this unusual window?
I reached out to the church via their website, but by that time Jerry had tapped a dear friend of his in Ithaca, Art Ostrander, retired director of the School of Music at Ithaca College, and he was able to get the scoop on the window!
Art reached out to one of his former colleagues, Mary Arlin, who is associated with the church, and she shared this with him, which he then shared with Jerry, who then forwarded it to me:
Yes, we have a stained glass window at St. John's that depicts Jesus playing a tuba. The window was commissioned when our long-term rector, Philip Snyder, retired in 2012. [Tony] Serviente won the commission. The window is based on a sermon the rector preached back in 2006.
Mary then included the transcript of the sermon, so here are the relevant portions, providing the story behind the window:
I've sometimes pictured the Holy Spirit as music to uplift and feed the soul, especially in difficult and hostile environments. Hence the music of the Holy Spirit struggles to be heard in the very difficult and hostile environment that we grow up in and live. Often the Spirit has to go through obstacles and filters that seek to frustrate or destroy its message. The Spirit's notes do not come easily to our ears, and yet when they come they under-gird and support our lives.
Therefore in this brief period between Ascension Day and the gift of the Holy Spirit, I picture the risen and ascended Jesus as taking tuba lessons so that on Pentecost, as a tuba player, with a red face and large fat cheeks, he may puff away, struggling to push a large amount of air through seemingly impassable passageways that curve over and over on them selves, before it comes out as music. For when the tuba is well played with vigor and finesse, its melody lingers with us, and we sense its clear unmistakable presence firmly supporting all the higher sounding instruments. . . .
Every time when we discern the presence of the Holy Spirit it is like the sound of a strong tuba in an orchestra. We know that we are not alone, and that the joy and protection of the Holy Spirit has the ability to find us, . . . That is why the stained glass window that I've designed depicting Ascension Day and the promise of the Holy Spirit, may indeed show Jesus in glory seated at the right had of God, but the right hand of God will be handing Jesus a large tuba for him to learn to play and to send the music of the Holy Spirit back to us.
Wow - not even slightly irreverent, but rather an intriguing metaphor that helps us to grasp God's passionate desire to be in relationship with us, and to speak comfort and encouragement to us in the challenging circumstances of our lives - something that Jesus makes possible as we trust him with our lives and future.
I may never listen to the tuba the same way again!
