Keep Playing
The audience sat waiting.
A foreign pianist of renown
had come to play a concert
that summer in their town.
And hoping to encourage
her son to practice more,
a mother purchased tickets
several weeks before.
With great anticipation,
she’d waited for this day,
and now in minutes they would see
and hear the master play.
They settled in their places
along the aisle with time to spare.
Conversing with her neighbor,
the chatting mom was unaware
her son had left his seat.
He hadn’t made a sound.
He wasn’t one to wander, so
she didn’t turn around
until the house lights dimmed.
As the curtain on the stage was drawn
she noticed—to her horror—
that her little boy was gone.
And only at the moment
the concert had begun
did the worried, anxious mother
locate her missing son.
The solitary spotlight
had found him at his ease
seated on the piano bench,
his hand upon the keys,
and then, a simple melody.
A hush fell o’er the hall
as the boy began to play
“Twinkle, Little Star”.
And that which happened next
immortalized that night:
the master concert pianist slowly
stepped into the light.
And bending down beside the boy,
he whispered in his ear,
“Don’t quit, son; keep on playing.
Continue; do not fear.”
Next, he moved behind him
and, reaching ‘round his side,
the master, with his left hand,
commenced to gracefully provide
a bass line to the melody;
then reaching with his right,
encircling the youngster,
he added, to the crowd’s delight,
a running obbligato. Thus,
the musical duet comprised
of master and young novice
held their listeners mesmerized.
Likewise, in our weakness,
unpolished though we be,
we also have a master who
provides our harmony.
He augments our capacities;
He supplements our need;
when all that we can do falls short,
He’s there to intercede.
We are but little children;
we’ve yet to understand
the blessings He’s prepared for us
awaiting in His hand.
As we in faith unwavering
supply the melody,
the power of His cleansing blood
completes our symphony.
His loving grace surrounds us.
And all the while, He’s saying,
“Don’t quit; don’t be discouraged.
I’m here with you…keep playing.”
A foreign pianist of renown
had come to play a concert
that summer in their town.
And hoping to encourage
her son to practice more,
a mother purchased tickets
several weeks before.
With great anticipation,
she’d waited for this day,
and now in minutes they would see
and hear the master play.
They settled in their places
along the aisle with time to spare.
Conversing with her neighbor,
the chatting mom was unaware
her son had left his seat.
He hadn’t made a sound.
He wasn’t one to wander, so
she didn’t turn around
until the house lights dimmed.
As the curtain on the stage was drawn
she noticed—to her horror—
that her little boy was gone.
And only at the moment
the concert had begun
did the worried, anxious mother
locate her missing son.
The solitary spotlight
had found him at his ease
seated on the piano bench,
his hand upon the keys,
and then, a simple melody.
A hush fell o’er the hall
as the boy began to play
“Twinkle, Little Star”.
And that which happened next
immortalized that night:
the master concert pianist slowly
stepped into the light.
And bending down beside the boy,
he whispered in his ear,
“Don’t quit, son; keep on playing.
Continue; do not fear.”
Next, he moved behind him
and, reaching ‘round his side,
the master, with his left hand,
commenced to gracefully provide
a bass line to the melody;
then reaching with his right,
encircling the youngster,
he added, to the crowd’s delight,
a running obbligato. Thus,
the musical duet comprised
of master and young novice
held their listeners mesmerized.
Likewise, in our weakness,
unpolished though we be,
we also have a master who
provides our harmony.
He augments our capacities;
He supplements our need;
when all that we can do falls short,
He’s there to intercede.
We are but little children;
we’ve yet to understand
the blessings He’s prepared for us
awaiting in His hand.
As we in faith unwavering
supply the melody,
the power of His cleansing blood
completes our symphony.
His loving grace surrounds us.
And all the while, He’s saying,
“Don’t quit; don’t be discouraged.
I’m here with you…keep playing.”
Poet‘s comments about “Keep Playing”
This poem is based on a story about Ignacy Paderewski, the famous Polish pianist (1850-1941), a fictitious story so compelling that it has almost become truth. Indeed, attaching the famous pianist's name to the story implies such. The versions I’ve heard vary. Some say it was Chopsticks that the boy played, others, Twinkle, Twinkle. Some versions say the crowd didn’t have time to react; others say the crowd booed the boy. The truth is there is no evidence anywhere that the event ever happened. Paderewski’s biographies are silent on the matter, and I, for one, am glad; I think it’s better for the metaphor. I’d rather have anyone reading the poem understand that it’s totally fiction than think that I’ve taken license on the truth. It’s better that it didn’t happen, but could have, than that it happened, but differently. It doesn't matter who the master pianist was any more than it matters who the master violinist was in the well-known and often-recited poem "The Touch of the Master's Hand". So, I don’t make any claim that the story is anything more than an invented metaphor for the enabling power of the atonement of Christ, but I think you’ll agree that it is a very effective and moving one.
