Judy R. taught either my kindergarten or first grade Sunday School class. I don’t remember which one. I also don’t remember that she read the first few chapters of Genesis to us in class one Sunday, after which, apparently, she had all of us draw a picture of the Garden of Eden. She kept the drawings.
About ten years later, when my classmates and I were tenth graders, Mrs. R. again held the reins in our Sunday School class. We liked Mrs. R. just as much in our tenth grade as we did in our earlier days. Her own kids kept her young and, from that, I suspect, she related to us very easily and very naturally.
One Sunday, she read the first few chapters of Genesis to us. She asked us if anybody had read those chapters to us before. None of us remembered that anybody specifically had done so. She then asked us, “What would you think if I told you that I had done exactly that to your class almost ten years ago to the day?”
Then she took out our drawings and gave them back to us. We really couldn’t believe this. We all considered it kind of freaky and strange. How had she orchestrated this? Had she planned to do this from the day we were born? Had she made a back-door deal with the Sunday School superintendent ten years before, assuring her that she would teach our class at these two times? Did her house have a time-warp in the basement?
All of these considerations disintegrated expeditiously, however, when I glanced at my drawing. To my utter horror and corporeal mortification, my sketch of the Garden of Eden included a row of carrots, a row of cabbages, some tomatoes, watermelon and pumpkins with a smiling Adam and Eve standing off to the side wearing overalls and holding hands.
Musicians through the years have dubbed Gustav Mahler’s first four symphonies the “Wunderhorn” symphonies because so many of their musical themes come directly from a set of earlier songs by the late romantic composer called “Des Knaben Wunderhorn” or “The Youth’s Magic Horn”. The master’s Symphony No. 4 is built around a single song from the set called “Das himmlische Leben” or “Life in Heaven”. The tune appears in fragmented portions sporadically during the first three movements, but is sung in its entirety by a solo soprano in the fourth movement. The text of the song presents a child’s vision of heaven. The last segment of the poem:
There is just no music on earth
That can compare to ours.
Even the eleven thousand virgins
Venture to dance,
And Saint Ursula herself has to laugh.
There is just no music on earth
That can compare to ours.
Cecilia and all her relations
Make excellent court musicians.
The angelic voices
Gladden our senses,
So that all awaken for joy.
Yeah, I don’t know. The music of Herr Mahler’s masterwork brushes the gates of heaven itself, for sure. But this kid’s perception of the hereafter waxes vaguely and nebulously of virgins and dancing and laughing and … Cecilia? At least in my Garden of Eden, you know what you’re gettin’ for supper.
Credits: To Mrs. R., for Sunday School classes and Saturday afternoon Christmas program rehearsals. You are one of a kind.
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