THE AUTUMN OF OUR LIVES

By Deryn

Nov 28, 2020

Sibelius monumnet Helsinki showing organ pipes that are tree trunks of the forest

Photo Pixabay, Sibelious Monument,

Music becomes a voice for change

I have long believed that the arts serve purposes far beyond decoration. A painting can tell a story. A poem can preserve a memory. A novel can give a forgotten person a voice. Drama and dance are transient vehicles for storytelling. And music? Music can bring people together.  have seen something of this for myself in my travels. I have stood before the monument to Jean Sibelius in Helsinki, Finland, and I have visited Estonia. Standing in those places, knowing something of their history, gives a different meaning to the music. You begin to understand that these were not simply composers writing beautiful melodies. In times of oppression and uncertainty, music can become a vessel carrying the identity of an entire people.

Music when a nation finds its voice

Consider Finland. For more than six hundred years, Finland was part of the Swedish realm. In 1809, it passed from Sweden to the Russian Empire and became an autonomous Grand Duchy. During the nineteenth century, a growing Finnish cultural movement sought to strengthen a distinct national identity. The Kalevala compiled from Finnish oral poetry, became an important expression of that identity. Artists, writers, and musicians began to give Finland a language of its own, not necessarily a political language, but a cultural one.

Sculpture of Sibelious Head, Helsinki

Photo Pixabay, Sibelious Monument

Then came Sibelius. In 1899, during a period of increasing Russian pressure and attempts at Russification, Sibelius composed the music that would become Finlandia It was originally part of a series of historical tableaux presented at the Press Celebrations in Helsinki. The final section, known as “Finland Awakes,” stirred something deep in the Finnish people. Finlandia became a symbol of Finnish nationalism. When I stood before the Sibelius monument, I wasn’t just viewing a memorial to a famous composer. It reminded me of what happens when art helps people remember their identity. Sibelius helped give Finland a sound, and sometimes people need a sound before finding a voice. Organ pipes represented the trees of the forest; forests go deep into the psyche of the Finnish people, a voice that resonated with them.Estonian Music Festival Stand

Estonia sang its way toward freedom

I experienced a similar feeling when I visited Estonia. Domination by powerful neighbors has marked Estonia’s history, and during the Soviet period, language and national identity were under pressure. Yet Estonia had an extraordinary cultural treasure: its singing tradition.

The Singing Revolution of the late 1980s demonstrated just how powerful that treasure could become. Hundreds of thousands of Estonians gathered at the Tallinn Song Festival Grounds and sang traditional and patriotic songs together. They sang Mu isamaa on minu arm, “Land of My Fathers, Land that I Love,” a song that had become deeply associated with Estonian identity. They also sang the patriotic songs of composer Alo Mattiisen.Music of Estonian Dancers

Estonian Folk Dancers, Video - Deryn van der Tang

This was nonviolence; they were not taking up arms, they were raising their voices. By 1989, the movement had grown into the remarkable Baltic Way, when people in Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania joined hands in a human chain stretching across the three Baltic countries. Music had helped people remember they belonged to something larger than the political system that governed them.

The music that defied ruins

Then there is Sarajevo. During the terrible siege of Sarajevo in the 1990s, cellist Vedran Smailović became known as the “Cellist of Sarajevo.” After twenty-two people were killed while waiting for bread, Smailović returned to the devastated area and played Albinoni’s Adagio in G minor in their memory. Picture a city under attack. Amidst the broken buildings and people living in fear, a man sits with his cello and plays. The music could not stop the bombs, nor could it bring the dead back. But it declared something profound:

Beauty had not been destroyed. Human dignity had not been destroyed, and the human spirit had not been destroyed. That is the power of the arts.

Why do the arts matter?

When we talk about social change, we often think about politicians, protesters, legislation, and movements. And, of course, these matter. But underneath every movement is something deeper: a story about who we are and what we believe is worth preserving. Artists help us tell that story. A composer can give a nation a melody. Poets can preserve a language. Painters can capture a landscape that becomes part of a people’s memory. A storyteller can take the ordinary life of one family and reveal something universal about courage, suffering, and hope.

Perhaps that is why oppressive regimes have so often tried to control language, literature, music, and art. They understand something we sometimes forget: culture holds memory. And memory gives people identity.

The Bible tells us, “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver” (Proverbs 25:11).

Sometimes someone speaks, paints, sings, or writes that word.

The arts may not change the world overnight. Yet, they have the power to shift how people view the world. And once people see differently, they may begin to think differently, hope differently, and eventually act differently.

As I think about Finland, Estonia, and many other places I have traveled, I remember that the arts form a vital part of human society. They are part of our inheritance; they carry the stories of those who came before us. They inspire courage in those struggling today and plant seeds of hope for future generations. Perhaps that is why music has such extraordinary power.

A single voice may be silenced, a single instrument broken, yet a song alive in people’s hearts proves much harder to destroy.

And sometimes, when a people begin to sing together, the world begins to listen.

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The trail

It is not too difficult to find safe places to exercise and enjoy walking near the city, so we headed off to Fort Du Pont Park for a Sunday afternoon walk. The park is a wooded area in Washington DC on the site of an old Civil War fort designed as a defense for a Confederate attack on Washington. It is hard to believe that it is already Thanksgiving time and the end of November, after eight months of living with COVID lockdowns and travel restrictions.

It was a beautiful crisp afternoon, a little bit on the cool side, but excellent for walking. The leaves had mostly fallen, and the forest was open so you could see the naked tree trunks standing amidst the thick carpet of golden and brown leaves that lay at their feet. The smell of slightly damp leaves reached our nostrils as we tramped through the thick piles of leaves along the trail. It became difficult to see the trail as we headed into the middle of the forest after we had left the initial paved pathway. The two men went on ahead of me as I carefully picked my way along the trail not knowing if I would trip on a tree root or fall into a hole hidden under the leaves. If it wasn't for the men ahead who stopped to point out difficult places along the path I may well have wandered off the trail or fallen over a root or rock. They were patient in waiting for me to catch up as I slowly picked my way along the pathway.

As I walked along, I realized how much more vulnerable I had become with age. In my youth I would probably have skipped along the pathway catching handfuls of leaves and let them flutter down, or as a middle-aged person walked briskly along the path, not concerned about falling. Now I needed to be careful not to stumble or trip over the things that I did not see as my eyesight has deteriorated. A fall could result in broken bones. My knees are unstable, and they do not have the same strength to lift me on the steep places, making a slip or fall more likely. I needed to stop more often to take a breather. Fortunately, someone had marked the trail ahead and I saw there were red splashes on some of the trees. I kept my eyes on the trees along the way, checking where the markers were for the pathway.

As I walked along, I began to get new insights into the seasons of the life that we live in. The seasons roll around with annual regularity, in the same order every year. I would consider that I am in the autumn of my life right now even though I may not like to acknowledge it. My body tells me my strength and stamina are not as strong as it was to navigate the steep places. I need help from time to time to give me a hand up or down. Many things could trip me up at this stage, I become more vulnerable to diseases. Mold and fungi are nature's way of dealing with a fallen and diseased tree, breaking it down until it once more becomes a part of the earth from whence it grew. A warning to me not to fall before my time! I need to have someone ahead of me on the pathway to guide and watch out for me, someone who can check that I am still on the right path and not heading off into the woods and get lost.

The trail and marked tree

We continued our walk, it was invigorating, with fresh air to fill our lungs as we breathed out the stale city air. We took our time (or should I say I did!) pointing out fascinating fungi on tree stumps. Nature was at work, slowly but meticulously the fungi doing their job, preparing the earth to receive new life in the spring when tree shoots will arise from the leaf mold and broken-down trees.

We were surprised by a couple of deer not far off the pathway, there was no cover to hide them so we were able to look at each other, and after they decided we were not a threat, they continued to walk on. A bit further on a couple of elk made their appearance. They were more skittish and moved off quickly, this was the closest we've ever been to deer on this pathway. They may have been there before, but we had not seen them because of the leaves, now they were also a lot more vulnerable, with no leaves or cover to hide from hunters. They must live on their wits and speed to getaway.

We need to recognize when we are in the autumn of our lives. This is one of the hard transitions into the second half of life, admitting we need help and that we can’t do everything we used to be able to do. We do become much more vulnerable, not only physically, but financially, health-wise, emotionally, and spiritually. We become prey for those who will take advantage of us, the scammers who want to rob us financially, or emotionally. We become targets for every type of salesperson selling the elixirs of youth aka medications, supplements, and gadgets.

We need to recognize when we are in the autumn of our lives. This is one of the hard transitions into the second half of life, admitting we need help and that we can’t do everything we used to be able to do.

Loneliness makes us more vulnerable to these types of scams because we are no longer out in the workplace, and family and friends may be at work or live far away. A thought-provoking study in the UK found that although there was technology to help filter scammers from the elderly's telephones, they often switched them off because at least there was someone to talk to, to break the loneliness of the day. COVID certainly has not helped in keeping community, it has isolated people even more as they no longer can enjoy going out to meet with friends or the odd shopping.

Just as we breathed in the fresh country air and exhaled the city air, we need to breathe in the life-giving Spirit. I have found it particularly hard not to be able to attend church and meet up with my community. Their encouragement and the interaction of sharing lives and worshipping together had always lifted my spirit. I have had to find other means to achieve this with an online church and small groups, this helps. Otherwise, I must be satisfied with solitude, meditation, and prayer, but this was the way of the hermits and contemplatives, and they had a rich relationship with God. One of my favorite contemplative authors is Thomas Merton, I read one of his prayers today that resonated with me, so I will share it with you.

My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore I will trust you always though
I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Facing the second half of life, knowing you are more vulnerable, you can trust the One who will never leave you to face your perils alone. You also still have much to give, to help nourish the generations below, the wisdom of experience and compassion for those who are struggling in their life’s circumstances.

Surprise! You may think you have nothing to offer but you still have time to bloom. Yes, there are winter flowering plants! In the northern hemisphere, the hellebores and snowdrops still cheer in the middle of winter snow, and the lovely aloes in the southern hemisphere when all is dry and drab sing forth their joy with orange and red spikes of cheer.

3 Comments

  1. Betsy McPeak
    Betsy McPeak on November 28, 2020 at 4:15 pm

    Sobering, yet beautiful thoughts on the vulnerability of aging. And I love the Merton quote, which puts one at ease to know that our desire to love and please God is enough. Thank you, Deryn!

    Reply
    • Deryn
      Deryn on November 29, 2020 at 11:35 am

      Thank you SO much Betsy! I am glad you enjoyed it, I was a bit dubious to post such a sobering thought , but then it is part of our life’s transitions. I have always enjoyed Thomas Merton as a contemplative.

      Reply
  2. Yvonne
    Yvonne on November 29, 2020 at 5:26 pm

    Thank you Deryn.

    I was touched by what you said about being in the “autumn” of our lives. I guess ages 1-25 years of age is Spring, 25-50 years of age is summer and 50-75 years is autumn, so I am in the category. And 75 onwards is winter……………

    This is also an autumn, like we have never had before.

    And can be quite lonely, we just have to keep busy as much as possible for our mental wellbeing.

    Walking is such a good exercise for us all………………..clears the mind and fills our lungs with when we have clean, fresh country air.

    I also liked the prayer Deryn…………..

    Yvonne x

    Reply

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