When Vladimir Horowitz, arguably the greatest pianist of all time, sat down to perform, he had immense talent, 10 fingers, 2 feet, 3 pedals and 88 keys, each key singing a different pitch. He had, under his personal control, a veritable arsenal with which to make astounding music, and he did. He could choose the tempo, and his talent, fingers, feet, pedals and keys would all respond. He could choose the dynamics and the mood -loud, soft, joyful, agitated, serene, pensive, curious, angry– and his talent, his fingers, feet, pedals and keys would obey. And in so doing, he could move audiences to experience those same emotions. And he did.

On the other end of the spectrum lies the hand bell choir. Hand bell choirs tend to show up around Christmas, like the one I heard a few years ago. Each member of the choir was garbed in a festive red shirt and soft black gloves and had three or four bells to play.   Hand bells are not solo instruments; there isn’t a lot to do with three or four bells, each of which plays just one note.  But together they comprise one instrument.  It is like each person is assigned a few keys on the piano — together all the notes are covered but no one person can make music alone.

Hand bell choirs are remarkable instruments of trust and community.  Each person must work independently, but with a keen ear to what everyone else is doing.  No one can cover someone else’s missing note, because no one else has the right bell.   Each person has to be ready to play their note at exactly the right time with consistent volume and tone. Each member of the choir has to express and convey, and probably feel, the same emotional connection to the music. It would not do for one member to feel agitation and another wistful longing. It would just not work.

Each member of the bell choir has to measure the passage of time alike — the same number of beats at the same tempo, as if all shared a common heartbeat.

While all members of the choir have to measure time equivalently, they clearly have different ways of experiencing it, which I have loosely classified into three distinct styles.

First, there are the counters, precisely counting each beat.  You can watch them move their lips, silently counting 1,2,3,4,1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and…They tap their feet, they nod their heads. (This might be me… just maybe)

Then there are the economists.  These players exhibit an economy of motion so pronounced that they barely move at all.  Concentrating intensely, they stand rigid, waiting for the moment to ring their bell with a precise and efficient flick of the wrist.

The dancers move enough to make up for the spare motions of the economists.  They don’t count with their minds, but instead their entire bodies swing, sway, and bounce with the beat.

The dancers must drive the economists crazy.  And vice versa.   Bell choir members must do whatever works for them individually, but also respect the disparate styles and techniques of others in the group.    They each must do their part and depend on the others to do their parts, so they learn to accept that there is more than one right way to play, that doing things differently is not the same as doing things wrong, and that in fact, there is much to be learned from each other’s styles.

What really matters is getting the right tone on the right beat, with the right feel, by whatever means necessary.  And when that happens, despite personal differences, music emerges.

Since everyone has to do their part and can ONLY do their part, there are no stars in a hand bell choir. Everyone’s notes are equally important.  It is just as important to be silent at the right times as it is to play out at the right time.  There can be no heroes. No one can steal the show.  Those who try to play louder, stronger or faster… well, they are not leaders—they are just wrong.  Each person becomes like a different vital organ in a single human body.  Each person is indispensable, but no more indispensable than anyone else. 

A hand bell choir is not about the individual, but rather the cooperative, communal, interdependent ensemble. The economists have to respect and trust the dancers. The counters have to count for themselves but honor that there are equally valid ways to keep time. All members of a hand bell choir have to recognize that the underlying emotion of the music is communal and deeply human, despite outward differences in style.

What a concept.

We all need to recognize that our underlying humanity is universal, despite outward differences in style, identity or perspective.

Perhaps we should all join a hand bell choir.

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In my job and as a parent, I have probably heard close to 100 commencement speeches over the years. If I am honest, I must admit that I really only remember a few of them. One that has stood out in my mind was given at my then-boyfriend’s (now husband’s) college graduation in 1979. The speaker shared this parable.

Once upon a time, a very busy and harried man was trying to get some work done in his home office and his young daughter was pestering him endlessly.  This small child could not be pacified with Cheerios or toys— she would settle for nothing less than her father’s full attention. Finally, in frustration, he asked the little girl if she would help him with his work. She eagerly agreed. The man tore out a page of a magazine that featured a complicated map of the world.   He pretended to accidentally tear it into many pieces and asked the girl to fix it for him, like a jigsaw puzzle.  The man thought that the task would take the child a long time, and would buy him some time to get some work done, but she finished very quickly.  The father, now impressed with his child’s brilliance, asked how she had done this so in such a short time.  The girl replied, “On the back of the page, there was a picture of a person.  I put the person together and the world turned out just fine.”

When I first heard that story, back in my early twenties, it resonated deeply.  At that time, I had spent the previous two decades developing my skills and trying to put myself – the person – together to find out who I really was. And, I will say, that work continued for many years—even, to some extent to today.

But over 40 years later, I tend to think the exact opposite; if I focus on the world, I — the person — will be just fine. At this stage, I realize that I am not my most important project – not even close.

Because, I understand that we are all members of a hand bell choir: different people, living different lives, with different perspectives and identities, but really just humans, each trying to make our way in the world. Very occasionally, we can be like Vladmir Horowitz, with his incredible talent, ten fingers, 2 feet, 3 pedals and 88 keys—and we can achieve things as soloists. But much more frequently we are limited to being able to play 3 or 4 notes and must try to play them at the right time and rely on others to help us achieve a goal.

Some people in our hand bell choirs will be dancers, some will be economists, some counters. Some won’t fit neatly into any of those categories. Some people will try to be the loudest, fastest and strongest. Some will be timid and so afraid of making a mistake that they won’t play at all. Some people will drive us absolutely crazy, will bring out the worst in us, will make us want to scream.

So be it.

Let’s go right ahead and scream. But not AT them. Maybe in the shower.

As members of our hand bell choir, they each need to be treated with dignity, honor and compassion. There is never a justification for making someone feel small, insignificant or unworthy. Everyone’s style needs to be respected and there is always something to learn from each other. The members of our hand bell choirs need to develop trust, compassion and cooperation—for then and only then—can music emerge.

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