recover his lost joy.  Or, more succinctly, to recover his heart.

Some stories are told.

Some stories change your life.

Daniel Daréus (Michael Nyqvist) wanted to live in order to create "music that opens people's hearts."

Daréus becomes a successful international conductor whose music does indeed, open people's hearts. 

His own heart, however, is in bad shape. 

And in need of repair.

Even if we don't have the words, we know (or feel) this loss.  Or absence.  In our own lives.  We know what it feels like when something is missing.  We may not be eminent conductors, but we know that what we are missing, is the music of the heart.

Who knows the reasons for a cracked or wounded heart?  In Daréus' case, he knew the loss of a father and a childhood of persistent and physical bullying.  The movie picks up after he has achieved international acclaim.  And we watch him suffer a heart attack on stage, at the end of a performance.  He "retires" from music and retreats indefinitely to Norrland, in the far north of Sweden, to the same village where he grew up and endured a thorny childhood.  Daniel buys, and lives, in the old elementary school.

It doesn't take long in a small village before the news of his distinguished presence is known.  (His name has changed since his childhood, so no one knows his "history" with the village.)  Immediately, he is invited to spend a Thursday night listening to the church choir. He is asked only to listen, and maybe "offer some helpful advice," but their intentions of persuading him to lend a hand are obvious.  Eventually, he reluctantly agrees.  And after the parish minister offers him the position of cantor, Daniel accepts.

Yes, this small town has a church choir made up of the usual motley normality of people, including (among others) Inger, the repressed wife of Stig, the parish minister; Lena, charismatic and vivacious and love interest of Daniel; Gabriella, wife of an abusive and violent husband; Siv, the town gossip; Holmfrid, overweight and insecure; Arne, obsessive-compulsive businessman; and the slow mentally-affected Tore.

Daniel accepts the challenge. 

He tells them that the music is inside. 

He tells them that each one has his or her unique tone.  They must find (or uncover) it. 

Oddly, there is no "plan" to his instruction or teaching. And yet... as he entices the group to create music that speaks to the heart, he rediscovers the joy of music that he has lost. 

But this joy comes at a price.  Whenever we find our way back into our own skin, there can be an amalgamation of love and misunderstanding and envy and accusation and power struggle and oppression. 

The truth is this: we tether our identity to any number of hitching posts, our status, our self-righteousness, our anger, our pain or our grief.And whenever we do, we give up who we are, the very reflection of God inside of us--in our hopes, dreams, creativity, yearnings, generosity--in order to placate, or impress, or please, or to just plain run and hide. 

Yes, Daniel's journey towards the healing of his "heart" is full of pain, mistakes, difficult relationships, and emotional hurt. The same is true of every one of the people in the choir.  Each one is struggling with hurt -- abuse from those they love, oppressive religious "righteousness", misunderstandings.   

But here's the deal: when the grace of unconditional love and acceptance seizes us whole (inspired by a transcendence experienced as we enter unabashedly into the music of this life), we are transformed, not from the outside in, but from the inside out.

Made up of flawed people who accept one another for who they are, the choir commits themselves to loving each other and to lovingly serve others by sharing their passion for music. As they perform, they transform the lives of others--not by imposing a false religiosity; not by demanding that certain rules be kept--but by allowing the grace they have experienced to flow through their lives and wrap around those who hear them. When we experience our full humanity, and the grace of others who accept us as we are, we can't help but spill the light.    

Heaven occurs wherever real people, who struggle with what it means to be truly human, experience gracious, unconditional acceptance.  The priest in the film is arrogant, self-righteous, puritanical and controlling. In a climactic clash between him and Inger (who has left him), the priest tells his wife to ask for God's forgiveness. In one of the most powerful and memorable lines in the movie, his wife responds unequivocally, "God doesn't forgive; He has never condemned."

The director, Kay Pollak has said that, to understand the film, we need to realize that the entire message of the movie is in this one line -- "The idea that absolute, complete love doesn't condemn." (Amanda Wilson, Sydney Morning Herald)

The power of the music represents the power of Grace. 

It is not something added to my life.

The music gives birth to what is already there.   

The movie ends at the Let the Peoples Sing choral competition in Austria. A dream for the choir, but a reminder to Daniel of the stress from his former life. Even so, he accompanies the choir. At the reception he is surrounded by the press and old colleagues. He sees his former agent who asks him, "Why Daniel, why give your life to a little church choir?"

Daniel pauses and answers, "Because they love me, and I love them."   

We only know Grace through the open arms of one another. 

Maybe it's not that we are afraid of love.
Maybe we are just afraid of not being loved back.

My week has been unnerving. I've been in a lot of pain, full body pain (it has yet to be accurately diagnosed). I was reluctant to write about it (but apparently not reluctant enough). I have appointments this week. I am learning that pain shrinks our entire world to the influence of the injury. Yes, the pain is unnerving. And not knowing, does not help. But I'm also learning that healing means I need people. And I have to confess that I've orchestrated my life to avoid that.   

This past week I spent some time in Stockton, CA with all the teachers, principals (and parish DREs) in the Diocese (a welcome back to school gathering). I didn't need to tell them anything to make them better at what they do. I just wanted to remind them that when they teach, they create music that speaks to the heart, and that music rediscovers the joy that is easily buried along the way. I guess I was just preaching to myself. And sometimes that's not a bad thing to do.