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["Mr. Holland’s Opus": Leaving a Legacy, Citation: Mr. Holland’s Opus, (Hollywood Pictures, 1995), rated PG, written by Patrick Sheane Duncan, directed by Stephen Herek; submitted by Greg Asimakoupoulos, Naperville, Illinois]
Mr. Holland’s Opus is a movie about a frustrated composer in Portland, Oregon, who takes a job as a high school band teacher in the 1960s.
Although diverted from his lifelong goal of achieving critical fame as a classical musician, Glenn Holland (played by Richard Dreyfuss) believes his school job is only temporary.
At first he maintains his determination to write an opus or a concerto by composing at his piano after putting in a full day with his students.
But, as family demands increase (including discovery that his infant son is deaf) and the pressures of his job multiply, Mr. Holland recognizes that his dream of leaving a lasting musical legacy is merely a dream.
At the end of the movie we find an aged Mr. Holland fighting in vain to keep his job.
The board has decided to reduce the operating budget by cutting the music and drama program.
No longer a reluctant band teacher, Mr. Holland believes in what he does and passionately defends the role of the arts in public education.
What began as a career detour became a 35-year mission, pouring his heart into the lives of young people.
Mr. Holland returns to his classroom to retrieve his belongings a few days after school has let out for summer vacation.
He has taught his final class.
With regret and sorrow, he fills a box with artifacts that represent the tools of his trade and memories of many meaningful classes.
His wife and son arrive to give him a hand.
As they leave the room and walk down the hall, Mr. Holland hears some noise in the auditorium.
Because school is out, he opens the door to see what the commotion is.
To his amazement he sees a capacity audience of former students and teaching colleagues and a banner that reads "Goodbye, Mr. Holland."
Those in attendance greet Mr. Holland with a standing ovation while a band (consisting of past and present members) plays songs they learned at his hand.
His wife, who was in on the surprise reception, approaches the podium and makes small talk until the master of ceremonies, the governor of Oregon, arrives.
The governor is none other than a student Mr. Holland helped to believe in herself his first year of teaching.
As she addresses the room of well-wishers, she speaks for the hundreds who fill the auditorium:
"Mr. Holland had a profound influence in my life (on a lot of lives, I know), and yet I get the feeling that he considers a great part of his life misspent.
Rumor had it he was always working on this symphony of his, and this was going to make him famous and rich (probably both).
But Mr. Holland isn’t rich and he isn’t famous.
At least not outside our little town.
So it might be easy for him to think himself a failure, but he’d be wrong.
Because I think he’s achieved a success far beyond riches and fame."
Looking at her former teacher the governor gestures with a sweeping hand and continues, "Look around you.
There is not a life in this room that you have not touched, and each one of us is a better person because of you.
We are your symphony, Mr. Holland.
We are the melodies and the notes of your opus.
And we are the music of your life."
Russell Brownworth
In a sermon several weeks ago I referred to a man I couldn’t reach. John was ex-Navy, a heavy drinker and a violent man. He was very personable when you first met him; when he drank enough beer the demons took over. I must confess that, until I met John I always thought people were born with a good nature, and, if they wound-up on the wrong side of things, had just somehow made a wrong turn. John taught me better.
John had married Rosemary only a few months before I met him; it was his fourth time at the marriage license bureau – her second. A few weeks after Rosemary joined our church, John came down the aisle also. We baptized him and it seemed they would escape the divorce statistic hanging over multiple marriages. Rosemary thought she could get John to quit drinking; she was wrong. It seems I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t reach John.
The crisis came less than a month after John’s baptism. The honeymoon had ended and John began drinking again. One night, late, Rosemary showed up at the parsonage door. She was bruised and scared. Elizabeth and I took her in, and I went to see John the next day. When I drove up to their front yard I was greeted by a strange sight. John had stuck empty beer cans on the end of every branch of the small orange tree in front of their trailer. The sign at the bottom of the tree read: This is for you, preacher man.
John was very drunk but still somewhat coherent…and very loud. He greeted me at the front door and invited me in. I only asked, John, how can I help? John talked angrily for the next twenty minutes. Finally, he looked at me with a hatred that wasn’t his own and said, I’m going to make a minister out of you.
Later that day Rosemary asked if we would accompany her to the trailer to get her clothes. We drove up and I went in first. He was calm and seemed reasonably sobered. He agreed to let Rosemary come in and get her belongings. When she came in he immediately began to threaten her. At one point he went to get his pistol. I urged Rosemary to forget her clothes and leave; it was a bad idea to come back. She was determined to get her clothing. When she went to the closet, John re-entered the room waving a pistol – a very BIG pistol! (I must say it looked a lot bigger from the wrong end of the barrel). After several tense moments John allowed us to return to the car where Elizabeth was waiting.
Several months later we got a letter from Rosemary thanking us for our help, and saying that she had settled in another state. Not long after that we heard about John – on the evening news. He had threatened people outside a K-Mart store with his pistol, and when the police showed up he committed suicide. A painfully tortured mind and life came to a wasted end.
Was John saved? I don’t know; I am not equipped to judge that. He made a profession of faith and was baptized, but his behavior never changed. That leads me to an opinion he never really believed – never really trusted Christ. It is only an opinion – God knows the real truth. Beyond opinion, however, it is true beyond any doubt that saved people have a Savior; John’s savior, what he really seemed to trust-in was Budweiser.
Now the point of John’s story, a painful reminder of my own failure, is that we cannot save ourselves – and, without Jesus, I’m just the same as John. Many people would say that the only difference is that alcohol made John do the things he did; John’s problem was alcohol, not sin. The alcohol only loosened-up John’s inhibitions to do those things which were already on the inside. The reality is we all have those things on the inside; the doctrine of total depravity teaches us that! Every human being on the face of this planet who has ever lived was/is capable of doing whatever horrific deed you can dream up. This is why we need a Savior.
True story happened Friday in Montreal
- A hospital patient who insisted on lighting a cigarette while hooked to an oxygen supply caused a small explosion, according to a hospital spokesperson.
The 73-year-old, who suffered minor burns in the blast, had been told not to light up but she ignored the warnings, said Luc Perreault of LaSalle Hospital Centre.
``She’s lucid and independent,’’ Perreault said yesterday. ``She’d been told. She read the directives about not smoking.’’
Flames were doused quickly after the blast occurred Thursday night and damage was minor.
One hospital worker suffered hand burns. Several patients were moved to another area of the hospital. The smoker was put in intensive care, minus her cigarettes and lighter.
Perreault said that under the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, the hospital did not have the right to remove the patient’s lighter before the accident occurred.
``We can’t take away personal belongings,’’ Perreault said.
``It’s not a prison.’’
The 73-year-old’s name was not disclosed.
Leadership of the hospital, those in charge told 73 year not to light up, but did it anyway. What happens? Kaboom!
{HOW FOOTBALL IS RELATIVE TO CHURCH}
1.QUATERBACK SNEAK-CHURCH MEMBERS QUIETLY LEAVING DURING THE CLOSING HYMN.
2.DRAW PLAY-WHAT MANY KIDS DO WITH THE ORDER OF
SERVICE DURING WORSHIP.
3.HALF TIME-THE PERIOD BETWEEN SUNDAY SCHOOL AND WORSHIP WHEN MANY CHOOSE TO LEAVE.
4.TRAP PLAY-YOU"RE CALLED ON TO PRAY AND ARE A SLEEP.
5.SYAYING IN THE POCKET-WHAT HAPPENS TO ALOT OF MONEY THAT SHOULD BE GIVING TO THE LORD"S WORK.
6.BENCHWARMER-THOSE WHO DO NOT PRAY,SING,WORK,OR APPARENTLY DO ANY THING BUT SIT.
7.TWO-MINUTE WARNING-THE POINT AT WHICH YOU REALIZE THE SERMON IS ALMOST OVER AND BEGIN TO GATHER UP THE CHILDREN AND BELONGINGS.
8.SUDEN DEATH-WHAT HAPPENS T...
Jeff Strite
A Philosopher named Haserot, once observed Dutch housewives wrapping their household belongings in pieces of canvas. Upon closer examination he discovered that the women were wrapping their goods in actual paintings by the Dutch artist Rembrandt.
These women saw a value in the canvas based upon its usefulness to them.
But they missed the canvas’ true worth.
Growing up as a missionary kid in the De. Rep. of the Congo, we were forced out of our mission station by communist rebels in 1964. I was only 8 years old at the time; but I remember that our family, with 20 others white people on the station had received a radio message that the rebels were close by, and we only had about an hour to get out. We only had one Chevy Suburban on the station for 25 people. We all took a half hour to pack. The women and kids went in that vehicle. Another vehicle came to get the men left behind. Many of the Congolese Christians were killed, or died of starvation during this time. Other missionaries were killed in other parts of the country. Our missionstation was looted and burned. We lost all of our belongings, but the Lord spared our lives. The Lord did protect us. I am thankful that the Lord helped me to not have any feelings of hatred against those who destroyed my Congolese friends and the placed that I had lived.
In 1996 a Spanish man visiting Stockholm on business stood to inherit about a million dollars, according to an October newspaper account in Germany’s daily Bild. Eduardo Perez had stopped off to pray at a Roman Catholic church and signed the guest book of a man whose body lay there in a coffin. Perez was later notified that the deceased, real-estate developer Jens Svenson, had died without heirs and had specified that "whoever prays for my soul gets all my belongings."
News of the Weird
A woman in West Palm Beach, Florida, died alone at the age of 71. The coroner’s report was tragic. “Cause of death: Malnutrition.” The dear old lady wasted away to 50 pounds. Investigators who found her said the place where she lived was a veritable pigpen, the biggest mess you could imagine. One seasoned inspector declared he’d never seen a residence in greater disarray.
The woman had begged food at her neighbors’ back doors and gotten what clothes she had from the Salvation Army. From all outward appearances she was a penniless recluse, a pitiful and forgotten widow. But such was not the case.
Amid the jumble of her unclean, disheveled belongings, two keys were found which led the officials to safe-deposit boxes at two different local banks. What they found was absolutely unbelievable.
The first contained over 700 AT&T stock certificates, plus hundreds of other valuable certificates, bonds, and solid financial securities, not to mention a stack of cash amounting to nearly $200,000. The second box had no certificates, only more currency—lots of it—$600,000 to be exact. Adding the net worth of both box...
You do not have to travel very far in any direction before you come across somebody who is away from the influence and authority of the Father.
I can remember two such incidents. I was once visiting a church pastor in Kings Cross, Central London. As I made my farewell I stepped out onto the stairs leading to the ground. There just a few feet from the pastor’s home was a man mainlining on heroin. When he saw me he quickly gathered up his belongings and hurried away apologizing. This man was geographically close to the Father; he was right by the pastor’s place. Yet he was in a far country when it came to his relationship with God.
THE REAL MCCOY
It was about a seventy-two-year-old Baptist preacher names Charles McCoy.
McCoy was pastoring a Baptist church in Oyster Bay, New York, when at age seventy-two he was told by his denomination to retire.
A lifelong bachelor, he had cared for his mother for as long as she lived.
In his spare time he had earned seven university degrees, including two Ph.D.’s.
But now, at age seventy-two, he was being forced to retire from the ministry.
He was depressed.
“I just lay on my bed thinking that my life’s over, and I haven’t really done anything yet.
I’ve been pastor of this church for so many years and nobody really wants me much—what have I done for Christ?
I’ve spent an awful lot of time working for degrees, but what does that count for?
I haven’t won very many to the Lord.”
A week later he met a Christian pastor from India, and on impulse asked him to preach in his church.
After the service, the Indian pastor asked him to return the favour.
Since he had preached for McCoy, would McCoy come to India and preach for him?
McCoy told him that he was going to have to retire and move to a home for the elderly down in Florida.
But the Indian pastor insisted, telling McCoy that where he came from, people respected a man when his hair turns white. Would he come?
McCoy thought and prayed about it and decided he would.
The members of his church were horrified.
Dire predictions were made.
The young chairman of his board of deacons summed up the attitude of the congregation when he asked, “What if you die in India?”
McCoy’s answer was classic. He told him “it’s just as close to heaven from there -as it is from here.”
McCoy sold most of his belongings, put what was left in a trunk, and booked a one-way passage to India—his first trip ever outside the United States!
When he arrived in Bombay, he discovered to his horror that his trunk was lost.
All he had were the clothes on his back, his wallet, his passport, and the address of missionaries in Bombay he had clipped from a missionary magazine when he left.
He asked for directions, got on a bus and headed for their house.
When he got there, he discovered that while he was on the bus his wallet and passport had been stolen!
He went to the missionaries who welcomed him in, but who told him the man who had invited him to come to India was still in the U.S.A. and would probably remain there indefinitely.
What was McCoy going to do now they wanted to know?
Unperturbed, McCoy told them he had come to preach and that he would try to make an appointment with the mayor of Bombay.
They warned him that the mayor was very busy and important and that in all the years they had been missionaries there, they had never succeeded in getting an appointment with him.
Nevertheless, McCoy set out for the mayor’s office the next day—and he got in!
When the mayor saw McCoy’s business card, listing all his degrees, he reasoned that McCoy must not be merely a Christian pastor, but someone much more important.
Not only did he get an appointment, but the mayor held a tea in his honour, attended by all of the big officials in Bombay!
Old Dr. McCoy was able to preach to these leaders for half an hour.
Among them was the director of India’s West Point, the National Defence Academy at Poona.
He was so impressed at what he heard that he invited McCoy to preach there.
Thus at age seventy-two, God Gave Dr Charles McCoy a brand new, sixteen-year ministry.
Until he died at age eighty-eight, this dauntless old man circled the globe preaching the gospel.
There is a church in Calcutta today because of his preaching and a thriving band of Christians in Hong Kong because of his faithful ministry.
He never had more than enough money than to get him to the next place he was to go.
He died one afternoon at a hotel in Calcutta, resting before a meeting he was to preach at that evening.
He had indeed found himself as close to heaven there -as he would have been at his church in Oyster Bay, New York, or in a retirement home in Florida.
It was incongruous—an old man, waiting to die at the age seventy-two, left everything he had ever known in response to God’s call to go and preach around the world.
(Franklin Graham, with Jeanette Lockerbie, Bob Pierce, This One Thing I Do (Waco, Tex.: Word, 1983), pp. 115-21)
