Lyrical autobiography

Have you noticed how some songs will come around and around again?  Maybe not in terms of popularity, but in the way they speak to you?  It can be the same with the holy texts.  Somehow, a interpretation you had at 14 is still part of you when you’re 23.  Yet that early-twenties experience is new and fresh.  The layers build with successive readings to deepen the encounter with the text and the God to whom it points.  As with scripture, so songs speak to me.

Before I enrolled in an upper level preaching class (Preaching the Parables), I’d already been fascinated with the story of the Persistent Widow and the Unjust Judge.  But working through that text in preparation for a sermon, paper, and defense steeped me in a greater appreciation of what God was saying through Jesus’ parabolic teaching.  Then, into the parish I went and the text became part of my survival, thriving, and ministry to those who also were trying to resurface from challenges at hand.  Just as my Creator has charged me never to give up, so I urge others. 

 

2 He said, “There was once a judge in some city who never gave God a thought and cared nothing for people. 3 A widow in that city kept after him: ‘My rights are being violated. Protect me!’ 4 “He never gave her the time of day. But after this went on and on he said to himself, ‘I care nothing what God thinks, even less what people think. 5 But because this widow won’t quit badgering me, I’d better do something and see that she gets justice – otherwise I’m going to end up beaten black and blue by her pounding.'” (Luke 18: 2-5, The Message)

It’s safe to say that I’ve had more than one person’s share of struggles.  I won’t belabor the details here.  They could very well be too personal for such a venue.  But the Widow’s persistence, for me, became representative of God’s persistence with us.  Our Creator who made us in God’s own image and endowed us with life, choice, and great love will never give up on us.  Ever.  Even to the very end.  Why?  Because God’s nature is love.  So, why should I give up on myself or others?

Yes, sometimes one must walk away from a fight, but the fighter still remains.  So, as I consider a song that describes me, I come to Simon & Garfunkel’s “The Boxer.”   Although the metaphor breaks plainly down when he arrives at the ladies on 7th Avenue.  “The Boxer” was a song that stirred me as a youth and moves me more today.  That, my friends, is good music.

Discover Yourself

The Lenten Season is a time for reflection.  Lately, I’ve been thinking back over the fact that I possess no memories of a time before I knew myself to be a follower of Jesus, a singer, a reader and lover of stories, or an artist.  I contrast, I distinctly remember that I began writing in middle school.  Angsty poems, love poems, broken-heart poems, God-praise poems.  Stuff that turns my stomach now.  Over time, I published various contributions in school literary magazines. 

 In graduate school, I wrote many liturgical texts, some of which were collected in a seminary publication.  It seems that collection has been distributed widely because, from time to time, I find my texts at various churches’ websites or in their newsletters, such as this one from March 15, 2009 St. Pius X Parish:

 

O God of Wounded Hands,

who scoops us up out of lifeless clay,

who shapes us and sculpts us to reflect yourself;

 O God of Wounded Hands, who breathes life into us,

who knows our limited humanness and becomes like us;

O God of Wounded Hands,

who suffers the piercing and torment of your own flesh,

heal us.

Knit together our wounded places, our deep pain, 

so that we may move to reconcile

our relationships with you

and our kinships with our sisters and brothers

from whom we are estranged.

In you, O God who works through woundedness

to create wholeness.

Amen.

 

© 2000 (If you want to use this text, please contact me for permission.) 

 

As I reflect, my learnings are these:  

• Reading grows me.  
• Art unveils what lies in my depths.  
• Singing expresses what flows within me. 
• Writing helps me to discover who I am. 

The thing is, writing helps me to discover my faith, too.  What is deep down inside there?  What’s on the surface waiting to be scratched. I wonder what helps you to discover who you are?  Are you working on the process of finding who you are and who God dreams for you to be?

Put on Your Dancing Shoes

Recently,  I went dancing.  A late 70s/early 80s era Jukebox from a nearby Pizza Hut cranked out tunes on the 45 player.  I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun.  Of course, oldies but goodies filled the machine.  Songs like “Crazy” by Patsy Cline, “I Will Always Love You” by Dolly Parton, and “Unchained Melody”  by the Righteous Brothers rolled out into the evening.  Best of all, “Dancing Queen” by Abba stirred memories of ye olden days.

Whenever the stressors of full course loads and part-time jobs overcame us, grad school classmates danced away our woes.  Picture a motley crew of seminarians jumping up and down in time with those golden sounds.   Can you imagine?  I seem to remember some of us climbing trees and swinging on the playground.   Some days, I wish we could recreate those kinds of releasing, refreshing moments for an hour or two.  Parish life calls us to reality.

As for dancing in the Bible, despite the church-teaching in the movie “Footloose” and in many congregations of my youth or childhood, it’s in there and it is good.  Dancing is a form of worship and of praise. 

• Psalm 150: 4 — Praise him with tambourine and dance; praise him with strings and pipe!
• Ecclesiastes 3:4 — a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance
• Jeremiah 31:13 —  Then shall the young women rejoice in the dance, and the young men and the old shall be merry. I will turn their mourning into joy, I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow.
• Psalm 30: 1 — You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
• 2 Samuel 6; 1 Chronicles 13, 15 —  King David goes dancing with wild abandon as he leads the ark of the covenant.

How I wish I could dance well!  My mother gave it her best effort.  Tap and ballet classes were all opportunities afforded me by my parents.  I still remember positions 1 and  5 and how to do a plie.  My progression in dancing skills didn’t advance past 1985.    Trust me.

Some years ago, I stumbled upon a wonderful compilation of songs that, for the most part, make me want to dance.  If I need to clean house or rock out some chores that don’t need clear thought, I’ll crank up the volume and jam to “I’m Every Woman” and “If You Could Read My Mind.”  For boldness, there is “I Will Survive” and “I Am What I Am.”   And for those other times, “It’s Raining Men” and “Finally” turn tears into laughter.

What are your dancing songs? 

Wood Song

God spoke: “Lights! Come out! Shine in Heaven’s sky! Separate Day from Night. Mark seasons and days and years, Lights in Heaven’s sky to give light to Earth.” And there it was. God made two big lights, the larger to take charge of Day, The smaller to be in charge of Night; and he made the stars. God placed them in the heavenly sky to light up Earth And oversee Day and Night, to separate light and dark. God saw that it was good. It was evening, it was morning – Day Four.  (Genesis 1: 14-19, The Message)

Day Four of the Creation.  Lights shine out in the darkness.  From the moment I first heard the Indigo Girls singing “Closer to Fine” on “The Today Show,” it was a moment of light breaking forth out of darkness.  It was clarity, expansion and resonance.   I’ve always found the Girls’ songs to be expressions of Saturday night spirituality.  God winds a way into the lyrics, sounds, beat, and audience, making the secular experience a holy one, as close to Sunday morning worship as many of us will come.  Emily and her father (my seminary professor) wrote about music and spirituality, as well as the Saturday night/Sunday morning in their book A Song to Sing, a Life to Live.

One of the songs that deeply touches me is “Wood Song.”  It’s the fiddle.   It’s the line about “bruising our brains hard up against change.”  It’s the chorus about tired old wood held down by the weight of love.  It’s the thought of courage necessary to make a crossing, to seek a new path, to ask a hard question, to stare doubt in the face.  I can’t help but hear overtones of Noah’s brave steps to build and embark upon a mysterious vessel of gopher wood.  For you see,

It was the six-hundredth year of Noah’s life, in the second month, on the seventeenth day of the month that it happened: all the underground springs erupted and all the windows of Heaven were thrown open. (Genesis 7:14, The Message)

The year I learned to hate bumper cars

What was your first concert? 

The earliest memory I can draw up is of the Appalachian Fair.  Eddie Rabbit sang “I’m Driving My Life Away” and “I Love a Rainy Night.” 

That was when I learned to hate bumper cars.  It was even the last time I remember our family of four going to the fair.  Probably from all the trauma.  Mom and Dad had bought just so many tickets for the rides.  Ferris wheels were fabulous.  Carousels were comforting.  But we got to the end of the evening and there were only enough ticket left for two more people to ride one more ride. 

Rather than show preference for either me or my sister (2 years 5 months younger than I), our parents insisted we ride together without them.  Why we chose the bumper cars, I’ll never know.  We’d never ridden them before. 

I remember the sick feeling of drunken butterflies in my stomach.  You know what I mean.  The happy butterflies indicate good things are happening.  The drunken ones mean, “RUN!” 

We climbed into the red, shiny car.  (Is that why I still don’t like red cars?)  Our parents assured us, we could manage.  It all came to a screeching, banging halt — quite literally — when my sister’s face connected with the steering wheel and blood went gushing from her mouth.  I still feel nauseated at bumper cars.

After that, I don’t really remember a concert.  Until sometime in college.  Maybe it was our Junior year.  The college brought a regional band called “The Connells.”  My roommate and I designed the T-shirt.  A good friend of our loved them.  But then, he’d grown up near their home base and had heard them a few times.  Honestly, I don’t even remember a song.

The first concert I really have vivid memories of came from my Atlanta days.  Music Midtown.  My friend J and hopped the Marta line from Inman Park (the earliest suburb of Atlanta — quite cool architecture!).  J knew what she was doing.  I had the drunken butterflies on Marta; the happy ones when we arrived in Midtown; the drunken ones again as we felt the crowds begin pressing in on us as we stood at the front of the open-air makeshift theatre. 

Paula Cole was opening for the Indigo Girls — our favorites.  It’s when I became a fan of Paula’s.  Most people remember her for the theme song for “Dawson’s Creek” — “I Don’t Want to Wait.”  But I loved “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone.”  Her lyricism and range, artistry and movement were entrancing.   Her sass inspired me.

Later in the night, the Indigo Girls came on.  We sang along to “Galileo,” of course.  It was the first time I heard a song called “Scooter Boys.”  I remember my friend and I got into a debate over that one.  Over those years of grad school, I’d hear the Girls a few times.  I’ve seen them once since.  There’s something about a live experience of those ladies that is very special. 

But, I’ll tell you what.  Though I love hearing Emily and Amy live, I’d rather listen to Harry Connick, Jr. on a recording any day.  A group of us went to hear him at the Fox Theatre (which is an amazing space).  Being the poor grad students we were, we bought the cheapest tickets.  Sure enough, we climbed to the very top row.  Harry disappeared behind one of the joints of my thumb.  But it was still better than the time I learned to hate bumper cars.

Oh, and Harry never fails to make me smile.  Good antidote to the bumper cars.

Confession: It All Started with Billy Budd

Whether I’m reading a book or watching a television program, I do it. I can’t help myself when taking in a movie. From time to time, while reading an article in a newspaper or magazine, it’s almost a compulsive response. These days, it’s gotten so bad, that I even do it while reading a tweet. It even just happened when a friend posted a clip of Tracy Chapman singing “Talkin’ about a Revolution” back in 1988.

Mrs. Reed got me hooked when I was in the twelfth grade. I was only 16 years old when she had us read Herman Melville’s Billy Budd. Our Advanced Placement class took on a variety of assignments. Mine was to interpret the Christ-like qualities of the title character. I’ve never been the same since.

Not long after Billy Budd came T.S. Elliot’s “Journey of the Magi.”  My obsession was building. Two years later, I was on a short-list of classmates who enjoyed our college-required “Great Books” class (all except for The Princes of Cleves, that is). Whatever the story, layered symbolism drew me. Stepping through the successive chambers of the nautilus, I discover something being said (or not said) about God.

So there it is. The truth is out. I confess: Imagery, theological and Christological, fascinates me.  I find myself enthralled at God-images present in daily life, experienced in art and music, visible on the written page and the big screen.

As with so many dualities in our world, I find there are strict and loose interpreters when it comes to spirituality in the public sphere. Some people are deeply disturbed by movies like “Bruce Almighty” and its spin-off “Evan Almighty.” Fine folks fear disrespect of the faith. Equally excellent people think: “No big deal.” Films such as these playfully and provocatively address questions about God, faith and doubt. But are they bad? Blasphemy, it seems, is in the eye of the beholder.

Personally and vocationally, when spirituality enters the secular sphere I’m thrilled. I love it when people ask God-questions, whether they know it or not. For the record, how often do regular, non-religious Joe’s and Jane’s consider God’s ominpotence, omniscience, and response to prayer?  With humor or without?  Sitting in the comfort of their own couches, those who consider themselves “spiritual-but-not-religious” (the fastest growing faith-group in America, by the way) can consider a miracle and personal responsibility of being a faithful servant of God. 

Way back in 1997, I began to hear quiet whispers about a rejected boy chosen for a curious path into an unknown world. His name was Harry. Children loved the books about him. But soon, I began to hear the strict interpreters complaining. It took me a few years to catch up because I was in the heights and depths of a seminary education and there were authors like Athanasius and Karl Rahner and Elisabeth Schussler-Fiorenza to read. By the 2001 debut of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, I had discovered a story that was the stuff of many a teaching-moment.  For there within the first few chapters of Book 1 was a tremendous illustration of Prevenient Grace.

During the same span of time, Spirituality & Health magazine linked with Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat to show how pop culture reveals spiritual themes. A few years later, the Brussats spun-off to form “Spirituality & Practice”, naming annually the most spiritually literate movies. They have successfully led me to many a wonderful film.

I suppose it all harkens back to my God-given ability to see something beautiful and life-giving, no matter the circumstance. How is God present in the most stark and desperate moments? Even, as I type, glimpses of the girl in the red coat come swirling into my mind. If I’m not careful, here comes a rush of many more.