hearing and trusting the sacred with our ears NOT our minds...

The guitar became my friend, companion, mentor, source of solace, and prayer partner almost 55 years ago. My confirmation class ally and long-time friend, Ross, taught me five basic chords each Wednesday after school before we went to the "Pastor's Class" at First Congregational Church. His family had recently returned from living in the UK - and we were both obsessed with the Beatles. He had an electric guitar. So, when Sergeant Pepper came out in June 1967, Ross and I would listen with wonder and awe as we sat religiously before the family stere0. When his family vacationed on Martha's Vineyard later that summer, I practiced my ass off on those five chords so that when he returned we could start a band. Like most "garage bands" of that era, our repertoir was limitted to "Stepping Stone," "Louie, Louie," "Twist and Shout," "Midnight Hour," and "Heart Full of Soul" which we played over and over and over again. In August, we added another guitar player, a drummer - and a few months later a "lead" singer - and gave our first music house party performance in the basement of Ross's home in the company of our girlfriends and one or two others.

This coming Sunday, June 26th on what is the liturgical feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, we'll be doing another music house party. We hope to raise some funds for the Ukranian refugee resettlement work being done by the UN as well as raise the spirits of some friends during this third summer of covid. I continue to know in my soul that being together physically in the same place so sing and make music is one of the best ways to fortify ourselves for life in general and especially so in times of stress and trauma. As William Congreve wrote in 1697: "Music has charms to soothe a savage beast." 

Covid precautions have only accelerated our social isolation as Western culture has long been neglecting the spirituality of shared music. For the past 40 years, fewer and fewer people have attended public worship of any type, funding for school music programs has been slashed and trashed, the once fighting and singing union movement has been in radical decline (with a few hints of revival), and social movements - with the exception of the Poor Peoples Movement - have simply given up on public singing. A few notable exceptions during the first year of covid would include the musical doctors and nurses of Iran and the balcony singing in Italy - but they were the beautiful exceptions to the rule.

When Andy and I recently took up the challenge of teaching a diverse group of elementary school children how to play the ukulele, my own isolation bubble was exposed. "Ok, let's sing "Bingo" I suggested to which the teacher said, "Nobody knows that any more." "Old MacDonald Had a Farm?" I queried. "Nope, that's totally forgien territory, too" I was told. Each young player knew Michael Jackson. Justin Bierber and a ton of hip hop. They could all mimic the synchronized dancing so popular on Tic Toc as well. But carry a tune? Recognize a golden oldie? Or belt out what was once a standard like "Amazing Grace?" Not a chance. We ended up with "You Are My Sunshine" and returned thanks that it worked.

In John Philip Newell's most recent book, Sacred Earth/Sacred Soul, he recounts
the work of Alexander Carmichael who devoted himself to gathering, transcribing, and then translating the music and public prayers of the Hebrides in Scotland. He discovered that despite his homeland's radically rigid shift to Calvinism in the 16th century - a social and religious movement that despised and feared the arts as the work of the Devil - the old pre-Christian melodies and images continued to linger in these remote places of the land. In the Hebredes, the songs of resistance to the Clearance Movement were also alive and well although without Carmichal's collection, they were one generation from extinction. That rendered the Carminia Gadelica a monumental work of cultural preservation. Newell calls it an "icon for us today which shows the power of poetry and song in keeping alive a vision of the sacredness of the earth and every living being." He notes:

For hundreds of years in the western islands of Scotland it was song that helped the people remember that the physical and the spiritual are interwoven. It was song that was used in the cycle of the seasons and in the journey of human life to keep them connected to the heart of their being made of God. And it was song that sustained them in their times of loss, suffering, and exile. For the people of the Hebrides this was passed down in oral form. The songs, prayers, and poems were intoned by one generation to the next over many centures. Most of us today, however, do not belong to an oral tradition. We depend instead on the written world of our literary culture and the world on online communications and recordings. So, perhaps for us today, it is a matter of accenssing written prayer,s printed poetry, and recorded music to help awaken us on a daily basis to the sacred rhythm within and around us. (p. 119)    

That's not a good idea, but only as astarting place because I believe that our soul sickness requires stronger medicine including experiential encounters with shared songs. That's the foundational reason we're starting our small summer experiemtn in music house parties. We'll play a variety of tunes, from a host of sources, that evoke joy, sorrow, resistance, and lament. We'll take some time to talk about what songs stir our spirits - and try out a little group singing, too. Add our outdoor venue plus some snacks and libation... and we shall see.

If you are in the area and would like to join us, please drop me a note and I will forward to you the specifics. My prayer is that we do this one or two more times this summer - and then find other small venues to keep the groove going when the weather starts to shift.