Strength and Weakness

When Jason Gray photobombs your selfie!

I had the pleasure of bumping into my friend, singer-songwriter Jason Gray, last week. It was quite a fun coincidence. I knew he was coming to my town of Salem, OR for a concert on Sunday and we were actually hosting him in our home on Sunday night. Lorie and I were flying back from Dallas, TX on Friday and guess who was seated behind us?

I got to know Jason, before he became “famous.” We were both partners in a child sponsorship ministry several years ago and traveled together to Africa on a mission trip.

If you are a fan of his music, you know that one of the themes that Jason writes and sings about so eloquently is “weakness.” He makes the case better than anyone I know that God’s strength is experienced in our weakness. He uses his own handicap as an example. Jason is a stutterer. You don’t have to be around him very long to discover this.  Yet, Jason is one of the best communicators that I know. Kind of ironic, isn’t it? He doesn’t try to hide it. He even makes jokes about it from the stage.

In addition to being an amazing musician, Jason is also a terrific storyteller. His stories reinforce his theme of weakness, as he shares openly and transparently about his own life. He makes the point that when we share our weaknesses and our failings with others, we are able to truly get to know each other better, like each other more and relate to each other honestly. He even quips from the stage about his stuttering, “now that you know that about me… I bet you like me just a little bit more.”

Oh how I need to be reminded of that. It is okay to have weakness, it is alright to share our weakness. In this age of social media, we spend way too much time trying to make ourselves “look good.” Through Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, we put our lives under a microscope, yet work furiously to make sure people only see our best side.

I am inspired by people like Jason. I want to be more like him when it comes to being honest and transparent about my life. It is one of the reasons my newer presentations have been personal stories from my life. It has been freeing to tell my stories and to hear people afterwards thank me for being transparent and talking openly about my struggles and failures. Through that process they see that they we are not alone. (Check out Truth be Told…from a Guy Who Makes Stuff Up and Go Ask Your Mother…a Father’s Story)

Take a listen to one of my favorites of Jason’s. I think it is one of his strongest pieces and it is called “Weak.”

Sacred Cymbals

Drums in fireWhen I was a kid I played drums.

Well, actually, a drum would be more accurate.

I signed up for band in school and, much to my parents’ chagrin, chose the drum as my instrument. So I got one of those practice pads—a piece of rubber glued to a piece of wood—and some sticks. It would be a few years before I would get a real drum and then a few more before I would get my first drum set.  I loved my drum. My parents loved my practice pad.

When I was a kid I also went to church…a lot. I was involved in youth group and youth choir, and I was in the church for every service—which back then was a minimum of three times a week—Sunday morning, Sunday evening and Wednesday night prayer meetings.  I loved my church.

Back in the 1960s music in church was pretty traditional: we had a choir, and a piano and organ accompaniment. On very rare occasions a talented adult or student who played a trumpet, clarinet or flute might be invited to play for “special music,” usually during the offering. Oddly, this invitation was never extended to a drummer. (Although I could play bongo drums at a youth retreat to accompany “Kumbaya My Lord.”)

It was stated unapologetically that drums were not a suitable instrument for church music, and certainly not appropriate for the platform. The platform—that was what non-liturgical churches like mine called the chancel area. While not liturgical, the platform was still considered a “sacred space” and the items on the platform had symbolic significance. There was a communion table, which contained the Welch’s grape juice and saltine crackers on Communion Sunday and a large super-sized Bible on the Sundays when communion was not served. There was a pulpit, where the Word of God would be proclaimed each week, and behind the pulpit was a cross on the center wall. Under that cross was the baptismal (for you non-Baptists, that is a large tub filled with water, big enough for two people.)

There were usually no musical instruments on the platform. The piano and organ flanked each side of the platform and in our church were actually on the floor, not the platform.

I’ll never forget the Sunday night that things changed. I was invited to bring my drum and a cymbal and set it up beside the piano and to play, yes play my drum, to one song. Oh, the thrill I felt. I was going to play my drum in church. It was nothing too jazzy and certainly not rock-n-roll. The song was Onward Christian Soldiers and I would tap out a march to match the military cadence of the song. I felt like the little drummer boy in the Christmas carol: pa rum pum pum pum.

My how times have changed…

Today it is rare to go in to a church and not see a drum set. Even in more liturgical churches. The church has changed, music styles have changed and the platform has changed.

Today the drums in many churches are right in the center of the platform. My theater background has taught me that center stage is the strongest area of the stage. Often the most important moments in a play will take place center stage. Yep, right about where that drum set is located. Of all instruments, drums can be the most difficult to move and reset, so it is not surprising that the drums stay put from week to week. Where it used to be a drummer would cart his drums to church, today the church may actually own the drum set…I am pretty sure this would be considered blasphemy in the church of my youth.

Because drums and drummers can be loud, many churches place the drums in a “drummer’s cage” —it consists of clear Plexiglas walls complete with a roof to muffle the sound of the drums. It is a sort of prison cell for drummers. Drummers have heard it all their lives: “you’re too loud!” The phrase “it is meant to be seen and not heard” was invented for drummers. The drummer’s cage now reinforces that.

Thinking back to the symbolism of the traditional items found on the platform, I can’t help but think there may be symbolism for many in putting the drums in a cage. You have the communion table and the sacraments, the Bible, the pulpit, the baptismal and the cross on the wall.

And under the cross is a cage containing a drum set. With so many symbols of the Christian faith on the platform it is time to complete the picture, to add another cymbal symbol and show the consequence of our sin.

A caged man, a man in bondage surrounded by drums…obviously for many this must symbolize hell.

Praise him with the clash of cymbals, praise him with resounding cymbals. Psalm 150: 5

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 1 Corinthians 13:1

The Dark Side of Art

Dark_side_ChuckLast week I did something I thought I would never do.

I went to a heavy metal concert.

Not just any heavy metal concert, but a sub-genre known as “doom metal.”

Yes, that “Christian actor guy”—that same guy that does a show featuring the famous catch-phrase “What would Jesus do?”—found himself in a dark room with people wearing dark clothes listening to some very dark music… and doing this around midnight… way past my bedtime.

Why, you may ask?

Well, a couple of reasons. One, it bothers me when people condemn art without first experiencing it, be it music, film, theater or visual art. Christians, myself included, are too often guilty of this. I would probably be one of the first to condemn this form of art at first glance. I am trying to change on that score. Two, I have relationships with people who are into this scene. The relationships matter to me, so I felt I needed to get better acquainted with this world for the sake of those relationships. If after experiencing this music I chose to condemn it, at least it would be an informed decision. On this night I promised I would do my best to arrive with an open mind.

A put on dark clothes, and wore a hat to try to hide the gray hair. I wanted to blend in, although I knew that would be almost impossible. I was too old and too devoid of tattoos to be anonymous. Even if I managed to pull off getting past the first glance, my neon orange earplugs would certainly give me away.

I paid my $10 cover charge and crept in as my eyes adjusted to the lack of light. One of the first surprises of the evening was that even though I was out of my element, the people I was introduced to were remarkably kind and even personable. Even though the volume in the place was extreme, they made an attempt to converse and I quickly felt accepted.

This genre of music contains names of bands that evoke the worst imagery for the average Christian. The most famous in this genre is Black Sabbath but it also includes bands like The Skull, Pentagram, Paradise Lost and My Dying Bride. Not names you are likely to find on a lineup with Third Day or The Newsboys.

One of the stereotypes that was quickly dispelled, was that this music is satanic. Now, I know I am a novice, and there may indeed be expressions of this music that could be considered satanic, but on this night that was not the case. And I was relieved!

One of the other stereotypes that I had to discard was that this was just “noise.” I fully expected to dismiss the “so-called music” as anything but music. I was prepared to have my assumptions confirmed. “Just a bunch of kids making a horrible racket” was my preconceived notion. To my surprise, the music was artistic and well rehearsed. It was definitely a “show” and as an actor I could appreciate some of the theatrics in the performance. A single song can last up to 45 minutes and I found the music comparable to a symphonic piece with different movements taking us on a journey. The singing… well there really was no singing… but there was certainly vocal noise. Screaming indecipherable words—that was the “singing”—is what is common in most doom metal songs. This I did not like.

According to Wikipedia —

“Doom metal is an extreme form of heavy metal music that typically uses slower tempos, low-tuned guitars and a much ‘thicker’ or ‘heavier’ sound than other metal genres. Both the music and the lyrics intend to evoke a sense of despair, dread, and impending doom.”

I have to say that is a very accurate description. The fascinating thing is that this draws an audience. The last thing I would want to do is pay for entertainment that would evoke in me a “sense of despair, dread and impending doom.” But that is what was happening. The audience moved as one, nodding their heads, as if in a trance, to the slow dark droning beat, many with their hands raised. I reminded me of a sort of dark worship service, but instead of worship it was as if they were all commiserating their grief together. There was almost of feeling of being tortured and I found it quite disturbing.

I have had the opportunity to talk with some of the artists that make this sort of music and for many of them the music is an expression of some grief or anger they are working through. As an artist I can understand and appreciate this. It is a very appropriate use of art to express what the artist is going through. This was art—no question. The dark side of art to be sure, but definitely art.

My test for the kind of art that I want to experience is that it needs to have something redeeming in it. Often Christians, myself included, make hasty judgments when it comes to art. We won’t go see a movie that has too much bad language, sex and violence. I understand. Yet I am more willing to tolerate the bad stuff if I know that there is something redeeming in it. The good wins, there is light at the end of the tunnel. There is hope in the end.

I left the venue feeling sad. Sad that there was so much pain and suffering in the hearts of those I observed. Sad that they felt a need to celebrate it. I had just experienced a metaphor brought to life—misery loves company. It was the only redeeming thing I found in the art. I left feeling the hopelessness that the artists skillfully expressed.

I’m glad I went. I have a better understanding of the art form and more importantly the people that are drawn to it. I think it will improve my relationship with those in my life that are drawn to this.

I can’t wait to never go again!

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