from a perch at Fitz's

Confession: before Sunday night, I had never been to Fitzgerald's (nor Zelda's, downstairs.) I've been to quite a few music venues around town, and sadly, seen a few close up shop. Fitzgerald's recently reinvented itself, renovating the interior, and reigniting the spirit of the place (so I'm told.) Laura Derkits spent her fair share of time there when she was in High School. She has history with the place, so when we showed up Sunday night during the opening band (Lost Lander) she was giddy with anticipation. We were there to hear Blind Pilot. We got a couple of their CD's from some friends for Christmas, so I knew a little bit of their music, but didn't realize how much I would enjoy the show. Wow!

For the first band, we stood on the floor, and we enjoyed their music enough to buy a CD. Then we made our way upstairs and found a great perch where we could peer down from stage left. It is a powerful experience to watch people make music. There is so much expression that comes through in a person's body that is lost to audio recordings. The variety of instruments is also made clear when you can see what is being played as well as hear the sound. Sunday night we witnessed six people play more instruments than I care to list, but the most interesting were the lap dulcimer, tenor banjo, and an hand-billowed organ.

We watched as this band worked together to make beautiful harmony, and a textured sound that connected not only the six musicians, but connected the gathering of hearers. It was obvious that the band wanted this connection. Their eyes were on each other, but also on the gathering. For their final song, they invited everyone to get quiet as they climbed off stage with their instruments, and played unplugged as everyone leaned in to hear. It was such a sweet moment. From our vantage in the balcony we could see down into the crowd where the band was huddled to play most of the song, then from several feet away from the cluster, the trumpet shown brightly visually and audibly to rise above the strings and voices and bounce around the rafters of Fitzgerald's.

We left feeling good about our evening, connected in some way to a community, and sensing a deeper dimension of our existence. From that ponderous place I was reminded that the Spirit is at work in the most unexpected places. The language of some of the songs was similar to language we use in the church at times, but not always. There was no ordained person leading except that the community has ordained the band to gather and lead the music.  Yet, somehow there was a spiritual experience.

Church communities are different in that the community has a shared language and shared stories that we return to, and the community intentionally makes the journey together, coming back together week by week. And yet, something holy happens when music is made, or art is created, or a novel emerges. As a priest, I am very curious about that connection. How do we continue to bridge the creative world with the church world? How is the church (read: you) called to be in the midst of the world outside our walls paying attention to what the Spirit is doing out there, and then to incorporate or incarnate that back into our church community?

Maybe it is more obvious than it seems, perhaps it is simply a matter of being open to the Spirit's presence all around us. Thanks be to God for the language the church has given me to reflect on such wonderful experiences.


(I was too enthralled with the music to take a picture) Image from http://opbmusic.org/