Immersion

The Weeping Willow

Jazz music has always fascinated me. My entire life has been enveloped by music, but jazz has held a special place in me. In my adolescence I never really musically understood it. Being a drummer, I couldn't seem to keep up with technicality and the pulse of it. It was strange and foreign to me… as it was to the marching band musicians of the time of it's birth. When it was first played as Ragtime in the late 19th century, it brought a third dimension to an otherwise very boxy and rudimentary genre. Jazz is the weeping willow of music. When all other trees stand tall and rigid, the willow tree is loose and expressive. It imposes a feeling. The swooping, swaying, swinging timbre of jazz ensnared me as a young musician. It was one of those styles that I simply couldn't grasp. I would avoid it for the same reasons I loved it. It was a sort of pulling and pushing relationship. Maybe that's what captured me.

            A few years ago, however, my interest in jazz pinnacled. I became obsessed with everything about it. I studied its rich history and trained myself to hear the many sides of the art. Soon, my practice time was devoted to learning about rhythmic composition, notation, jazz tunings, phrasing, traditional grip, and structure… and so on. I was determined to become a jazz drummer. I became frustrated, though, when, after all of my studying and working, jazz still made no sense to me. Yeah, I could put a sheet of music in front of me and play it as written, but it didn't sound like what I was listening to. Annoyed, I persistently played on. In one book I read about the history of jazz, the author (whose name I can't remember for the life of me) explained the reason why this generation has a harder time "feeling" it than previous ones: Simply put, we are not surrounded by it. Jazz, at it's prime (ca. 1920s-1950s) was the Top 40. It was the popular music of the day as it was played in restaurants, clubs, dances, bars, homes, and on the radio. Jazz musicians (particularly in the later years) were naturally exposed to the feeling and emotions of jazz, and, therefore, were more apt to regurgitate and reinvent the phenomenon.

With a willingness to do anything that would help me to at least "feel" jazz, I tried to put myself in the mind of the originators: I immersed myself in it. Whether or not I felt like listening to it, I would always have it playing. Sometimes I would close my eyes and pick it apart while other times I would have it playing softly in the background. No matter what, I made sure that jazz would become an extension of me. That way, I thought, when I sat down behind my kit, jazz would fall out of me. I surrendered to the music. Instead of sitting down with the intention of playing jazz drums, I allowed jazz to play me. Sure enough, my musical vocabulary began to sound something like the streets of Storyville. My playing began to swing with Armstrong's grit and Buddy Bolden's scream. My ride cymbal started singing like Nat "King" Cole. My syncopation began to jitter and tinker like Thelonius Monk. This new way of playing drastically changed my perception of being a drummer. I no longer played Rock 'n' Roll the same. Eventually, I formed the opinion that jazz is the essence of modern music. Jazz is the truest form of music. The world of jazz is a colorful and borderless place where timing is implicit and the heart is king. It began the revolution of a music that must be felt in order to be played properly. Prior to that, I would argue, feelings were not a necessary ingredient to the expression of music. I am still trying to wrap my head around jazz and I don't fear the fact that I will never fully understand it. It is not to be understood… it is to be played.

Empty Practice

            I was sitting in at home one day a few years ago frustrated with my indifference and boredom with God. I had been wrestling with complacence and endless theological criticism. At that point, I had been a Christian for something like 12 or 13 years. God was interesting to me; He was clearly faithful and consistent. I just couldn't understand Him. I read my Bible daily. I prayed to Him hourly. I would speak of Him and even stand up for His name in conversation. But something was missing. I was bored. I had so many questions and so many issues with God. How…? Why…? All of my beliefs suddenly went on trial. I sat there in the vinyl couch my neighbors had given me and contemplated. I remember saying, "I just don't feel You, God." I couldn't understand Him and, because of that, I would often run from Him. It made more sense to just avoid Him. You're great and all… thanks, but no thanks… I'll just hang out over here. See, I never outright verbally denied God. But, Reader, that's perhaps the most dangerous place to be: A robotic, boxy, rudimentary, and stiff "relationship" with God.

            I read theological books, I studied the Scriptures, I tried to do away with my perpetual sins. I tried to produce "good fruit." You could put a verse from the Bible in front of me and I'd know how to read it. You could place me in the church and I would know how to interact. You could even put me in a small group and I'd know the answers. But, I still didn't feel it. Nothing shook me up, so to speak. What was wrong with me? What was wrong with God?!? God, why don't I FEEL you? God, where are you? God, you aren't making sense… it's all mapped out… it's all charted out, but I haven't found you yet. I can't understand you!

           

The Analogy

Perhaps the most beautiful transformation in the mind of the believer is that he becomes aware that life is made up of a series of analogies. It is a God-ordained semiotic enlightenment that all things on and under the earth, on and under the sea, and in the sky point to the One True God. If someone were to take all past, present, and future circumstances, form them into tangible microorganisms, and paint them together onto a giant canvas, it would be a depiction of God's salvation plan.

            Jazz is no different.

            Jazz is yet another wonderful analogy created by God to give us a glimpse of real life… the Real Life. It is a sign of how life works at God's communion table.

Communion

            Frustrated, but knowing enough about the Christian life to know what to do, I met with one of the pastors at my church. After I had vented and explained to him all that I was tossing around in my head, he gave me his advice. Essentially, he told me that what fuels his relationship with God is immersion. He explained that our relationship with Christ (just like our relationship with other people) requires depth and not routine. His advice seemed strange to me, but it was immensely helpful. He said, (I'm paraphrasing) "Our relationship with Christ isn't about 'doing devotions.' It's not about memorizing scripture and knowing a lot about the Bible, although that is nice." He went on to explain that time with God should be spent "in the cool of the day." It is a life of devotion.

I went home and put my Bible down. (I want to be careful how I explain this, Dear Reader… don't misunderstand my point). I didn't read it for probably what ended up being a week or so. Instead, my time with God was spent eucharistically as I sat at His table each day. I needed to hear nothing… I only needed to ingest His love. I ate Him (John 6:53-58, 1 Corinthians 11:23-30). I let Him settle in me and speak through me. Those moments with God were more precious than any of the blank, mechanical minutes that I spent reading the Bible. I'm not suggesting that you, Dear Reader, go home and put your Bible down. We need the Bible. However, I do encourage you (nay, I implore you) to go home and worship Him… ingest the Word of God.

            I had to surrender to God's song and allow Him to play through me. I had to immerse myself in Him. In this world, God is not in the Top 40. We don't naturally hear His voice each day. We don't naturally know how to keep up with His pace. The more we LET GO, the more we LET GOd. A Eucharistic life requires our surrender. It requires us to fail. It requires us to relinquish control. It begs for us to stop trying to understand. We will never comprehend the vastness of our God. Soon enough, when we stop relying on math and sheet music to guide us, we will feel the rhythm of God, we will syncopate like God, we will sing God's song of salvation. His music is borderless and colorful.

            Practically, what does immersion look like on a daily basis? We must be careful not to over complicate our relationship with God. Since everything is analogous to our friendship with God (John 15:15), take a look at your relationship with your best friend… Do you strategically and methodically plan out how many minutes you should spend with him/her each day? Of course not. The delight in the friendship comes naturally. It comes in the ordinary and mundane areas of life. He is the best friend that we could ever have. I should never attempt to compartmentalize my time with God divorcing my "spiritual life" from my "everyday life." Instead, when we immerse ourselves in Him, He inhabits our lives and we become one. The wise Oswald Chambers wrote: "The love of God is un-made, it is God's nature. When we receive the Holy Spirit He unites us with God so that His love is manifested in us." Likewise, our friendship with Him cannot be made; it cannot be manipulated or planned out. Our lives are to be an extension of God's.

            As I wrote this, I began to recall the exact timeline of my jazzy epiphany… oddly enough, it happened to be right around the same time that I had my turn around with God! It's funny: I learned to let go of jazz to express it while I was learning how to let go of my life to truly live it. Both acts required immersion. Both acts resulted in oneness.The imposed, active culmination was loose and expressive… like a weeping willow.

            So, Reader, listen to His song. Listen to how He tunes His instruments. Be attentive to the pulse and pace of His work. He is greater than the Law (Luke 6:5) and He is greater than our hearts (1 John 3:20). Stop trying to play Him and let Him play you. I pray that He immerses us. 

What Is This Thing?

Preface           

Romantic Love is a deadly, deadly thing.

The arrival of this entry is a bit late. I have been tossing the idea around in my head since January. It got lost up there amidst self-provoked monologues and theological conversations. Follow me, Dear Reader, married or not, as I explore the pink, flowery, rose-covered walls of Love (I will use a capital letter to depict the truest sense). Let me be clear… I'm speaking of romantic Love… not neighborly love. And, yes, I am single… so, everything I say about Love may or may not simply be my misconception of it. Disclaimer: this entry will tell you a lot about me. If transparency was ever an issue, this will end it. With this, I may come across as a weirdo, I may come across as a "softy" or as "sensitive" or even as a "hopeless romantic." I've been labeled as all of those. But, I assure you, Reader, Love in its truest form is the hardest, strongest, and most  hopeful element in human history. So, call me what you may… Frankly, I don't really care. Love is important to me and it requires the utmost respect.

           

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I grew up in a very healthy nuclear family that was epitomized by my parents' unwavering love for each other. Love has been a strong theme throughout my life. Being able to watch my mom and dad model it has been unimaginably valuable to me. From my earliest memories of being a child pretending in the back yard or playing with G.I. Joes in the basement, I've always dreamed of fighting for The Princess. I mean, my brother and I would play Nintendo's Mario for hours… to what end? We would jump on little turtle-doves, collect coins, scream at the television screen, clench our fists with frustration and defeat endless villains (some of whom would breath fire!)… to what end? To win The Princess Toadstool. One of my favorite things to do growing up was to pretend. My brother and I (and sometimes my sister and cousins) would come up with a  plot and then we'd make-believe for hours. Pretending was no fun, though, if there was no girl for whom I was fighting. The plot made no sense to me if there was no romantic interest. There always had to be someone. My favorite movies growing up were all Disney movies. Have you ever seen a Disney movie that didn't have at least some sort of romantic undertone? Of course not. That's what drives us. Men, especially, are driven by the woman. We are all driven by the capital "L".

But, "what is this thing called love?"

For the past several years I've been enthralled with the idea of Love. As I mentioned, when I was a kid and eventually a teenager, I was innately interested in Love. But, the older I get, the more passionate I have become about finding an answer to that question, "what is this thing?" I am fascinated by books about Love. I enjoy learning about what God has to say about It and what he intended It to be. Romantic stories and commentaries on relationships always perk my attention. I research it. I observe it. Daily, I am trying to become the best husband I can be. Now, as a bachelor, is my prime time to become the husband and father that I want to be. I, as you may or may not know, am NOT what one might consider an expert in this thing called Love. In fact, I don't believe that I've ever been in Love. Honestly, I don't believe that I will ever Love someone until I marry the most unspeakably wonderful woman… my future wife. Then, and only then, will Love in it's truest, purist, most intentional form become a reality. With that being said, it's okay if you, Dear Reader, want to discard everything I have to say about It. My feelings won't be hurt.  I just think that I'm onto to something here.

My answer to Billie Holiday's gracefully gritty question, "What is This Thing Called Love?" can only come from observation and research. From what I can gather on the outside, Love seems to be a deadly, deadly thing. As I've observed relationships that "work" and ones that end in divorce, I've seen the one common denominator: Death.

 When confronted by love, we rarely understand it in a darkly manner. I believe that those men and women who share a deep, Godly love are the only ones who truly understand the meaning of it. Love is sacrifice. Love requires the death of oneself so that he may live for the good of the beloved. My parents illustrate it perfectly. My dad will always do what my mom asks of him simply because he is not living for himself (and vice-versa). They constantly out-serve each other. That is God-ordained Love. As the incredibly gifted songwriter Jared Anderson wrote, "This is life and it's Hell if you only live for yourself."

As I was thinking about the concept of perpetual servitude and selflessness for the benefit of the other, the idea of Cupid suddenly made all the sense in the world to me. Think about it: Cupid, the little naked fictional character who flies around shooting arrows into people to make them fall in love, initiates the sacrifice. Take the symbol we often use for love: a heart with an arrow through it. If someone shot an arrow through my heart, I’d die. So, that's what Cupid's doing? He's going around killing people? In a strange sort of way, yes. Love necessitates death. The husband must forgo his life and everything with it for the glory of his Love for his wife (as she does the same). The husband finds pleasure only when his wife is pleased. Her pleasure becomes his… and his becomes hers.

This death gives life. It's how the world goes 'round.

I don't often write poems, but when I thought of this concept, I felt compelled to give it another shot. It's fascinating to me to think of the idea that we so often pray for Love to come our way, but when he does, we either get scared and push Him away or we try to figure out how He works. All along, the real task is simply letting go and dancing with Him… allowing Love to kill us and make us new. In the poem, I personified Love as a tough old-time Sheriff of John Wayne stature who comes to give the bachelor what he wants: Love. But, it doesn't seem nice and frilly like we might've originally thought.  Check it out:

When Love Shows Up

January 14, 2010

Yes, you'd better tip your hat to me.

I darken your doorstep with two things.

One is clean and neat, you see,

While the other beats and stings:

I have credentials that glisten from five points

But right below it a six-shooter waits.

People come to me and beg for my presence

And when I show up, they either ask me to leave

Or fight me with their attempts to conceive.

Yes, you have every reason to fear me.

I'm earth bound and heaven-made.

Can you dare put your two feet in front of me?

Blood has been spilt so you'd get paid.

Now, get off your knees and brace yourself like a man.

I did not come to your home to watch you cower.

I came here armed with my gun and I'll use it

In conjunction with my badge and it's power.

If you want me to stay and show you, I will.

I'll change your life, but you've got to die.

           

            My point in all of this, Dear Reader, is that Love is a scary thing. We have every right in the world to fear Love because it elicits the sting of death. Solomon agreed: "… for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave" (Song of Songs 8:6). It's the reason we hear song lyrics like Coldplay's "Yellow": "For you I'd bleed myself dry", or like Cole Porter's "I Loves You Porgy": "Someday I know he's coming back… it's going to be like dying", or Bryan Adams' "Everything I Do": "I'd die for you."

            Don't misunderstand me, Reader. The same people who think that I'm a "hopeless romantic" tend to think that I live in a false reality; I need to be more realistic. Wake up, Kyle. Love isn't THAT great. It's much harder than you think. If that's what you're thinking, you're missing my point completely. What I'm trying to say in this entry is that Love is, in fact, much, much more difficult and much more realistic than what we might've ever believed. Romanticism brings a deeper crimson than rose pedals. Love, as God created it to be, is richer than the pink sugar cookies that we get on Valentine's Day. Some people say, Kyle… true love isn't the way it looks in the movies. You're right. It is infinitely more sacrificial than that.

            So, I guess my conclusion in all of this is that Love is a deadly, deadly thing… but here's the cool part: God is Love. Therefore, everything I learn about Love can be (and must be) applied to my relationship with God. He is the ultimate example of Love. I cannot comprehend how vast his Love is for us!

            So, if you're married… my advice is to die for your spouse. If your single… my advice is to learn what it means to die now so that it's easier for you when you get married.

            Love, Love, Love. It's the summation of the entire Bible (Mark 12:29-31).