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.
