Back at it

This year's sabbatical is over. The first major task upon my return was to put together the annual jazz communion service that our church presents on Labor Day weekend. We built it around the classic compositions of of Dizzy Gillespie, the fabulous trumpeter who co-created bebop with saxophonist Charlie Parker and pianist Thelonious Monk.

The service was a hoot. Attendance was good, even though the pandemic is stomping along. The church welcomes vaccinated folks, and requests that they wear facemasks and remain careful. I preached a sermon on a handful of Proverbs, all of them related to "a cheerful heart" - which exemplifies Dizzy's spirit and legacy, and is the way forward for all of us. You can read the sermon here.

As I picked up used sheet music today and finished tidying up the area, Big John stopped in with a bunch of compliments. He's our wonderful sexton, experienced in sweeping up after my messes, and always ready to offer brutally honest feedback.

"I was talking about you today with my neighbor," he said. "We want to know how you do it."

Do what?

"How do you tie in Dizzy Gillespie with the Bible and make a sermon that offers hope and encouragement?"

Good question. The best answer is that it's a practiced integration: I look for the connections. It requires taking both Bebop and Bible seriously and holding them in creative tension. It means listening deeply to each. It happens, for the most part, if I don't force something that isn't there - if I wait for the sparks to fly and to stay open for what I might not expect.

And I've been doing this for a long time. That's the "practiced" aspect of the integration.

It occurs to me that this is the heart of the book project. It's all about connections. Integration. Disparate strands of tradition that actually aren't disparate at all. I've been listening to Bible and jazz as long as I can remember. As my wife once said about me, "He hears things in his head." Yep, she's right.

And I will bet that you can do the same thing, to weave together things that matter a great deal to you. We do this all the time. It is how we make sense of our lives. 

In workshops with clergy, I frequently encourage them to take up an art form if they haven't already done so. Get out of your church and get your knuckles dirty with potting soil. Pick up knitting needles. Take up woodworking. Stitch a quilt. Shoot photographs. Learn how poems work. Or even, study how music is made. The goal is more than enrichment. It's bigger that enlarging one's perspective. 

It is learning to connect. It is discovering that all of life touches the rest of life.

 

It is discerning the Holy is in the thick of everything. 

Thanks to Jeff Kellam for the photos above. He sees connections.

Thanks to Frank Jones, who not only recorded the video of the service (watch it here), but led the crowd in singing. That was a gutsy thing to do.