When I was a music minister in a Pentecostal church I had some of these same thoughts. I was, in many ways, a very different person, but I'm realizing more and more that I was still me, even then. Here is an example.
A big part of the Pentecostal religious experience is the open expression of emotion. This is not a bad thing, though, like all things, it can become detrimental when carried to excess. Despite the reputation of Pentecostal churches, they do not always carry emotion to excess. It happens more often than it should, no doubt, but it doesn't always happen.
Music plays a major role in the emotional expression of these churches. Music – fast or slow, aggressive or ethereal – can seriously stimulate emotion, even manipulate it. In Pentecostal churches it is not uncommon, after an effective, compelling presentation by a preacher, to have an altar call. The altar is what Pentecostals call the area at the front of the church, between the pews and the pulpit. There are often benches or rails around which people can kneel and pray. An altar call is an invitation to come to the altar area to pray or repent or worship or be saved. In churches like these most people, out of some combination of personal conviction, habit or peer pressure, are compelled to respond and make their way to the altar.
During altar calls, the musicians typically play. Depending on the desired mood, the music might be raucous and energetic or it might be rousing and inspirational. The music shapes the experience. It might be touching and sentimental or it might incite a frenzy. If it doesn't get out of hand – and it typically didn't in the types of churches I attended – it can be like an emotional purging. It can be healthy, though it isn't always.
When I was the music leader during these altar calls, every now and then I would feel a nagging discomfort with what was happening. Sometimes I would be overcome with the feeling that the whole thing was too engineered, too calculated, too fake. On more than one occasion, in fact, I asked the musicians to stop. The effect of the silence was like the pulling of a plug. "This is the sound of the world," I said. "There is no mood music in real life." For the most part, I don't think people appreciated it when I did that. It just seemed right to me at the time, however. It was, and is, a part of who I am.
These days I am not really a religious person. This morning, however, I am having that same feeling. This morning I have the music off. This morning I am listening to the simple sounds of the world around me. This morning I feel as though we might have too many special occasions in life and not enough appreciation for how special any given occasion can be. This morning I feel as though we celebrate celebrities too much, as though they are something more than any given person at hand. This morning I do not feel worried or depressed or critical of the world. Instead, I feel aware of the reality of the world all around me.
I feel pretty good today about simple life and simple people and the simple sound of my fingers tapping out these last few words.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Love.
P. S. - This is my 600th post on this blog. Wow. That seems like a lot, especially since I ran out of interesting things to say after post number 13 or so. Thanks for stopping by.
