I'm an educator, and one of the things we often say/hear in education when a new model or method or technology rolls around is:
"That's just change for change's sake".
It's meant as a defensive statement. What it really means is"
"I'm going to passive aggressively ignore that until something else comes along, and then I'll ignore that and keep going the way I have been for years".
I doubt it's unique to education, we don't like change in general. I'm fascinated by it. It stresses me out a bit, and it's rarely comfortable, but I actually love change sometimes. It's exciting, it's a bit frightening, it's an adventure. I've studied change and change management quite a bit. It's a broad topic, and a tremendously deep one.
So here's my question... what's wrong with change for change's sake. That statement implies that change is bad unless it has some extrinsic value, while denying the intrinsic value of change. To see that we have to look at what the opposite of change is. The opposite of change is routine, it's sameness. Now, sameness, routine, tradition, these aren't bad. They have lots of value. They let us be efficient. They let us be comfortable. They let us think about things besides the mechanics of what we're doing, and dig in deeper to other things. But they aren't all good either. Comfort is probably one of the biggest temptations we face, without ever really seeing it. So much of our lives is centred around comfort it's scary. People spend a lot of time and money on comfort. Comfort is leading us to destruction of the planet. Comfort allows us to ignore someone in need. Comfort prevents us from taking risks. Comfort focusses our vision on why not instead of why.
As Catholics change is a tricky subject. We have both the support and the weight of 2000 years of tradition and theology with us. Very many people find very great comfort in the way we do things, and have for a long time. It's why even small changes to something like the Mass can cause so much disturbance. At the same time, some folks feel stagnant. They don't have an emotional connection to some traditions, and so they feel the desire for change. Of course this leads to great tension. To change means to mourn the loss of a way or pattern, in a process that is psychologically very much like mourning a death. To not change means, for some, to slowly die of stagnation, or worse for others, to become grumpy in our faith because we can't deal with the small changes that happen around us.
So what do we do? The leaders of the Church tackle the issue on an institutional level, but how do we manage this on a personal level? This is where I propose change for change's sake on a pretty regular basis. I suffer spiritual stagnation on a pretty periodic basis. Guaranteed over the course of a year I'll slip in to going through the motions a couple of times, and need to be refreshed. But how does a Catholic change? I mean, if I'm feeling stagnant, I can't just change the Mass, or the teachings of the Church, or who I am. What can we change. This is where the beauty of the Universal Church lies. There is so much we can explore within the realm of the faith that no one could ever cover it all in a single lifetime. To become complacent in one form of prayer or action is a call to find another that challenges us, that we are uncomfortable with. When I am so comfortable as a musician in the Church that I don't even think about it, that the spiritual side stagnates, then I need to find another ministry or direction that makes me uncomfortable. When my prayer life is routine enough that I feel bored, I need to find a new way to pray that is uncomfortable for me. Personally I can pray very easily outside, and I draw joy from creation, but I struggle with connecting to some of the traditional prayers of the Church. So when I find myself paddling a river or climbing a mountain and I don't even notice the call to pray and recognize God, it's time for me to pull out my rosary, or spend some time in adoration, or read something by a saint. It's time to change my approach to God.
So my suggestion is go find something in the way you approach God to change, just for the sake of change. For no other reason than it will challenge you, make you uncomfortable, and get you to take a step outside whatever part of you is getting too routine. Find something about the Church that scares you or makes you grumpy and jump right in to it. To quote John Ortberg, if you want to walk on water, you have to get out of the boat.
Thoughts on matters of faith, education, and whatever else sparks my interest.
Tuesday, 13 August 2013
Saturday, 10 August 2013
So now he's a liberal?
So I saw this gem posted on Facebook today:
http://www.ncregister.com/blog/pat-archbold/10-quotes-that-prove-the-pope-is-a-liberal
I'm not sure which I laughed more at, the leaps in logic and judgements of the article, or some of the quotes at the bottom.
There's been a lot of spin about Pope Francis' words and actions so far. The traditionalists jumping in with a 'but' at the end of every sentance about how what he really means is [fill in the blank], and the main stream media in a frenzy that he is changing the church and making it more progressive, and radically altering what it means to be Catholic.
I'm going to refer to the crass wisdom of Christopher Titus on this one.
That's just Coke and Pepsi, same crap, different can...
Here's the thing: If you're so far left you actually believe that somebody owes you a job, citizenship and a heart transplant, you're mentally ill. If you're so far right that you actually believe that somebody who doesn't have a job and is not a citizen deserves to have their heart cut out and sold on eBay, and you get to keep 80 percent of the profit ` you're mentally ill.
I firmly believe that there is no room for political 'isms' in the Church, and I don't think there are any in Church teachings. We don't judge our beliefs on the standards of political parties, who hunger only for power, or by the whim of the main stream media. The pope isn't 'a liberal'... he's the Pope.
The problem is that we are so polarized now to believe that if you are compassionate, concerned with the minorities and voiceless, or work to improve the environment you are far to the left. If you like tradition, want to take change at a managed or thoughtful pace, and believe in building responsibility, you are far to the right. The truth is Church teaching can't fit into either side, because neither side is the truth. When Pope Francis washes the feet of incarcerated teenagers, and tells Catholics to be just and compassionate to all, especially the marginalized, he isn't being a liberal. He is being the Pope and living the teachings of Christ. Liberal political parties just tend to agree with him on that one. When he celebrates Mass, and refuses to budge on the teachings of marriage and priesthood, held with deep theological reasons by the Church, he isn't being conservative. A conservative political party might just happen to agree (although likely for entirely different reasons).
One of the things I love the most about Pope Francis and Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI is that they break the media fuelled polarization. Together they represent the same Church, the same teachings, but have very different personalities and focusses. They show that the Church isn't left or right, it isn't represented by the Republicans or Democrats, PCs or Liberals, or any other 'ism' or political movement. The yin and yang of the Church are that we have traditions and laws, built up over millennia, but we are called to be focussed in compassion and love on all of our brothers and sisters, not just the ones who agree with us, make sense to us, or know the laws the best.
Our faith can't be contained by the left or the right because it is too big. Our Church is too universal. Pope Francis isn't a Liberal, he's a Catholic, and one who is challenging all of us to live our faith in a much more compassionate and loving way.
http://www.ncregister.com/blog/pat-archbold/10-quotes-that-prove-the-pope-is-a-liberal
I'm not sure which I laughed more at, the leaps in logic and judgements of the article, or some of the quotes at the bottom.
There's been a lot of spin about Pope Francis' words and actions so far. The traditionalists jumping in with a 'but' at the end of every sentance about how what he really means is [fill in the blank], and the main stream media in a frenzy that he is changing the church and making it more progressive, and radically altering what it means to be Catholic.
I'm going to refer to the crass wisdom of Christopher Titus on this one.
That's just Coke and Pepsi, same crap, different can...
Here's the thing: If you're so far left you actually believe that somebody owes you a job, citizenship and a heart transplant, you're mentally ill. If you're so far right that you actually believe that somebody who doesn't have a job and is not a citizen deserves to have their heart cut out and sold on eBay, and you get to keep 80 percent of the profit ` you're mentally ill.
I firmly believe that there is no room for political 'isms' in the Church, and I don't think there are any in Church teachings. We don't judge our beliefs on the standards of political parties, who hunger only for power, or by the whim of the main stream media. The pope isn't 'a liberal'... he's the Pope.
The problem is that we are so polarized now to believe that if you are compassionate, concerned with the minorities and voiceless, or work to improve the environment you are far to the left. If you like tradition, want to take change at a managed or thoughtful pace, and believe in building responsibility, you are far to the right. The truth is Church teaching can't fit into either side, because neither side is the truth. When Pope Francis washes the feet of incarcerated teenagers, and tells Catholics to be just and compassionate to all, especially the marginalized, he isn't being a liberal. He is being the Pope and living the teachings of Christ. Liberal political parties just tend to agree with him on that one. When he celebrates Mass, and refuses to budge on the teachings of marriage and priesthood, held with deep theological reasons by the Church, he isn't being conservative. A conservative political party might just happen to agree (although likely for entirely different reasons).
One of the things I love the most about Pope Francis and Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI is that they break the media fuelled polarization. Together they represent the same Church, the same teachings, but have very different personalities and focusses. They show that the Church isn't left or right, it isn't represented by the Republicans or Democrats, PCs or Liberals, or any other 'ism' or political movement. The yin and yang of the Church are that we have traditions and laws, built up over millennia, but we are called to be focussed in compassion and love on all of our brothers and sisters, not just the ones who agree with us, make sense to us, or know the laws the best.
Our faith can't be contained by the left or the right because it is too big. Our Church is too universal. Pope Francis isn't a Liberal, he's a Catholic, and one who is challenging all of us to live our faith in a much more compassionate and loving way.
Saturday, 3 August 2013
Part II: Where there is joy
I'm sorry for technically not making this post 'tomorrow'. It's been a tough bit of reflection on how to finish the story. I'm not writing this to publicly blame or shame anyone, or air dirty laundry. Like I said in the intro post, it's the joy of a few people, that they shared through World Youth Day, that inspired this, so I'm struggling to return this to that purpose. I think I'll start by sharing a little about an inspiration of mine. The guy is Steve Angrisano. He's a composer, musican, and speaker with Oregon Catholic Press. I'm not going to debate the merits or OCP and it's artists right now. I'm just going to share that on Facebook the other day, Steve shared a video of a psalm setting he composed being sung at a Liturgy recently. He was giddy like a little kid. He was full of joy about it. Look him up and check out his Facebook page if you want to see the post. His joy is contagious. That joy is one of the reasons I'm a musician, it's the reason I became a youth minister, it's likely why I'm even Catholic. It's full of the Holy Spirit, and totally transparent. There's no performance in it, there's no pride in it. It's just joy because he loves God and is sincerely excited to get to share that. I've been privileged enough that he has shared it one on one with me through different conversations, trips to the airport when we've hired him to speak in Calgary and Okotoks, playing music with him at Mass a couple of times, and getting to witness him inspire and share his contagious joy.
I'm sharing this (I know, it sounds like a starstruck fan now), because that's where my voice came from. Joy is what I experienced ministering through music for so many years, and being blessed enough to both lead, and work under incredible leaders in music. Every Sunday I would fight my way to Church. If that meant pushing my body hard to finish a big ski 3 hours from Calgary in time to haul back to Calgary for practice before Mass, or doing homework on a Saturday so I had Sunday evening free, or eating and running from a Sunday family dinner and jogging down the road with my guitar in hand, I made sure I was there. I did it because of the joy I experienced. On a Sunday when I didn't really love the music selection, or wasn't feeling awesome with my playing, I still felt such an incredible connection to the Mass through the joy I felt getting to serve. When someone didn't like the music I understood, because like I said yesterday, it's not as universal as we want it to be. The congregation still participated so fully in the song and prayer, that it was impossible not to see the love of God there and feel that joy. I don't mean the rush of performing, or the fun of playing enjoyable music, I mean the deep joy of God's presence. I had someone come up to me once and tell me that I reminded him of a hippy because I played the guitar, and that he didn't like hippies. That didn't bother me because no one ever said he had to like guitar music, and for every experience like that, I had 10 where people thanked me for helping them connect to God in the Mass on a deeper level, and I thanked God for those.
The change came when some people I love and trusted started changing the tune. It wasn't about not liking certain kinds of music any more. The conversation started shifting to why it's never appropriate to play a percussive instrument in Church because it can't be done in a way that's solemn enough, how chords on a guitar simply aren't high enough quality for the Mass, how piano is too idiosyncratic to inspire faith, how contemporary music is theologically too thin, how a song where we sing about God's relationship with us, or where we acknowledge the challenge to go forth and serve is worshipping the congregation instead of god, how anything with a blues, jazz, folk, or any other contemporary inspiration isn't okay because those sounds weren't invented for the Mass like a Gregorian chants were. Maybe it was always there and I just didn't get exposed to it, maybe it was a shift in culture where I live, maybe it was a backlash to the too many musicians who were willing to throw all liturgical tradition out the window to have some cool music... I don't know. What I know is that more and more people started finding theological sounding reasons why what I had been doing for the last 15 years of my life in service to the Church wasn't actually a service. It was vile (not my words, someone else's). It was low quality. It was pandering. No one ever said it, but the message was that God didn't want it in Church. It upsets me because it's theologizing an opinion. It isn't some direct application of Church law, it's finding a way to crush the thought of someone who disagrees, and push it out unchallenged. If someone had been up front, and said 'this isn't the music we prefer, please go in this direction instead', I could have at least either said sure and challenged myself, or walked away feeling okay about it, because music opinion is what it is. It wasn't that though, it was people needing to bolster their opinion at the expense of the gifts and service of someone else, and I just couldn't deal with that.
Every week I'd go to play, or go to Church in fear of what would be said, or what would be taken away. First the drums went (I was the only one who played them, and in a prideful moment I would boast I am tremendously good at using them well, and solemnly, and appropriately to support and uplift prayer), then it was the song books, then it was the Mass parts. I didn't feel welcome. I felt like the contribution I worked so hard over the years, and had witnessed such incredible fruits from, was being cut out at the roots. Every week, when something disappeared, so did a little of my joy, and with it went my voice, until I felt like I was standing on the outside of the Church looking in, not understanding what had happened.
I'm not going to stand here pointing fingers though. No one can take away a person's faith and joy. No one. You can only give it away. But the fight can get tiring. Between that and the pride/ownership I took in what I had done over the years, I let mine slip away. I'm still struggling to let it go and take a hold of that joy. Make no mistake, nothing was taken from me, I let it go. Some of it was because I was hurt by the words of people I love and trust, a good chunk was because of pride and stubborness, and some of it was because for many years I let one kind of service define my faith, and when that service was gone I was lost.
But this brings me back around to the quote from yesterday's post... "May we be untiring in love, so that we serve all with a generous and creative heart." It's the serve all, and the creative parts of the quote that really jumped out at me. All. That's hard. When I was working in Ireland, much of the ministry was outreach to people who had left or were marginalized by the Church because they felt hurt by it. It's hard ministry. It means hearing people who's experience and the reality they constructed out of it, was one where the rules were more important than their pain, fear, or worry. Many of the people we reached out to had been coming to Mass for years, even decades, faithfully, because they knew God was there. At the same time they were in pain every time they came. Lost in the shadows and corners of the faith because someone, somewhere along the way, or more likely many 'someones' had treated them unjustly. I'd be willing to be that most of the injustices were unintentional, and unrecognized, as I'm sure much of the difficulty I faced was. This is why St. Alphonsus' words are so important. Our love for each other, for everyone who comes to the door seeking God and community, knows it. Our creativity needs to be so profound that we find ways to make someone welcome, no matter what they bring to the door with them. I understood it then, and I know it now because of my own experience. Not everyone in the Church has to be looking for the ones at Mass who are lost, lonely, hurting, or feeling voiceless, but some need to take St. Alphonsus' words to heart and be those ones, watching the outskirts, the fringes, and the shadows of our faith, welcoming the ones on the outside looking in longingly. Someone needs to be there to say to them:
'You are more important to me than a rule, let me share my joy with you, no strings attached. When there is a relationship, and an emotion, and an experience of God's love, we can worry about the more challenging and technical stuff then, for now let's be joyful together. God loves us.'
May God bless everyone in the Church who has the gift of finding the lost in the shadows, seeing the unknown hurt our words and actions can cause, and giving a voice to the voiceless through joy, so the voiceless can share their story and heal from whatever is keeping them away from the light. Let's be so joyful its contagious. I'm going to try to do that, and find my own voice again, in part through this blog. I hope I can write well enough to keep you reading, share my joy, and shine some light in the corners.
Here's Steve singing the psalm I mentioned at the beginning. If it's not your cup of tea, share what is so we can share in your joy too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7jpnYSTnv8
I'm sharing this (I know, it sounds like a starstruck fan now), because that's where my voice came from. Joy is what I experienced ministering through music for so many years, and being blessed enough to both lead, and work under incredible leaders in music. Every Sunday I would fight my way to Church. If that meant pushing my body hard to finish a big ski 3 hours from Calgary in time to haul back to Calgary for practice before Mass, or doing homework on a Saturday so I had Sunday evening free, or eating and running from a Sunday family dinner and jogging down the road with my guitar in hand, I made sure I was there. I did it because of the joy I experienced. On a Sunday when I didn't really love the music selection, or wasn't feeling awesome with my playing, I still felt such an incredible connection to the Mass through the joy I felt getting to serve. When someone didn't like the music I understood, because like I said yesterday, it's not as universal as we want it to be. The congregation still participated so fully in the song and prayer, that it was impossible not to see the love of God there and feel that joy. I don't mean the rush of performing, or the fun of playing enjoyable music, I mean the deep joy of God's presence. I had someone come up to me once and tell me that I reminded him of a hippy because I played the guitar, and that he didn't like hippies. That didn't bother me because no one ever said he had to like guitar music, and for every experience like that, I had 10 where people thanked me for helping them connect to God in the Mass on a deeper level, and I thanked God for those.
The change came when some people I love and trusted started changing the tune. It wasn't about not liking certain kinds of music any more. The conversation started shifting to why it's never appropriate to play a percussive instrument in Church because it can't be done in a way that's solemn enough, how chords on a guitar simply aren't high enough quality for the Mass, how piano is too idiosyncratic to inspire faith, how contemporary music is theologically too thin, how a song where we sing about God's relationship with us, or where we acknowledge the challenge to go forth and serve is worshipping the congregation instead of god, how anything with a blues, jazz, folk, or any other contemporary inspiration isn't okay because those sounds weren't invented for the Mass like a Gregorian chants were. Maybe it was always there and I just didn't get exposed to it, maybe it was a shift in culture where I live, maybe it was a backlash to the too many musicians who were willing to throw all liturgical tradition out the window to have some cool music... I don't know. What I know is that more and more people started finding theological sounding reasons why what I had been doing for the last 15 years of my life in service to the Church wasn't actually a service. It was vile (not my words, someone else's). It was low quality. It was pandering. No one ever said it, but the message was that God didn't want it in Church. It upsets me because it's theologizing an opinion. It isn't some direct application of Church law, it's finding a way to crush the thought of someone who disagrees, and push it out unchallenged. If someone had been up front, and said 'this isn't the music we prefer, please go in this direction instead', I could have at least either said sure and challenged myself, or walked away feeling okay about it, because music opinion is what it is. It wasn't that though, it was people needing to bolster their opinion at the expense of the gifts and service of someone else, and I just couldn't deal with that.
Every week I'd go to play, or go to Church in fear of what would be said, or what would be taken away. First the drums went (I was the only one who played them, and in a prideful moment I would boast I am tremendously good at using them well, and solemnly, and appropriately to support and uplift prayer), then it was the song books, then it was the Mass parts. I didn't feel welcome. I felt like the contribution I worked so hard over the years, and had witnessed such incredible fruits from, was being cut out at the roots. Every week, when something disappeared, so did a little of my joy, and with it went my voice, until I felt like I was standing on the outside of the Church looking in, not understanding what had happened.
I'm not going to stand here pointing fingers though. No one can take away a person's faith and joy. No one. You can only give it away. But the fight can get tiring. Between that and the pride/ownership I took in what I had done over the years, I let mine slip away. I'm still struggling to let it go and take a hold of that joy. Make no mistake, nothing was taken from me, I let it go. Some of it was because I was hurt by the words of people I love and trust, a good chunk was because of pride and stubborness, and some of it was because for many years I let one kind of service define my faith, and when that service was gone I was lost.
But this brings me back around to the quote from yesterday's post... "May we be untiring in love, so that we serve all with a generous and creative heart." It's the serve all, and the creative parts of the quote that really jumped out at me. All. That's hard. When I was working in Ireland, much of the ministry was outreach to people who had left or were marginalized by the Church because they felt hurt by it. It's hard ministry. It means hearing people who's experience and the reality they constructed out of it, was one where the rules were more important than their pain, fear, or worry. Many of the people we reached out to had been coming to Mass for years, even decades, faithfully, because they knew God was there. At the same time they were in pain every time they came. Lost in the shadows and corners of the faith because someone, somewhere along the way, or more likely many 'someones' had treated them unjustly. I'd be willing to be that most of the injustices were unintentional, and unrecognized, as I'm sure much of the difficulty I faced was. This is why St. Alphonsus' words are so important. Our love for each other, for everyone who comes to the door seeking God and community, knows it. Our creativity needs to be so profound that we find ways to make someone welcome, no matter what they bring to the door with them. I understood it then, and I know it now because of my own experience. Not everyone in the Church has to be looking for the ones at Mass who are lost, lonely, hurting, or feeling voiceless, but some need to take St. Alphonsus' words to heart and be those ones, watching the outskirts, the fringes, and the shadows of our faith, welcoming the ones on the outside looking in longingly. Someone needs to be there to say to them:
'You are more important to me than a rule, let me share my joy with you, no strings attached. When there is a relationship, and an emotion, and an experience of God's love, we can worry about the more challenging and technical stuff then, for now let's be joyful together. God loves us.'
May God bless everyone in the Church who has the gift of finding the lost in the shadows, seeing the unknown hurt our words and actions can cause, and giving a voice to the voiceless through joy, so the voiceless can share their story and heal from whatever is keeping them away from the light. Let's be so joyful its contagious. I'm going to try to do that, and find my own voice again, in part through this blog. I hope I can write well enough to keep you reading, share my joy, and shine some light in the corners.
Here's Steve singing the psalm I mentioned at the beginning. If it's not your cup of tea, share what is so we can share in your joy too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7jpnYSTnv8
Thursday, 1 August 2013
So how does someone like you become disenfranchised?
I promised in my first post to tell the little bit of my story that has been happening over the last while and how I came to feel marginalized and disenfranchised in the Church. I've been shying away from putting it out there, because it's not a really nice one, but it's been weighing me down a lot. But today is the feast day of St. Alphonsus. Much of my own faith formation happened with his order, the Redemptorists, and a particular quote of his frames this story. "May we be untiring in love, so that we serve all with a generous and creative heart."
I'm going to start by recognizing that a significant portion of my distance from the community of the Church over the last year is because of my own pride. That's important because letting that go is an ongoing challenge for me.
I'm not 100% sure the best place to start this story. It's kind of all over the map. I guess a conversation with a friend who is a priest really frames it well. I was expressing some displeasure with an article the friend had posted online. I felt it was pretty heavy on the judgemental tone, and I was projecting that judgement on to myself. It was a friendly conversation, and in it the friend expressed surprise that I felt like I was on the fringes of the Church. In his words, he saw me as a bulwark of the faith. I think that's representation of my history. I was on the fringes as a teenager, but through the care and invitation of some amazing folks, was brought in, welcomed, and built up over many, many years. I started volunteering and participating a lot, and eventually worked full time in youth ministry.
That moved on, but I stayed connected through music ministry. I lead a choir, and when I couldn't lead anymore, I passed that on to an amazing musician, and stayed on as a player. I invested a lot of time, effort, and love to that ministry. I learned guitar, bass, banjo and mandolin specifically to adapt to the needs of the different groups I played in, and invested a lot of money in high quality instruments, suitable for Mass. I was invited to lead music for large groups, play in praise and worship bands, and teach others about music in liturgy. I invested in my liturgical education. I went to every diocesan sponsored workshop and offering, travelled to liturgical music conferences, talked to other Catholic musicians, read books. I became very passionate about music, specifically music in Catholic liturgies. I was sent for formation in this ministry by the leaders in my Church, and trust in that formation. My mission was to lead engaging, meaningful, and appropriate music in Mass. I worked hard to find and learn music that the congregation could participate in, was culturally relevant to young people, without being exclusive to them, was community oriented, focussed on God, was solemn and joyful, and high enough quality to be expressed as prayer during the Eucharist. I connected to the Mass in ways that were deeply meaningful to me, and always experienced joy from the amazing participation of our congregation. I was also blessed with many compliments, all of which I pass on credit to God for.
Now, with all of this said, I know music is universal in two things. The first is its ability to stir the heart, and inspire. It is so powerful, and when it is done well, serves the Mass in amazing ways. The second is that everyone has an opinion on it. The music we lead at Mass, that I learned from the Church how to lead, isn't for everyone. Contemporary liturgical music doesn't stir the hearts of some people (please note, I am speaking of liturgical music, not rock-masses, not praise and worship, not Christian pop top 40). Folk music from the early days of the post Vatican II Church is all some parishioners know, and what they love, for others it turns their stomach. Some of the people I am close to connect to traditional chants in a deeply powerful way that I am in awe of, but that I have never experienced. At the same time I have been moved to tears by Taize chanting. Because of this, music is something people tend to disagree on from time to time. I accept this as normal, natural, and important.
I'm realizing as I write this, that the story is going to be pretty long. I think I'll end it here and call it Part 1. There's a natural break here and I'll finish the story tomorrow.
I'm going to start by recognizing that a significant portion of my distance from the community of the Church over the last year is because of my own pride. That's important because letting that go is an ongoing challenge for me.
I'm not 100% sure the best place to start this story. It's kind of all over the map. I guess a conversation with a friend who is a priest really frames it well. I was expressing some displeasure with an article the friend had posted online. I felt it was pretty heavy on the judgemental tone, and I was projecting that judgement on to myself. It was a friendly conversation, and in it the friend expressed surprise that I felt like I was on the fringes of the Church. In his words, he saw me as a bulwark of the faith. I think that's representation of my history. I was on the fringes as a teenager, but through the care and invitation of some amazing folks, was brought in, welcomed, and built up over many, many years. I started volunteering and participating a lot, and eventually worked full time in youth ministry.
That moved on, but I stayed connected through music ministry. I lead a choir, and when I couldn't lead anymore, I passed that on to an amazing musician, and stayed on as a player. I invested a lot of time, effort, and love to that ministry. I learned guitar, bass, banjo and mandolin specifically to adapt to the needs of the different groups I played in, and invested a lot of money in high quality instruments, suitable for Mass. I was invited to lead music for large groups, play in praise and worship bands, and teach others about music in liturgy. I invested in my liturgical education. I went to every diocesan sponsored workshop and offering, travelled to liturgical music conferences, talked to other Catholic musicians, read books. I became very passionate about music, specifically music in Catholic liturgies. I was sent for formation in this ministry by the leaders in my Church, and trust in that formation. My mission was to lead engaging, meaningful, and appropriate music in Mass. I worked hard to find and learn music that the congregation could participate in, was culturally relevant to young people, without being exclusive to them, was community oriented, focussed on God, was solemn and joyful, and high enough quality to be expressed as prayer during the Eucharist. I connected to the Mass in ways that were deeply meaningful to me, and always experienced joy from the amazing participation of our congregation. I was also blessed with many compliments, all of which I pass on credit to God for.
Now, with all of this said, I know music is universal in two things. The first is its ability to stir the heart, and inspire. It is so powerful, and when it is done well, serves the Mass in amazing ways. The second is that everyone has an opinion on it. The music we lead at Mass, that I learned from the Church how to lead, isn't for everyone. Contemporary liturgical music doesn't stir the hearts of some people (please note, I am speaking of liturgical music, not rock-masses, not praise and worship, not Christian pop top 40). Folk music from the early days of the post Vatican II Church is all some parishioners know, and what they love, for others it turns their stomach. Some of the people I am close to connect to traditional chants in a deeply powerful way that I am in awe of, but that I have never experienced. At the same time I have been moved to tears by Taize chanting. Because of this, music is something people tend to disagree on from time to time. I accept this as normal, natural, and important.
I'm realizing as I write this, that the story is going to be pretty long. I think I'll end it here and call it Part 1. There's a natural break here and I'll finish the story tomorrow.
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