Music Heals (most Sundays)

I didn't want to do Church last week.

It's not the same as going to Church because that means I'd simply show up and either enjoy, or not, whatever happens.

When I go it's a shitload of work.

Arriving, I turn off the alarm in the Bar, cut on the Beer lights, unload the equipment, move tables and Bar stools, hang a sign out front, set up the sound system, test it out, make sure my guitars in tune and ... wait on the musicians to arrive so I can tell them how great they are for coming.

Musicians are funny people ... most have talent.

They arrive ... plug in ... and start playing.

If more than one arrives at the same time it obviously means I'm hearing more than one song at the same time.

Musicians prefer to play whatever they believe to be their best song of the moment ... usually something they've just written or learned ... and they need the positive feedback they've already given themselves for (a) writing a really great song, or (b) doing the greatest cover of a really great song ever!

My job is to give them thanks.

It's a non-paying job ... though in fairness the musicians aren't being paid either ... rather coming to have an audience  ... or in rare cases ... give glory to God for the music in them.

Sometimes it's just crap.

Sitting there listening, on a Bar Stool because I mostly function as the the "Master of Ceremonies" ... not the minister ... or a fellow musician ... but as the one who delivers a weekly audience for musicians in need ... I listen and put things in some sort of order and, after throwing in a prayer, some words and a story of two ... a worship service is born.

Most Sunday's it's great!

And sometimes I get to play rock star too though I know ... somewhere deep inside anyway ... that's not what it's about ... but I also know ... deep inside somewhere ... music heals ... and God knows the world needs more healing ... which is why a choir of Angels announced the birth of Jesus ... and not political kingmakers.

So these egocentric musicians show up demanding a sound system to plug into, a ready made audience ... er, I mean congregation ... and share their music believing with everything in them they put choirs of Angels to shame.

But ... there's this miracle that occurs every Sunday ... the music heals ... someone.

Even the shitty stuff seems to touch.

The musicians don't know.

The performance ... er, I mean the worship ... is over and they're rushing home to write the next song, conceive the next cover, rest up for the next performance or tell choirs of Angels they can open the next show.

But I hang around, unplugging the sound system, taking down the sign out front, putting the speakers away, moving tables and chairs back in place and turning off the beer lights.

As I do these things, people come up to tell me ... not them ... how much the music meant ... and they found some healing to hold onto ... and they hope it happens again next Sunday.

Who knows?

Maybe it will.

More often than not, it does.

In spite of who the musicians are.

But because of the music somehow.

It's powerful stuff.

Likely the most powerful way God could conceive to announce the birth of a Savior.