The 21st Century Church

My personal experience with organized religion is comprised to two memories. The first is less clear. I attended a Lutheran preschool at a church on a hill. I sat in the actual chapel once, but mostly I remember the rice holes that got stuck in my shoes on the playground. Later, when my mom and now step dad entered the courting phase of their relationship, I remember eating crackers and drinking grape juice at a Baptist church while the Sunday School children shuffled off to their smaller sessions. Again, what I really remember is changing my clothes in the car on the way to Little League baseball games.

Maybe a friend took me to church once or twice. I assume some of the funerals I attended involved a cross and some denomination of it. I've prayed at my share of dinner tables, stood outside a temple in Utah during a wedding, and seen many a foot stomp many a glass. I'm always on the periphery, absorbing notions of god through the two things that consume most of my time: music and literature.

And thus, on a random Thursday in September, I came to the realization that my moral pillars are comprised mostly of prose and lyric. And musically, most of my awareness of a higher power comes from songs by Mason Jennings.

My first encounter with him came in Santa Cruz in 2001, where he and his band opened for particular legs of Jack Johnson's first headlining (and non Ben Harper) tour. Jennings later appeared (again before Johnson) when a buddy and I traveled to Manhattan to see (what ended up being one of the first final shows by) Dispatch. I saw him on his own tours in 2003 (with then unknowns the Decemberists, actually), 2004, and 2005. That same bud and I followed him from San Francisco to Sacramento, and the bud tailed him up to Portland. All the while, my days have been intermittently peppered with his songs and albums. I used to rock one of his t-shirts. I plastered a sticker on a water bottle. I hung a poster in my classroom. Mason and his music weave a significant thread through a third of my life.

Last Thursday, I returned to Harlow's on J Street to see Mason Jennings. The vibe was very different from my mind's vision of his show there in 2004. He appeared without backing, opting to switch between two acoustic guitars. The crowd--mostly my age and older--sat at tables and booths, many (Stephanie and I included) reserving in advance and enjoying dinner beforehand. He wasn't promoting an album or in the throes of a long tour; rather, he played across his discography, even taking requests for two of his three encores.

While walking to the car, holding my wife's hand, I came to the realization that spawned this entry. I'm fascinated by the possibility that I might not be alone in this. I wonder how many other nondenominational, unaffiliated agnostics I know--people who, instead of finding solace in a house of worship, find it melody and song?

Below, I've included a long list of lyrics and links that not only support my treatise, but illustrate the evolution of my faith:

"Jealousy has got no use for me / The past is beautiful like the darkness between the fireflies." ("Darkness Between the Fireflies")

"Freedom's the ability to feel love for everyone." ("United States Global Empire")

"So glad I found you / God is around you / And all that's about you / Shines with the light / Love won't deny you / Love won't confine you / Free what's inside you / Shine with the light." ("The Light")

"Living in the Moment."

"And all these burning battlefields are now behind us / Life has brought us here together to remind us / That love will rise above it all and just keep growing / Life keeps flowing, and every moment starts right here with us." ("Sorry Signs on Cash Machines")

"East of Eden."

"Fear is where all hatred begins." ("Adrian")

"It's the little details that derail your dreams / As simple as it seems / The separate little things that you should have done / Define your life, honey, one by one." ("Little Details")

"And i don't know what I want but i know where I want to be / And everywhere I go, I wish you were here with me / Stars hang on tiny strings, my dreams are made of memories / Once everything made sense, now I get so alone that I can't sleep /
Will somebody please tell me if this is where I'm supposed to be." ("Southern Cross")

"Everybody has to find / Something that gives them the strength to be alive." ("Southern Cross")

"Drinking as Religion."

"Be here now, no other place to be / This whole world keeps changing, come change with me / Everything that's happened, all that's yet to come / Is here inside this moment, it's the only one." ("Be Here Now")

"What do you got if you ain't got love?" ("If You Ain't Got Love")

"Someday, someday soon / You and I will both be gone / And lately, I can't help but think / That the love we feel will live on." ("If You Ain't Got Love")

"Life has no limit / If you're not afraid to get in it." ("If You Ain't Got Love")

"Some call me Allah, some call me Tao / Some call me Buddha, some call me now / Some call me Jesus, some call me God / Some say I'm real, some say I'm not." ("Some Say I'm Not")

"If You Need a Reason."

"Which Way Your Heart Will Go."

"Jesus, Are You Real?"

"I Love You and Buddha Too."

"How Deep Is that River?"

"There is nothing to control / No question mark left on our souls / Just sunlight on a freckled face." ("Sunlight")

"Lonely Road."

New Year, New Rules

In addition to teaching seniors this year, along with the opportunity to teach an elective course I helped design, I credit my happiness to four more crucial decisions. Five years in the profession--countless lessons learned, ideas shared, and tactics employed--and it comes down to these (for now, anyway).

One
I've stopped policing technology because kids use cell phones and iPods. They need to learn to use them at appropriate times and for appropriate reasons. If I am not instructing, I do not expect them to deviously tap at their phones while I'm not looking or run their ear buds down their sleeve, rest their head on their hand, and listen to their music secretly. Maybe it's because they're almost actual people, and not mutants, but we have a tacit agreement that we three can coexist.

Two
I refuse to button the top button of my shirt, especially if the knot of my tie hides it anyway. My neck remains free to move; my airway remains open to sighs and laughter; my demeanor remains unstuffed, liberated, and casual in feeling.

Three
Along those same lines, I have eliminated the loafer portion of my wardrobe. On my seemingly eternal flight to Johannesburg, a character in one of the many films I watched to pass the time, utilized a shirt, tie, and a pair of Chuck Taylors to remind that I should not sacrifice comfort and style for an unwritten, unspoken rule. I'm still in my slacks and tie, but I don't go to work in anything but my Sambas. (Coincidentally, this ensures that I wear my orthodox, keep my plantar fasciitis in check, and stay on track for the CIM.)

Four
Only shave Sunday and Wednesday nights.