Disciple: Creating Musical Welcome Mats in the Episcopal Diocese of North Carolina
By David Palmer
"God is not finished with us yet," and "I have a hope, a dream, a prayer for us, the Episcopal Diocese of North Carolina. It is that when we mark our 200th anniversary in the year 2017, the face of the Episcopal Church here will reflect the face of the peoples of North Carolina in all of our variety and God-given diversity, and that it will be known of us far and wide that, 'All are welcome in this place.'"
- The Rt. Rev. Michael Curry, former Bishop of North Carolina
North Carolina is home to diverse cultures, many of whose subcultures have an associated musical style. Americans seem to be increasingly eclectic in their musical tastes, but there are musical genres that have a particular resonance among subcultures. For example, we are accustomed to referring to "Hispanic culture," but within the larger group of Latinos are smaller groups who prefer Norteño, Tex-Mex, Salsa, Tropical, Merengue or Cumbia. Tex-Mex might connect more powerfully with a Latino from the American southwest than with a Cuban-American; Andean folk music might connect more powerfully with a Bolivian living in the Washington, D.C. area than with a Chicano from East Los Angeles. This makes it complicated for Anglo churches who are trying to reach out to Latinos on Sunday morning, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't put out the welcome mat by singing an occasional song in Spanish.
It makes me wonder: What other welcome mats could be put out? Even among Anglos, the language and lifestyle of some of North Carolina's subcultures are foreign to many of our Episcopal congregations. I learned this first-hand when attending a concert this past Halloween with my son, Steven.
I am the one with professional music credentials, but Steven has been educating me about genres that include hard core, death metal, grind core and djent. The Halloween concert was the third hard core/death metal concert I've been to with my son; at each, approximately five bands played. While I am a slow learner, I'm starting to pick up on the language and symbols of this subculture. I knew not to call the vocalist a singer: he is appropriately called a screamer. The first screamer obviously had big gauges (ear lobe inserts that can create loose loops of flesh) but now had two dangling strips where one of his lobes had broken. I knew to expect the audience to mosh and stage dive; to open up the center of the crowd for those who were flailing their arms and kicking their legs; and to run around in a circle, crashing into each other. This time, I noticed they always ran counterclockwise. Were they acting out their counterculture orientation? Imitating NASCAR races? I was able to recognize the breakdowns and bass drops that are cues to various responses from the audience.
I also noticed some feelings I hadn't experienced at other shows. One of them was negative: Steven and I wore earplugs, but my ears never rang worse. But I also felt something positive. These young people (I must have been 25 years older than the oldest person there) were blowing off steam. They were screaming out their angst. They were angry about all that's messed up about life. They were trying to confront the drama and tragedy of death. I felt moved to compassion. I pictured my wife and me going to the next concert wearing gray wigs and using walkers to edge out into the "danger circle." We would do it just to make them laugh. And maybe they would see it as, "Grandma and Grandpa have come to rock out with us. They must love us." Yes, we do. And Jesus loves you, too. Then, I thought, "Could I actually come to an event like this and wear a T-shirt saying, 'Jesus loves you?,'" because that's what I felt. How do I dialogue about faith with a death metal fanatic? Should I invite them to "Holy Eucharist, Rite Two, for the 29th Sunday after Pentecost, found on page 355 of the Book of Common Prayer?" The gap between the culture of Saturday night at the Greene Street Club and that of Sunday morning at the Episcopal Church was never more apparent to me.
I don't have a solution for bridging the gap, but that doesn't stop me from trying to imagine one. I believe it would be a mistake for Episcopalians to think our tradition is relevant for only one segment of society. This is where we have to decide what is essential to being an Anglican and what is simply the cultural trappings of the Episcopal Church. In my opinion, the latter should be optional when choosing or creating liturgy. Maybe we choose a traditional liturgy when we expect an audience that will find it meaningful, and maybe we create a liturgy that speaks the language, musical and otherwise, of an audience usually alienated from the church so they can hear the good news and pray and hang out with Christians. In other words, a death metal fan shouldn't have to convert to Episcopal culture before they can have significant Christian experiences.
Many parishes in our diocese have tweaked their welcome mats to make it easier for people to cross their thresholds. On Sunday mornings, St. Alban's, Davidson, has been very faithful to traditional Episcopal musical culture; nearly all of the congregational music is from Episcopal-sanctioned hymnals, and choir anthems and organ pieces tend to be traditional. But on two Saturdays each month, we hold services in which we play with culture a little bit, but always in the context of Eucharistic liturgy. It has been helpful for everyone involved to maintain a playful attitude; music is the material, the Play Doh that can be fashioned into a liturgical artifact. It’s okay if we get the particulars wrong; the vision is right. There is an implicit message here: none of these cultures is "it." There is no single culture that has an exclusive, divine seal of approval.
In spite of our efforts to "reflect the face of the peoples of North Carolina in all of our variety and God-given diversity," St. Alban's alternative masses still mostly connect with those who are already going to church and for whom the different musical styles speak in a way that the Hymnal 1982 does not. So the challenge of the death metal culture and many others remains: how do we welcome those for whom our normal church life is so alien to their culture that we seem irrelevant?
David Palmer is the music director for St. Alban’s, Davidson.
Tags: North Carolina Disciple