Molto Bene Music

There is something deeply fascinating about music. Permit me to be Captain Obvious for a moment, but not everyone on this earth likes the same kind of music - but it is hard to find people that don't like any kind of music. The older a person gets, the more that person dislikes the current popular form of rhythm and melody. In the '50s, parents were upset with the 'devil' music called rock-and-roll. When you hear the oldies from that time period now, how in the wide world of sports did my grandparents think that was music from the devil. It all sounds the same - kind of happy and bouncy. Then, along with the accouterments of Vietnam war time rabble rousing, the Hippie years of music occurred. Sex, drugs and rock-and-roll. Music took on an edgy, overtly rebellious tone. Parents of Baby-boomers hated that. My parents, if I read them correctly, had no real love for '80s music, or even worse, the mosh-pit filled grunge of the '90s. Today, as my children grow up, I find myself closing my ears to hip-hop and country music, not because I find them offensive, but I am a lyric driven listener. Country music, in my very limited knowledge, offers limited themes of abandonment by women, dogs and pick-up trucks, and I can only listen to short bursts of how many times I will be "sexed up, baby." I'm beginning to become the same older man I only dreamed about.

I don't know what it is about music that moves people. I can define what I don't like but it is similarly hard to describe what I do like. The genre of music is less important than what the melody and lyrical rhythm is. Music done well is much better than music well done. Just like steak done well tickles my taste buds, music well done - overcooked or smothered with too much sauce or marinade, makes my mouth revolt. Music done well is simple but sounds complicated. Music well done is overbearing, overpowering to my ears. I can't separate the instruments; I am unable to detect the lilts of the voice.

Another thing about music that fascinates me is that there is an infinite number of songs that can be written using exactly the same 12 notes. Because rhythm, melody and lyric can be changed and interchanged, songs are never the same twice - No two people can play the same song the same way. You can always tell when there is an impostor.

In high school (well, not really limited to high school) my brother and I enjoyed the opportunity to switch places at times. As identical twins, we often confused teachers and administrators. Friends and classmates had no problems telling us apart; my brother had a mole on one of his ears for years and, of course, I was the better looking one. Frequently we would fool those who didn't know us all that well including: people at church who ceased to attempt to tell us apart just calling us Reidryan and double dates. I won't get into the full description of that story at this point but the the ending of that missive ends with Ryan staring at me in disbelief and Ryan's girlfriend slapping me across the face. I digress.

One beautiful spring, April 1, if I remember, of 1991 - our senior year of high school, my brother and I thought it prudent to switch seats in all classes to see if the administration could tell the difference. Actually we switched in all classes except one class, my dad's business class. I'm pretty sure that he could tell us apart. But, our mischief included band class. This one time, in band class... My brother played trombone and I, saxophone. Because we each had our instruments at home to practice once per year, we often picked up the other's instrument and tried them out. Gradually we learned the notes, but I was truly not much of a trombonists. But, on this fated April Fool's day, we entered the band room full of spit and vinegar hoping to add Ms. Tuecke to our list of "fools". I went to the cupboard and grabbed my brother's trombone; he found my saxophone. Adding to the pressure of the day, my brother was first trombone and I first saxophone meaning we each played the hardest parts respective to our instruments. Warming up was no problem. There were a few giggles in the trombone section. They of course could tell us apart. Ms. Tuecke shushed us wanting to practice - so far so good. We began to play but I was only playing half the notes and they weren't really sounding that good. I was faking it really well, so I thought. After the first song was finished, Ms. Tuecke announced that we would be doing a new song that we hadn't practiced yet. It was a song that had a trombone solo and, you already know where this is going, the solo was promised to the first trombonist. Grabbing the bull by the horns, we plodded forward and when the solo arrived I did my best but the band, knowing something was up, laughed uproariously and I noticed that my brother's neck had turned a nice shade of tomato red.

This analogy can go multiple different ways but I choose this way. Even though my brother and I looked alike - even though we act in similarly ways - even though by first inspection we can pass for the other, we cannot fool people by the music that we produce. I could no more fool Ms. Tuecke than I could myself. The master of music knows.

You've already guessed where I'm going but I push forward as Captain Obvious. We can fake being Christ-like for only so long. We can look like other Christians, we can watch and imitate, but what song comes forth is telling. Romans 7:20 Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me. So I find it to be a law that when I want to do what is good, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God in my inmost self, but I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind, making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. I know what it is that I want to do, but my actions - the very music of my life speaks otherwise and the master of music can see right through me. I can only fake my Christian life for so long. I can only look like a Christian because my sinful self dwells within my flesh.

It is at this point when I turn again to my Savior Jesus Christ the rescuer and perfecter of my faith. Galatians 2 19,20: For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who lives, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God. Even though my sinful self comes out time and time again and unleashes great unfaithfulness, I am chained in death to Christ Jesus. The law that condemns gives birth to the grace that forgives and as I move about in my own song of life, it is Christ who moves me.

Grace and peace this week. Next week a move toward college years.