In 1981, I was sitting at a concert one night. A couple friends and I were part of the crew, helping with setup and tear down of the sound system. During the concert, we were in the crowd, sitting in the front row of the back section.
At one point, the singers wanted everyone to clap along. Everyone did. Except the three of us.
It wasn’t my event. I wasn’t there for the music, I was there because I loved being part of this crew with my friends.
The singers looked at us and called for everyone to clap. Pretty persistently. Everyone did. Except the three of us. The harder they pushed, the stiller we sat. Finally, they gave up.
I didn’t hear the rest of the concert. I’m not even sure who the group was. I am pretty sure that I didn’t go buy a recording from the merch table.
Music in an invitation to participate. The music part – notes, rests, instruments, harmonies – have a way of working their way into your feet or your fingers or your body. You may need to give permission to move, but you ruin it by mandating it. You can’t shame people into clapping along to the music. You can, I guess, but it won’t be participation.
The story told by the lyrics, that’s a different kind of invitation. It’s a story that invites reflection or identification or agreement. It’s a story that might call people to wave flags and wear armbands or weep or rest or give up lives.
The singers 30 years ago could have invited me in, just by living up to their songs. Instead, their pronouncements shut me down.
Do you know what I mean? Does this make sense?
Of course, I might not be talking about singers and a long-ago concert.
—
Three years ago, I wrote here about the Sermon on the Mount. I finally pulled those posts into a PDF ebook. It’s free. A 300wordsaday guide to the Sermon on the Mount.
300 words a day 
Rich Dixon
Takes guts to invest in telling a story and toss it out into the ether without explaining its point clearly and explicitly. You surrender control of your story and how the audience might respond. They have to study, figure out context, understand the writer. They might misuse the story for selfish, totally unintended purposes.
Or they may spend a bunch of time pondering and still not be sure. They may even be angry at you for messing with their heads :-). So they have to talk about it, write about it, maybe even come back to the writer for a conversation.
Because it’s likely not a story about singers and a concert. Or a farmer and seeds.
LikeLike
Jon Swanson
you make it sound much braver than I thought/ I mean, thinking about all the possible dangers. But I have a funny feeling that you are getting at something deeper.
And very well, I might add.
LikeLike
Lois Foote
I think I get it, Jon. Now, could you analagize (is that a word?) a mandate NOT to
clap, like Robbie’s church choir has? They are told they cannot applaud . . . Not sure that fits as well 🙂
LikeLike
Rich Dixon
Lois–I recently spoke at a church where clapping was considered disrespectful (??). So they “applauded” the childrens choir by holding their hands about head-high and rotating their wrists so hands flapped silently. I guess it was a “silent joyful noise.” I refused–you can’t make me clap silently, either!
LikeLike
Cheryl
A gentle whisper is often heard better than a heated argument. I only wish I saw the effects of my “whispers” in my Christian walk like I do when I am teaching.
LikeLike
Andrew T. Swanson (@swansonswanson)
I remember you telling me something along the lines of this a long time ago. More of a “don’t sing the lyrics if you don’t really mean it” thing though.
LikeLike
Jon Swanson
🙂
LikeLike