Church of the Open Mic

It was our fourth time doing it, and we were starting to feel comfortable.

But our monthly Open Mic Night is engineered to be unpredictable, not comfortable. And you'd have to a zen master to not wonder each month if anybody would even come... if the food would go bad before you could eat all the left-overs yourself... if the posters you put up all over downtown would mock you until they got replaced by "Battel of the Bands" or "Have you seen this dog??!?" several days later... if you would have to wonder what you did wrong... and if the whole vision is even worth the effort anyway.

Those were the premonitions at about 7:15 that Saturday night, May 5, 2007... when we were 15 minutes into it, and two people had shown up. We did our best to cheer ourselves up. "It's Cinco de Mayo... everybody's pub-crawling and wasted by now. It's ArtsFest weekend... everybody's watching 10 year old cloggers and buying knick-knacks on Walnut Street. It's Springfield Symphony's free-concert-in-the-park night... everybody's groovin' to the oboes."

"We just have too much competition tonight, that's all," we told ourselves. But all that food... and all that work. I noticed a stack of Open Mic Night leaflets on the table, and asked Phillip if he wanted to join me in passing them out around downtown. He said sure... couldn't hurt.

The first people we came to were college preps sitting out in front of a loft building at College & Market. They were, shall we say, not interested. At least not in anything non-alcoholic. Not even dark yet, and they were all plastered. If you need proof, one of them said I look like James Blunt. 'Nuff said.

After that it was a mixed bag. Some sounded excited, some threw our leaflets directly on the ground, some said nothing. On South Ave, right across from the Front Porch, Phillip got to talking with a couple of guys who had a serious interest in The Core. And I met a guy nearby named BroJo who wanted to come to Open Mic right away. So Phillip stayed to chat a bit, and BroJo and I walked on back to the gallery.

We found that not much had changed there... we were now up by one guest, and down by one leader. I started to talk seriously about taking all the food and heading down to the Square, where all the people were. But just a moment later, Vernon showed up... sweet Vernon. Last time he brought his guitar and did some retro music. This time he brought his violin to do some really retro music... meaning, classical. Then Phillip got back, so we went ahead and kicked it off.

First I played an original song... screwed it up a bit. Then a comedian got up and gave us a few yuks. Then a guy named Patrick, who's been showing some interest in the things of The Core lately, shared his "slam" poetry, which, apparently, is a lot like hip hop without the "music". Very ghetto-swagger kinda stuff coming from a very (by his own admission) white guy. But to be honest, he had some pretty quality rhymes... poignant and heartfelt, to boot.

In the middle of that, two guys came in with a guitar. Andy and Tad. Andy said he'd like to have some mic time.

Vernon got up with his violin and played beautifully. Such elegant music in such a humble environment reminded me of a story I read in the Washington Post about world-renowned violinist Joshua Bell, and his experiment to play his $3.5 million Stradivarius violin for 45 minutes at the busiest subway stop in Washington, D.C., to see if people would recognize genius out of context (although Bell rejects the word "genius" for himself.) I felt inspired by Vernon's performance to get up and tell the story. I asked if anyone knew who Joshua Bell was, and Andy, who I just mentioned, raised his hand and informed the group. I told everyone that, as it turned out, almost no one gave any notice to Bell or his violin playing... as 1,000 people quickly passed him on their way to somewhere. I encouraged everyone to recognize genius and beauty even in the blandest circumstances, or the most mundane schedules.

Four more young people walked in.

Phillip got up and welcomed Andy Zipf to the mic. Andy Zipf??? Is that who this guy was?

I started to adjust the microphone for him, and he said he would be fine without it. That was an understatement. He told us he had seen our flyer at the MudHouse, and, since he was going to be in Springfield for one more evening in the middle of his tour, he wanted to play a venue that was low-key and intimate.

Wait... He's on tour??? "Where are you from?" We asked.

"Washington, D.C. That's how I knew Joshua Bell... I've seen him play there."

So Andy started to strum his old Martin Guitar and opened his mouth to release his crystalline tenor voice. I don't want to say he "sang" because singing involves lung power and diaphragm and larynx. But none of that seemed to be involved here. His music was the sound of his soul rising... just waiting for his mouth to open.

Phillip later admitted that when he returned from passing out flyers that he was "in a piss-poor mood." I could relate. At the beginning I felt like I might be OK emotionally if Open Mic Night was a failure, but it was hard. I knew that God had every right to set us back a bit and teach us a lesson about perseverance and trust. But listening to Andy Zipf, I felt God speak to my heart and say, "No lessons, Ryan. Not tonight." I think Phillip was starting to come around, too... not to mention everyone else in the room.

After a few of Andy's songs, we took a little break, and I talked to the four young-uns who had just come in. One of them was named Danielle, and she said she was thinking about getting up and sharing something... not a song, not a poem... just some thoughts that had been on her heart. So I put her on the list to come up shortly, before she changed her mind.

After ten minutes or so, I broke the ice again by reading an original poem called "Life Sensory", and a past post from this blog, "I Am a Hypocrite", to set the tone for our theme, "AuthentiCity." Then Danielle came up.

I wish I could remember every word she spoke. I wish I had recorded it. But I remember her heart... her sadness at all the people who get up, go to work, come home, watch TV, go to bed... all the people who never really live their lives... who never discover what it means to be human. Throughout several confessions of "I don't know where I'm going with this," she asserted her commitment and passion to rise above the common error of missing life. I did remember one line she spoke, "I am glad that I'm able to have my heart broken." Here is a non-Christian, by her own admission, who has spun extemporaneous poetry to the words of James, "rejoice in many trials." To be human is to smile and to laugh, but also to cry and scream. No one should wish away these things... the essence of joy is to embrace them all.

Phillip took the microphone when she was done, his face red. "That is what tonight is about. That is what we've wanted all along... for people to share from the depths of their heart. That is authenticity." He was crying, and I think all of us were moved. As I said, this was our fourth time to have Open Mic, and we had always tried to set the tone for people to feel free to get up and just share... not to entertain, but just to share from their hearts. We love all those who have participated, and have learned and grown from each one. But Danielle was the first person to really, really get it. Praise God.

Among all this were a few beautiful and unlikely partnerships. Andy asked Vernon to improvise on the violin during one of his songs. Patrick asked Andy to provide background music for his rhymes. The spontaneity and community of it all was just breath-taking. Andy Zipf said it himself, "You guys should be thankful to have a community like this."

Tad, who had come with Andy not planning to share--"I haven't played the guitar for three years," he said--eventually decided to do it anyway. For some reason he picked up my guitar instead of using Andy's. He was welcome to it, and it sang beautifully in his lightly trembling fingers. Although his delivery was humble, even bashful, his worship was not. It was a very quiet expression of a very bold heart, fervently seeking the presence of God.

Vernon and his solo violin returned to the mic, with a disclaimer. "I haven't really worked this one out, yet... so bear with me. I can't believe I'm playing this in public." But he did.

And it was great. Most of it.

He stumbled even farther into the piece than he expected to. But when he was done, he was done. And we applauded him heartily, as he deserved.

I had to get up and say something. "I have to wonder," I said, "what our communities... what our families, our lives, would look like if we were always this... generous with each other. Danielle says, 'I don't know where I'm going with this, but...' Tad says, 'I haven't played in three years, but...' Vernon says, 'I haven't worked this all out yet, but...' It's that word 'but' that makes such a difference in people's lives. What if the people who approached us could know that we accept them in advance? How different could things be? We all know by now how talented Vernon is. But we've shown him that he doesn't have anything to prove. We love Vernon's talent. But not nearly as much as we love Vernon... and Danielle... and Tad."

That was the gist of it anyway. Like I said, I didn't record this event, and chances are that I was not quite that eloquent. But I felt eloquent. I think everyone did that evening. I guess that's what true community does to you.

I called Andy back up to the microphone to finish off the evening. He played three more songs, bringing us into the singing on one of them--"Add some harmony, if you like," he said. And all of us... Christians, Buddhists, Atheists, Agnostics... I believe we were all in a state of worship.

You may wonder about that, but I'm convinced that everyone has the ability to worship God in one form or another. It may be either vague or specific, mysterious or practical... but even those who don't know his name can find themselves in a moment of otherness... a moment of certainty that it's not about them; that there is a higher good, and a greater purpose. My prayer is that those experiences will build up in all of us, and lead us closer to a real knowledge of who God is, and what he's done for us. But in the meantime... don't miss those stunning moments that tie us together as spiritual beings.

I looked around, and there were more people present than ever before.

Andy finished his singing, and Phillip wrapped it up for us. After talking to a few people, I noticed that Danielle and her friend Katie had left. So I stepped out the door to see if they had gotten far... they hadn't.

"Hey you guys," I shouted. "Thought you could get by me, huh?"

"No, sorry... you were talking, so we just..."

"Well, I had to say thank you because, well... I don't want to be one of those pastors always throwing scripture at people, but you know in James where it says 'Rejoice in many trials', well, you've finally put a face on that for me."

Danielle said she was grateful to have been able to share, and that she never does that sort of thing. That she was just feeling it out to see what the spirit in the place was, and then, just... went for it.

"I'm not religious or anything, I mean... I believe in God," she said.

"This may sound strange..." I muttered, "but I think you've helped me understand Jesus better."

Danielle was almost beside herself. But I was telling the truth. "Thank you," she gushed, "That... that means so much to me."

Christina had caught up to us by now. "I think that was the most spiritual experience of my life," she said. She had been thinking about her friend Melanie, whose birthday was that day. She was one of those people who lived life exuberantly, and gave of herself extravagantly. Melanie died in a car accident at the age of 19, three years ago. "I just... I knew she was there with us."

____________

On the evening of May 5, we had an experience that is likely to make us anticipate our Open Mic events more eagerly in the coming months. We'll be tempted to tell everyone how Andy Zipf came, and so you can never know what minor celebrity you might see at Open Mic Night. We may be tempted to start arranging for them to be there when they don't seem to arrive on their own. I could see us screening the participants to make sure they can provide us with a certain quality experience. After all, if people start to come expecting something... we need to give it to them, right?

Wrong. I will make no guarantees for June's Open Mic Night. There might be a hundred people show up, and then Sufjan Stevens pops in. There might be zero except for a first-year accordion student. I can accept that, because as soon as we start programming it, we lose on two counts... the result becomes fake, and the premise--that magnificent premise of spontaneity, of foregone acceptance, of community--is lost.

So whatever God has in store for us, all I can say is, well... bring it on.