Tom Regnier

Dear friends, Cynthia, and Eric—

My friend Tom left a deep impression on me because of his attitude.  He typically set
his mind to being a servant, and he made sure his service exceeded expectations.  I try to imitate this as often as I can, and I usually find myself lacking compared to the example set by Tom.

Three happy memories exemplify Tom to me.

In late 2005 the Autumn Ridge Church campus on Salem Road was completed. There was a sense that those of us on the design team were now presenting the facility to the staff and to the congregation for use in service of others.  As I stood at the podium addressing the congregation at those services, I spoke of presenting the keys of the building to a representative who would now shepherd the facility on behalf of the congregation.  It was Tom Regnier who I mentioned in this role.


Soon after Autumn Ridge was occupied it became clear that no amount of planned storage in the new facility would be adequate.  Tom immediately swung into action and studied options, resulting in the design and construction of an excellent storage building placed on the east edge of the church property, connected by a service road.  This project was executed thoughtfully, with foresight, and with huge cost savings to the
congregation.  I think Tom was always justifiably proud of his fancy barn.


In 2007 we started the Autumn Ridge Church Arts Series so that the congregation could invite two national Christian artists each year to share their craft in the performing arts center of Autumn Ridge.  Tom instantly became a valued partner in this ministry, attending to hundreds of details required to assemble the volunteer team and prepare the facility for the events.  We worked together to create a protocol for each concert, and Tom was exceedingly faithful in seeing to his responsibilities in service of the guest artists and the audience.  I will always remember how, usually sometime during the artists' pre-show sound check in the auditorium, I would find Tom quietly standing next to me, proudly.  When the music stopped, he would inevitably say

"Can you believe they're really here??"

It never got old to hear him say that with such genuine enthusiasm. Tom and I also enjoyed a little ceremony that we enacted after each show, where a framed concert poster was carefully hung by Tom on a backstage wall celebrating the Arts Series.

I will really miss Tom.  I miss him already.

I anticipate that day, maybe not so long from now, when I will see Tom again.  He'll be standing with his attention focused to the front.  I'll slip quietly next to him and I'll hear him say

"Can you believe we're really here??"


Joyfully dedicated to the memory of Tom Regnier
12.14.10

Fifty

I turned 50 this weekend.

It was a profound experience for unexpected reasons. A Friday evening celebration with dear friends had just wound down. Dishes were washed and the clean-up was complete. Older daughter Elizabeth was off in downtown Rochester with college friends celebrating a mini-reunion as they were home for Thanksgiving. As seniors, they were able to enjoy themselves as adults. All had returned from schools across the country. Younger daughter Christina arrived at home with a few carloads of friends just in time to re-open all the containers of leftover Chinese food from my birthday party. Frying pans were produced, plates were piled high and kids were gathering around the kitchen island. Laura and I smiled at each other knowing that the third major meal of two days was about to be served. We loved the chance to play host again, even at midnight. Christina was just six months from finishing high school and the days of hosting carloads of friends were numbered. All good.

The phone rang and suddenly everything changed in the buzz of the kitchen. Christina checked the caller ID and saw that it was Elizabeth’s cell phone. Christina picked up, listened for a second and then spun toward Laura—

“It’s something really bad”

She thrust the phone to my wife. The kitchen began to quiet as Laura tried to make sense of the screaming she was hearing from Elizabeth on the phone.

It was that phone call no parent ever wants to get.

Laura ran to the room adjoining the kitchen to try to hear better. Elizabeth was hysterical. Laura’s voice was instantly panicked. Elizabeth was screaming, I could hear it from where I was standing a few feet away, trying to search my wife’s eyes. There was something about an accident and some fragmentary phrases about Chris being hit and Austin being hit. We knew these were names of two of Elizabeth’s friends but Laura was trying to make sense of the hysteria. Within 10 seconds it was clear that there had been a terrible car accident and her friends were hurt, and that Elizabeth was near a familiar storefront along Broadway in downtown Rochester.

“Dad will come find you- he’ll be right there. He’ll find you!”

My coat was on and I was in my car before I could think. As I sped down the street I was praying and I was telling myself to drive carefully to avoid creating some other disaster. Within five minutes I was rounding the turn onto South Broadway. Something caught in my throat as I saw the flashing lights along the street ahead, vehicles converging from all directions even as I pulled into a nearby lot and jumped out of the car. I ran the block along Broadway as ambulances pulled up beside me.

A war zone. As I approached the corner, rescue vehicles with flashing lights were screeching into position. Sirens were screaming. It was a cold crisp midnight. The sidewalk was lit by streetlights. I ran to the curb and the hysteria of the scene was unavoidable—bystanders and young women were literally screaming and crying. There was debris on the pavement. A body lay motionless on the sidewalk ahead, thrown unimaginably far from the street. Another lay against the curb, bent unnaturally.

I got to the corner and saw Elizabeth running toward me in anguish. She screamed to me just one word

“Dad!!!??”

Her scream echoed in the street. It was a single word carrying a thousand emotions, part desperate cry for help, and part questioning plea. I ran right to her and took her in my arms, holding her tight. She was sobbing and frantic and shivering and crying. My tears began to flow. Even in the midst of this chaotic hell in a street in a small Minnesota city my mind flashed to the gospel passage where Jesus cried in anguish as he watched the hopeless sorrow of those who mourned for Lazarus. Humans suffer. Christ knew all about it. He knows all about it. Still, he cried as he experienced it.

A war zone. Elizabeth dragged me to the edge of the curb where she had just been holding the hand of her friend, Chris, where he lay on the cold pavement. A coat had been placed across his body. A small pool of blood was in the gutter. I had met Chris two days before as he stood laughing with Elizabeth in our front entry. Chris was now conscious but in great pain, crying out for help, trying to find a way to stay warm, and moaning about how much it hurt. His cries were haunting. The sound of his voice and the anguish rose above the noises in the street, mixed with the screams and sobs of the girls gathered nearby. Elizabeth was still frantic—wanting to help her friend, wanting to run away, wanting to comfort the girls with her. She turned to me and screamed that she had heard everything, that they had been hit in the crosswalk right behind her, just after she reached the curb.

“Dad I heard the sound! I can’t get it out of my head!”

A war zone. I kept trying to come to terms with the contradiction of college kids celebrating the Friday night after Thanksgiving in a quiet town where not enough usually happens, now in the midst of a kind of hell.

I held Elizabeth and looked around me. I began to realize that I knew all these faces. The women crying and anxiously running along the sidewalk were Elizabeth’s childhood friends, girls I had known for years, girls whose elementary school field trips I had chaperoned, girls who had been in our home many times. They were all now beautiful young women in a nightmare. Stephanie had witnessed the entire accident ahead of her in the crosswalk. She was finishing her description to a police officer and she was trying to be brave. Kristine was screaming and throwing up, helped by another crying girl. Lydia was in tears pointing down the sidewalk to where Austin’s body lay, surrounded by a growing team of paramedics. Michelle dashed up, just alerted by a cell phone call. Their friend Luke paced back and forth between the two bodies on the ground.

The paramedics moved quickly to get Austin onto a body board. He was strapped down and stabilized as I saw them lift him gently into the ambulance. His body was still, eyes closed. He had been intubated but not ventilated. I prayed that he was breathing on his own. I also felt that terrible ambivalence, knowing that his silence was ominous but easier to bear than the sound of Chris suffering and calling out from the pavement.

A war zone. Stephanie had been brave. Finishing with the officer in the cold light of the storefront, she turned to us and locked eyes with Elizabeth. In a second her face melted into sobs as the two girls rushed together in an anguished embrace, crying uncontrollably even as the air was filled with sirens and wails and the calls of pain.

It was horrific.

I threw my coat to Kristine who was sobbing nearby, her jacket having been placed across Chris’ body in the street. I reached my arms around both Elizabeth and Stephanie wanting in all the world to hug them so tightly that it would all just go away. I was crying. Before I knew it I was praying out loud, calling out to God for help amidst the chaos. I prayed for mercy and protection for Chris and Austin, and that the doctors would be able to help them quickly. I prayed that somehow God would be honored on this terrible night.

The ambulance sped off with Austin. Chris moaned as a body board was slipped beneath him. Stephanie looked at me and sobbed that she couldn’t believe what she had seen—that the boys’ bodies had been tossed as if they were weightless. Michelle and I exchanged glances.

“Chris is talking—it’s a good sign”

We tried to comfort each other with his consciousness. I was so afraid that he might have internal injuries.

A war zone. Kristine’s coat and cell phone were left in the street near the puddle of blood. More squad cars arrived and crime scene tape was stretched between light poles and debris circled with spray paint. A few blocks up Broadway another array of flashing lights betrayed that further carnage had been wrought just seconds after this hit-and-run. We later learned that the same driver had collided with two more pedestrians, critically injuring both, dragging one on the car.

As Chris was loaded into the second ambulance, Kristine’s mom arrived. Kristine’s face captured the frantic torturous reality as she ran in tears to her mother. The entire scene could not have been more heartbreaking.

These are the sounds and images that moms and dads would die to prevent from reaching the ears and eyes of sons and daughters.

Elizabeth and I ran to our car. She was shivering and crying. We sped off to the emergency room along with the ambulances. Groups of friends were assembling. One of the guys had called to make sure the parents of Chris and Austin were reached. Within a few minutes Austin’s family members began to arrive, and were taken immediately back to the ER treatment area. Chris’ family members waited with us in the lobby. I felt sick knowing that Austin’s situation appeared much worse. As the minutes turned to hours, I caught the eye of a familiar ER doc and we learned that Chris’ vital signs were stable. The doctor also winced, saying that it was a bad night in the ER, with six critical cases, four resulting from the same hit-and-run driver. That was the first we had learned of the extent of the accidents.

I met Pat and Peggy, Chris’ parents. They were amazingly calm. When they were finally called back to see their son, they thoughtfully returned to the ER lobby, frequently updating the circle of friends that waited. Chris had broken bones in the leg and arm, but he was stable. It was 2 AM. Elizabeth looked at me and I could tell that she wasn’t leaving the hospital until she had seen and spoken to her friend. When it got to 3 AM we were allowed to wait upstairs as Chris was prepared to move to intensive care. The small group of friends followed me as my key card got us through interior doors and to the elevator. The conversation was lightening.

As it approached 4 AM we got word that we would soon be able to see Chris. I instinctively checked the internet using my phone, wondering if the world of the media had yet picked up this story. The screams were still echoing in my mind, just as the sounds and sights of impact would keep running like an endless tape loop in the minds of Elizabeth and Stephanie.

I gulped as I realized that the local newspaper website already had the breaking story posted online. I read and my heart stopped. I called Elizabeth quietly and handed her the phone.

“Oh my God.”

She read the story out loud, her voice shaking in the dark waiting room. Four had been hit, three were critical, and one of the first two men had died.

“Oh my God.”

The room fell completely silent. For the next 20 minutes each friend sat silently, looking in a different direction, eyes filled with tears, stricken.

We agreed quietly that Chris didn’t need to know. Somehow everyone would stay upbeat. And they did. Chris was in pain, but lay in the ICU as his friends gathered around the bed. They didn’t say that they loved him, but I’m sure that is what he heard. I stood quietly in the dark just outside the room, watching my beautiful daughter at Chris’ bedside, exhausted, her makeup still staining her cheeks.

We drove home together at 4:30 AM, just Elizabeth and me. She shuddered and sat silently and then looked across the car at me.

“Dad, the sound was so terrible. This is the worst day of my life.”

As we pulled into the driveway, I touched her hand. We both knew that the accident could easily have involved Stephanie and Elizabeth rather than Chris and Austin. I made a comment about angels.

She looked back and me.

“Dad, I don’t think this is about angels at all. I don’t think there were any angels there.”

Two days passed. Elizabeth twice visited Chris in the hospital. We drove her back to college in Minneapolis.

The more I think about it, the more I think that there were angels there that night in that war zone. I can’t prove it and we can’t know for now, but we will know someday. I think there were angels there that night, and they weren’t alone.

They were fighting.

I turned 50 this weekend.




respectfully dedicated to the memory of Austin Melville

soul

I spent the afternoon of Friday, October 8, 2010, on the Mall in Washington D.C. I visited some of the places that had touched me exactly nine years ago when I wrote:

http://jim-maher.blogspot.com/2001/10/she-was-shy-little-girl.html

This visit also gave me a chance to think.

It’s strange. During this business trip I’ve been thinking about peculiar questions. I guess it is because I am a scientist and also a Christian believer.

Are souls real? What are they? Where do they come from? Where do they go? Are they locked in time or do they escape time? Do souls pre-exist?

The world’s great religions and thinkers have weighed in. If time does not forever trap existence and consciousness, then perhaps souls could exist on both sides of this life. Maybe that is where Hinduism finds itself.

I am a scientist. That means my professional life is about studying things I can reproducibly measure with tools.

I was once fascinated by my discussion with a believer who stated opposition to the potential generation of cloned human life because such cloned individuals would not have received souls from God.

Wow.

The lady feared that cloning would result in soul-less zombies.

So I’ve been thinking about it. As a scientist I believe in the extreme complexity of the human brain. The brain is built from a few chemicals, but its complexity defies our understanding.

The brain points to the important scientific concept of emergent phenomena. The concept of emergent phenomena is exemplified by an ant colony. An ant colony is sophisticated and reproduces, defends itself, migrates. An ant colony does things that individual ants do not. The complex behavior of the colony is an emergent phenomenon, greater than the sum of its parts.

The human brain is built from neurons and accessory cells. It is a complex electrical machine filled with circuits. It is (perhaps) the most complex electrical machine of its type among all living things.

Christian believers see in the human an image of God, created by God for the purpose of communication, rescue, and eventually, co-existence and intimacy. Deity has created a persistent attribute in humanity in order to love it. That persistent attribute is evidently the soul.

Given that I am built from machinery, but with the purpose of knowing God, could it be that God perceives my soul as an emergent property of my complex human brain?

A brain has its roots in neurons, but just as the study of individual ants does not prepare us for an encounter with an ant colony, so the soul exceeds the machinery of the brain.

Maybe the soul is an emergent property of the brain. Maybe the soul consists of something immaterial, unlike the brain.

Maybe the soul is to the brain as a love song is to the vocal cords. The one emerges from the other, but the one is carried in a different medium. The song conveys something unimaginably different from the muscle and stretched membranes that created it through moist oscillations.

The song travels. It echoes. It is perceived. It changes lives. It can change history. It can be recorded. It can inspire.

It embodies love.

Maybe the soul is an emergent phenomenon, an ant colony from the billions of ant-like neurons of the brain.

Maybe the soul is the song that is carried as compression waves through air molecules, arising from the vocal cords to be a pilgrim in a different world.

Maybe that is why humans are a little different. Maybe their emergent souls are uniquely God-like. Maybe their souls are songs that are, like his, mutually audible, linking created and creator as the created learns to both sing and listen.

Maybe.

Rupert

She was 16 but that didn’t mean she could hold it in. She sat by the fireplace, cuddling the small dark dog and the tears welled up in her eyes, uncontrolled. She looked up at her dad and mom who stood nearby, helpless. “But we have to do something” she sobbed, letting tears drop onto the blanketed animal.

Rupert was obviously hurt. Maybe it was something deep inside—they couldn’t see any outward damage. He was a middle-aged dog, at least in dog years, a crazy mix of miniature dachshund and miniature pinscher, mottled colors in a smooth, short coat of fur. He had two dispositions, either sweet (when he wanted to share a lap or a bed), or ferocious with raised back fur (when a neighborhood cat was seen outside). The girl loved him unconditionally. He responded the same way.

Some time in the previous few hours Rupert had injured himself. Like the girl’s middle-aged father, a middle-aged dog can’t just burst around the house with adolescent agility. Busting a sudden dance move could cause sore muscles for days. Rupert must have jumped from a high chair one time too many. Maybe nobody told him to do warm-up exercises before dashing from window to window to look for the sneaky cat.

Like all dachshunds, Rupert was a long, tubular dog, and long tubular dogs are prone to spine injuries. Something was wrong with his back. Rather than prancing and dancing around his owner’s feet, he stood stiffly, puffing out his belly to brace against the pain. He whimpered and called out a quiet yelp when she lifted him to her lap. The warmth of the fireplace made no difference.

“We can’t just sit here—we have to do something.” She repeated.

The little dog had been sired among the broken-down outbuildings of a struggling farmstead along the border of Iowa and Minnesota. It was a muddy, overgrown place. When the upper middle class buyers had visited, the picture of poverty was overwhelming. A dirty comforter was produced, crawling with a pile of puppies. Various farm cats and dogs wandered the yard. A miniature horse was tied up nearby. The buyers looked at the chosen puppy, imagining the long list of intestinal parasites to be conquered. The girl’s mom and dad had even wondered a bit about how many animal species might be represented in the genes of this dog—that miniature horse had a peculiar look in its eye.

The years had passed and now Rupert was grown and injured. Two days of vet appointments and scans set the family back a few hundred dollars, and only confirmed the diagnosis—a ruptured disc in the lower spine was putting pressure on the spinal nerves. Within a day Rupert was dragging his hind quarters rather than using his legs. He was a pitiful pile of dog, nothing like the spritely animal they knew. The future didn’t look good. A few dachshunds recover with long bed rest. Most don’t. Pain medicine would help little.

Distraught, her mom picked Rupert up from the local vet. She sat alone in the car with the broken dog and called the girl’s dad at work. The conversation was short. Now mom, like daughter, found herself unable to control her emotions. The caller lost all composure, crying into the phone, letting the tears roll down her cheeks, oblivious to others in the parking lot or the effects on makeup.

Her mom and dad knew about the other option for a small active dog that couldn’t even drag itself into the yard for its morning business. When euthanasia was mentioned in dinner discussion, the look on the girl’s face cut to the heart.

Rupert was a member of the family.

A consult at the large university veterinary center suggested one other option, but it seemed extravagantly expensive. Spinal surgery. She and her mother drove 90 miles for the consultation. She cradled the crying dog as best she could. Her college-aged sister joined them for the vet visit. The price tag had four figures. The expensive operation couldn’t ensure recovery.

There was another phone call. The three women sat with the small dog. They wanted to be extravagant. Seeing him raise his nose to new scents on the air outside the veterinary hospital seemed to convince them. The girl’s father took the call from his office, far from them, listening to the tones as the phone was passed from one woman to another. He imagined the three of them sitting in the grass with the helpless animal. He ran the expensive scenario through his mind.

Something occurred to him as he listened. It was both a sensation and an impression, and it grew more powerful in an instant. A helpless, broken animal lay suffering far away. The animal had no intrinsic value—the repair expense could not be rationally justified. Why sacrifice this kind of money for an operation with no assurance of success? What kind of life lesson would the two young women of the family take away from such a crazy and irresponsible investment?

The sensation and the impression grew. The contemplated sacrifice was a tiny picture of something unfathomably greater.

Grace.

Grace is the central concept of Christianity. Grace is the ultimate synonym for Jesus Christ himself. Grace is extravagant, sacrificial love by the perfection of deity bestowed upon objects with no value. Grace is he most worthy of worship reducing himself to the tortured sacrifice extravagantly rescuing his own enemies. Grace is the decision to love irrationally, imitating that ancient, irrational love that was nailed to a cross.

The operation was an expensive success.

The little dog soon could walk again. It wasn’t long before his prancing dance came back to him, with some uncontrolled sway in the hind quarters. The family joked about the expense of the procedure. They saw the traces of clumsiness and smiled together—knowingly.

Abstract concepts come alive when personified. The personification of grace lies at the heart of the story of Jesus Christ. If dogs will someday scamper around heaven, I am sure that one little mottled dachshund with a slightly awkward gait will often be seen waiting his turn to feel the embrace of his Master.

professionalism

Introduction to professionalism in Christian worship music

One of my greatest joys is playing pop-gospel music with a group of instrumentalists and singers who regularly lead our congregation in worship. This is extremely fulfilling from a spiritual perspective, and it is a blast. Particularly significant to me is the opportunity to play with people I deeply love, appreciate, and respect. Many of us on the musical team have been working together for more than 15 years. In some ways we’ve matured together both musically and spiritually.

This activity has led me to experience deep times of worship, often in surprising ways. I spend a number of hours alone listening to the songs, playing along with them, and then listening some more. I saturate myself with this worship music each week, whether while driving, or in my home studio, or in rehearsal, or in performance. During these private and public times I sense the meaning of the songs and their call to intimacy with God through Jesus Christ. The experience often brings me to tears. Maybe being in my late 40’s makes me more sensitive!

It has gotten to the point that I consider leading a congregation in worship music to be more about my own worship mindset than anything the congregation is doing. Maybe that seems individualistic, but it has become true and freeing for me. It is as if we worship musicians were saying:

We on this team are about to spend some very special time playing and singing as an imperfect but heartfelt gift to God. It will be a very meaningful and touching time for us. We love doing this more than anything else in life. If you want to join us, please do, but we’re going to do it whether you join us or not.

At a recent lovely retreat with worship ministry musicians we discussed opportunities to excel in worship ministry. Here are some of the things we covered together.

"Professionalism" in worship ministry

I want to share some of my ideas about “professionalism” in worship ministry. This may seem strange, since most of us are not professional musicians. Maybe it may even seem wrong to discuss professionalism in the context of church music. This isn’t a business, right? Shouldn’t we just be happy with sincere good tries and leave it at that?

I’ve been playing the bass since 1970. That’s 40 of my 49 years. Through the years I’ve done some semi-professional playing in Madison, Los Angeles, Omaha, and Rochester. I had a full-tuition music scholarship at the University of Wisconsin—Madison. I’ve been a union musician. I’ve thought more than once about how it would be to play professionally rather than being a molecular biologist. I’ve decided that I love playing so much that there is great joy in not trying to make money at it.

But that doesn’t mean I’ve given up trying to aim for professionalism in all I do. A professional musician makes enough money at music to live off it. That is rare. However, any musician can display professionalism, and that is what we are talking about today.

We’re going to start by watching two YouTube video clips by and about a fantastic professional studio musician, bass guitarist Nathan East. I don’t know Nathan East’s spiritual perspective, and it doesn’t matter for this discussion. He is a super musician, and much in demand. He plays beautifully. The first clip is one of his live performances with Eric Clapton in 1999 on Clapton’s heartbreaking song “Tears in heaven.” Besides the fact that the song is about the accidental death of Clapton’s little boy, watch Nathan East, and listen to his playing. I try to imitate his style every chance I get.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AscPOozwYA8

The second clip is Nathan East talking about professionalism and what it takes to be an “A-list” studio musician in the professional music industry. Never mind that this clip is part of a series promoting Yamaha Musical Instruments (note that beautiful white bass guitar). The fact is, what Nathan East and other professionals say in this clip is powerful. His comments convict me about all the ways I fail to show professionalism. His comments also make me long to be more professional, and to inspire professionalism in my musical team members. Listen to what Nathan East says, and listen to the comments of the producers who appear in the clip. Think about what they are saying on the subject of “professionalism.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SfxYjQ9ZuSU

So now that you have these ideas in mind. Let’s talk about how this might fit into our lives as amateur worship musicians.

First off, let’s realize that professionalism in worship is not a new idea, and it is not a wrong idea. In fact, though they often stumbled into wrong-hearted and misguided rebellion (like us) the ancient Jews worshiped through organized music. This music was not spontaneous, but was rehearsed and offered by highly trained professionals using voices and dedicated instruments. Remember too that much of the book of Psalms is lyric sheets from ancient worship songbooks where the music has been lost. We learn about professional worship music in several Old Testament passages. Some examples are:

1 Chronicles 9:33
Those who were musicians, heads of Levite families, stayed in the rooms of the temple and were exempt from other duties because they were responsible for the work day and night.

2 Chronicles 5:12
All the Levites who were musicians—Asaph, Heman, Jeduthun and their sons and relatives—stood on the east side of the altar, dressed in fine linen and playing cymbals, harps and lyres. They were accompanied by 120 priests sounding trumpets.

2 Chronicles 7:6
The priests took their positions, as did the Levites with the LORD's musical instruments, which King David had made for praising the LORD and which were used when he gave thanks, saying, "His love endures forever." Opposite the Levites, the priests blew their trumpets, and all the Israelites were standing.

2 Chronicles 29:25
He stationed the Levites in the temple of the LORD with cymbals, harps and lyres in the way prescribed by David and Gad the king's seer and Nathan the prophet; this was commanded by the LORD through his prophets.

2 Chronicles 29:26
So the Levites stood ready with David's instruments, and the priests with their trumpets.

Ezra 3:10
When the builders laid the foundation of the temple of the LORD, the priests in their vestments and with trumpets, and the Levites (the sons of Asaph) with cymbals, took their places to praise the LORD, as prescribed by David king of Israel.

Psalm 68:25
In front are the singers, after them the musicians; with them are the maidens playing tambourines.

Nehemiah 11:22
The chief officer of the Levites in Jerusalem was Uzzi son of Bani, the son of Hashabiah, the son of Mattaniah, the son of Mica. Uzzi was one of Asaph's descendants, who were the singers responsible for the service of the house of God.

Nehemiah 12:8
The Levites were Jeshua, Binnui, Kadmiel, Sherebiah, Judah, and also Mattaniah, who, together with his associates, was in charge of the songs of thanksgiving.

Nehemiah 12:27
At the dedication of the wall of Jerusalem, the Levites were sought out from where they lived and were brought to Jerusalem to celebrate joyfully the dedication with songs of thanksgiving and with the music of cymbals, harps and lyres.

Interestingly, we learn essentially nothing about Christian worship music in the New Testament.

So now that we’ve thought a bit about professionalism from the perspective of a professional modern session player, and we've been reminded that the ancient Jews involved professional musicians in worship music, let’s think about the implications for us.

Before going on, I want to mention a comment that world-class Christian artist Michael Card made when we shared dinner with him before his concert at our church several years ago. He said something simple and profound:

We all bring mixed motives to our music.

He was talking about music in service of Christian life, whether as entertainment, teaching, or worship. He was honest and he was accurate. We are sinful people. Remarkably, when we give up our lives to Christ, God chooses to see only Christ in us. He sees me as pure, even as I struggle and fail in my attempts to offer meaningful gifts to him.

As Michael Card said, what brings us to make music is a complex mixture. Many of us in this business were made to be musicians and to praise God through musical creativity. We’re doing what we were made to do—what could be better? Sometimes we genuinely want to communicate with God through this medium, and lose ourselves in the process. I think those are my highest and most meaningful moments. I don’t even remember those songs when they’re done. But let's throw in some reality. We love being with our friends, we love the sounds of music, we love hearing ourselves play, we like the affirmation of others, we like the compliments of strangers. We like to feel needed or even indispensable. We like to think of ourselves as good players and singers. We enjoy performing. We are proud and arrogant (some of us more than others). Michael Card said it right: we bring mixed motives. Thankfully, God seems to graciously respond: "Let's start with that."

So here we go. I would argue that professionalism includes at least the following 12 ideas. There are a number of others, but these 12 form a core. I’ll provide my list and we can discuss them as we go along. Remember, I’m a bass guitarist. That’s both an excuse and a reality. These principles of professionalism are universal, so translate them into your own experience.

Skill
I’m sorry to start with this, but it is the most obvious. Skill doesn’t imply professionalism, but professionalism implies skill. When we seek to display professionalism in leading worship, it assumes that we are working very hard to hone our musical skills and bring excellent (and improving) musicianship to everything we do.

Quality
Here I mean dedication to getting things right and not accepting mediocrity from ourselves. I know, I know—I am offering imperfect gifts to a perfect creator. I am going to stumble. My heart is more important than my playing. All that is true, but my aspiration for both my heart and my playing is the same: quality. What we lay on the alter of our private and public worship is to be meaningful and expensive and genuine. That starts with quality. Franky Schaeffer (the son of leading 20th Century Christian theologian Francis Schaeffer) has written an entire book called Addicted to Mediocrity (1981) dedicated to the premise that Evangelical Christianity has forgotten quality and replaced it with “good intentions.” Ouch. That’s not professionalism.

Servant attitude
Isn’t it interesting how much of the Nathan East video was about attitude! Think of the quote from Lionel Richie. Do you remember it? It was something like “attitude determines altitude.” Professionalism is not about showing off or expecting accolades or looking for praise, or even playing really well. Especially in worship, professionalism is about a servant attitude, seeking to serve the other team members, and the joint musical product, as more important than one’s own playing. Making each team member feel good about their respective contribution can be a hallmark of a musical leader who displays professionalism.

Respect for the time of others
This is a big one. Respect for time is hard to understand until you have played with professional union musicians. It was an eye-opener for me. People are paid by the clock, there are prescribed breaks, and overtime costs a lot more. People come prepared, and leaders work efficiently. Before and after a professional rehearsal there is time for humor and good fun. During the rehearsal it is business. Players are silent when they are not working on a section together. The leader has the complete attention of all involved at all times. Players take notes to speed their subsequent preparation. Players arrive totally prepared, assuming they won’t have any time to re-orient to the music. They come assuming that the first time through in rehearsal needs to be tight, and might be recorded. We should act like each member of the team is making $200 an hour. How would it change our behavior if they were?

Patience
We in worship ministry often rehearse at night, after long and difficult days at school or in our other careers. We often work weekends. We are often tired or stressed. That’s life. Professionalism means the discipline of patience. Tempers are held in check. We exemplify professionalism, expect it in our team members, and do not blow the whistle when we don’t see professionalism around us. Like good parenting, professionalism is 90% setting a good example, and 10% expecting others to imitate it. If that player needs to go through the part 5 times to get it right, we do it 6 times. If the vocalists need some time to work out their harmony parts, we sit alertly and give them the time. They’re each making $200 an hour, right?

Self control
We joke all the time that professionalism means being paid for the notes you don't play, not for the notes that you do. Professionalism is about choosing the correct notes, and placing them (or singing them) in such a way that a song is complemented. Self control is also about disciplines like finding something complimentary to say about the musical gifts of your dear friend, or even the gifts of that new younger musician just sitting in for the first time.

Flexibility
This is about making one’s playing a tool in someone else’s hand. Maybe that someone else is another player with a suggestion, or maybe it is the worship leader. Flexibility means trying new things, willingly and cheerfully offering musical options, stretching to explore new and unfamiliar musical territory. It also means switching instruments or vocal parts or transposing as if the new key means being paid double! Flexibility also means choosing to sit out when one’s voice or instrumental part is not helpful. It means I smile and agree about sitting out even when it wasn’t my idea!

Listening
Professionalism means excellent musical skills, and an essential musical skill is listening. This means being constantly aware of what the other team members are doing musically. Many of us benefit from personal monitor mixers allowing us to choose which team members dominate our musical experience during rehearsal and performance. This is fantastic. I am a bassist. I listen to the drummer and my favorite singer and that’s almost all (OK, a bit of an exaggeration, but sorry guitarists and keyboardists and background singers). I’ll admit it though—it is an all-too-common experience that I study our rehearsal recordings and realize that a team member was creating an important musical statement, and I either played over it, or improvised a part that didn’t agree with it. Bad listening.

Encouragement
The Nathan East YouTube video makes the claim that professionalism means helping others to have a good time and to feel good about their musicianship. If there is one thing I’ve learned as a scientist who writes research proposals for money, it’s that people don’t create well when they are scared. People create when they are relaxed and when they trust those around them. Professionalism means passionately investing in that kind of environment. Professionalism means setting aside pride and cliquishness and making the musical process a pleasure for all involved. I fail at that way too often.

Attention to detail
Professionalism means caring about the little things and finding ways to eliminate errors and unhappy surprises. Such musicians think ahead, plan for problems, and bring plenty of experience in providing solutions. Players like this know their gear, know their limitations, and (in the Zen sense) play (or sing) “within” themselves. This means offering well-seasoned tools and practicing the discipline of treating body and vocal cords with respect and care.

Team playing, not cliquishness
Professionalism means reaching out to new team members who are less familiar. As I mentioned, some of us have known each other for many years and we have shared some of the most sensitive and personal experiences of our lives together. Some of us are married to each other! Some of us admire each other very, very much. Many of us love spending time together. This is all good, and it is all beautiful. It is only an obstacle when the bonds of friendship and love create a clique, an obstacle to giving and meeting and serving and hearing others in ministry with us.

Preparation
Last and not least, professionalism means preparation. This has been extremely important for me. Preparation is important not just because it supports all of the other aspects of professionalism, but because it has freed me to get closer to what I think worship should be. Let me explain. What I share is about me. It may not apply to you. If it challenges your thinking, good. No apologies.

As a classically-trained orchestra musician, I grew up focused on the technical act of interpreting printed orchestra music on the page. No improvisation. No memorization. No transposition. Detail-oriented technical playing is everything in this setting. That is about reading music, notes, symbols, Italian. I brought this “chart-centric” culture with me to pop music, jazz and worship. Put a chart in front of me and watch me play. This mind-set is technical, but it hindered my ability to actually experience worship as an intimate and emotional reality. My mind and heart were engaged technically, not passionately.

Bob Kauflin (involved for 30 years with the a capella Christian music group Glad) describes how members of a congregation can become stuck in this technical mindset. He calls it SDD (screen dependency disorder) or HDD (hymnal dependency disorder). As a musician, I had CDD (chart dependency disorder). I was too busy technically interpreting marks on a page to think about why the acoustic compression waves were propagating from my instrument, and whether the acoustic compression waves were expressing my love for him for whom they were created.

One of my most cherished musical partners once gently challenged me, just in passing, to get my head out of the music. “You don’t need those charts anyway” she said.

Say what?

Her passing comment changed my life. Not just my musical life, my whole life. I realized that a very large fraction of the praise and worship music we share has simple structure. I can easily internalize the chord patterns and feel them rather than read them. For me this changed everything. I deliberately now learn my worship music by listening, not by reading. Sure, when I play chamber music I’m a technician of written detail. Yes, if I were hired to record with two takes, bring the chart. When I want to make the worship genuine for myself, even as I lead others, I now choose to prepare so the music is fully internalized.

Preparation and memorization should not be about pride. They should be about getting beyond the technical to a place where my contribution is at the level that my mind is on Christ, and my emotions are engaged in communication to and about him. I look forward to this experience in both rehearsal and performance. In fact, I tear up in rehearsal, and find myself transported on Tuesday nights as often as on weekends—if I have taken time for adequate preparation.

For our worship preparation we receive a lovingly-prepared packet of charts and a demo CD in advance of rehearsal. I start work immediately listening to that disc every time I am in my car, and every spare hour at home in my studio. I digitally input the music into an inexpensive transposition tool:

http://www.ronimusic.com/

(yes...there is a PC version too)

that allows me to play along with the recording and work out my part and memorize the structure in the appropriate transposition over several days of intense playing prior to rehearsal. Yes, you heard me correctly, I said “several days of intense playing prior to rehearsal.” For me, that is preparation. When I arrive at rehearsal, professionalism means that I expect everyone has done the same. There should be nobody saying “I didn’t have time to study the CD” or “can you play the CD once so I can remember this next song?” We all should have been living each of these songs for the days leading up to rehearsal.

I was intrigued to discover that this freedom I have experienced through worship music preparation has a parallel in the writings of C.S. Lewis, the wonderful Christian apologist. Lewis wrote in Letters to Malcolm, Chiefly on Prayer:

Novelty, simply as such, can have only an entertainment value….church goers don't go to be entertained. They go to use the service, or if you prefer, to enact it.

Every service is a structure of acts and words through which we receive a sacrament, or repent, or supplicate, or adore. And it enables us to do these things best...when, through familiarity, we don't have to think about it. As long as you notice, and have to count, the steps, you are not yet dancing but only learning to dance. A good shoe is a shoe you don't notice. Good reading becomes possible when you need not consciously think about eyes, or light, or print, or spelling. The perfect church service would be one we were almost unaware of; our attention would have been on God.

Interesting. For me, memorization and familiarity and preparation are aspects of professionalism that get me beyond thinking about the dance steps. They get me to dancing. More important, they allow me to think about and actually enjoy my partner in the dance during worship.

So I cannot emphasize enough the freedom and significance that have come with my attention to the discipline of musical preparation and memorization. It has changed everything. Yes, this commitment requires a lot of time each week. It is a meaningful investment that has had a profound and very personal spiritual impact for me. It may not be for everyone. This commitment to preparation may take different forms for different singers and instrumentalists. At the bottom, however, professionalism can probably be summarized best by that single word: preparation.

Summary
So there we have them: 12 principles that capture aspects of professionalism in Christian worship music. Are there more concepts that might be added? Sure—things like passion, intentionality, humor, modesty, sacrifice, consistency, accountability, mentorship, etc. etc. They start to sound like discipleship terms, don’t they?

I think these 12 provide a good start. Let’s continue to discuss them together. Let’s continue to challenge ourselves to practice these principles and display them. Let’s agree to expect them in each other and remind each other when we stumble. Please remind me.

Oh, and did I mention, I love serving him with you. It is my favorite thing. It is a privilege.

A Christian molecular biologist answers questions about Easter and the CERN Large Hadron Collider (LHC)

What scientific problems are physicists trying to resolve through the experiments at CERN?

First off, I’m a PhD molecular biologist who studies DNA and RNA molecules. Even though the molecules I study are microscopically small, they are still millions of times larger than what particle physicists study. I’m still delighted to take part in this discussion, since I think Christian believers should be fascinated with all kinds of scientific problems The LHC is a 17-mile circular tunnel, 500 feet underground, located near Geneva, Switzerland. It will generate a staggering 15 million gigabytes of data per year (you think YOU have computer storage issues!). Particle physicists are curious about how matter and energy are organized at the smallest level. What are the “building blocks” of the universe? Aristotle taught that the building blocks were earth, air, fire and water. Many of us were taught the philosophy of the Greek writer Democritus, that the building blocks are called atoms. Now we know that even atoms appear to be built from smaller pieces, like protons and neutrons and electrons. These little pieces are too small to see, and seem to obey rules that are very different from our experiences. Are the sub-atomic particles made of even smaller things? The current popular theory among physicists is a complicated theory called the “standard model.” According to this model, even the sub-atomic particles are made of other even smaller particles, called quarks, that can form clusters called Hadrons. Particle physicists are trying to get a list of all the subatomic particles, figure out how they behave, and test the “standard model.” If predictions of the “standard model” aren’t observed in experiments, it might be wrong and physicists may need to go back to the drawing board. The LHC is the biggest single science experiment ever undertaken. CERN is a group of participating European countries (with collaborators from other countries like the U.S.) that invested $10B to build this amazing machine. That is a big investment for one experimental tool, but it is an amazing tool. And remember, we in the U.S. spent $1billion EACH for the 20 B-2 stealth bombers we have in our air force!

What are they able to accomplish with the CERN apparatus that has been inaccessible to us in the past?

The LHC on the border of France and Switzerland is the ultimate high energy particle smasher, able to generate collisions with energies 100,000 times hotter than the sun. The idea of a particle smasher (actually a particle accelerator) is that we learn about what is inside something by smashing it to smithereens and watching the pieces fly off from the collision. That seems crude, but we could learn a lot about the components of cars by crashing two cars together at high speed and photographing the pieces that fly off in different directions. The LHC is capable of smashing protons (lots of protons) together with more energy than any previous machine. The LHC cameras (called “detectors”) that watch the pieces fly apart are the largest and most sensitive ever made, weighing thousands of tons. Ultimately the LHC was built to try to detect a particular theoretical particle that is important in the standard model. This important particle is called the Higgs boson (I’m not making this up.) A better understanding of this particle would help physicists understand why matter has mass, where is the mass in the universe, and how gravity works. Interestingly, physicists believe that the force of gravity is weaker than expected from theory. Some physicists believe there are more dimensions in the universe than the three dimensions (and the fourth dimension, time) that we experience. They believe gravity seems weak in our world because it is shared with some of these extra dimensions. That is a very cool idea.

How might the data be used to help us understand the origins of life and either prove or disprove the existence of God?

The results from the LHC will teach particle physicists whether they are on the right track in their theories, or if they need to go back to the drawing board. We will learn what kind of power and energy are needed to create and sustain the universe. I suspect that faithful physicists will find the result to inspire awe in the power and magnificence of their creator. I suspect that agnostic or atheist physicists will probably not become religious believers simply because of this work. My experience is that we tend to view the universe through the eyes of faith or the eyes of doubt. At their core, though, these experiments will help us better understand the truth about our world.

How might a Christian scientist resolve the newly acquired data with the data from scripture that tells us that “By him were all things made and in him all things consist”?

I think this is the most important question. I believe that God “speaks” to us in many wonderfully different languages. He has revealed himself in ways through the rich and complex different forms of literature collected in the Bible in the biblical languages of Hebrew, Greek and Aramaic. But God speaks to us in many other ways. He speaks through his spirit and through his people. Remember, God also speaks through his creation. The world around us teaches us about God’s creativity. The fabric of the universe is God’s fabric. Human curiosity is evidently an aspect of God’s image in us. When astronomers use telescopes to look back in time toward the Big Bang, or particle physicists look at the tiniest fragments of matter and energy, they are reading God’s word in a different kind of language. Francis Collins worked to sequence the entire genome, and has written that studying DNA is, to him, studying a language of God. Physicists are learning that God’s language is even more weird and complex than they had thought. The amazing truth is that God’s language appears to be mathematics. Christians should not be threatened by the discoveries of science. These discoveries will also help us to better appreciate the poetry and mystery of the Bible. If the discoveries are true, they will stand up to the test of time, and they will teach us about the many ways that God is speaking to the universe he loves. In fact, there are scientists who think there may be many, many universes. I imagine that God loves them all. Maybe not all of them are fallen and need redemption, but I believe God loves to rescue fallen and undeserving things, just like he rescued me. He is willing to sacrifice himself to make this point. Perhaps God is redeeming many different universes. What is most remarkable to me is that this unfathomably awesome and powerful God cares about a galaxy in the middle of nowhere in this universe, and a solar system in the middle of nowhere in that galaxy, and a small planet in that solar system. He cares about a race of beings on that planet, and he cares with unimaginable and individual love. He cares about you and he cares about me, and he knows us both. He has purchased us with his love, in spite of our rebellion. Our God is a God of extreme power and extreme love.

Does this have anything to do with Easter?

Easter and the Resurrection may seem far removed from the studies of particle physics. Maybe they are not. Physics teaches us that the creator must have unimaginably immense power, and the ability to interconvert matter and energy. According to Einstein (E=mc^2) making matter from energy can be done, but it is extremely expensive. Amazingly, all the matter of the universe was created from energy by God at the Big Bang. Moreover, it may be that our God is the Lord of multiple dimensions. The kingdom of heaven may be among us now, but in a dimension we don’t experience (yet). Our Lord may be a Lord of multiple universes! To such a God, resurrection and the death of death seem small obstacles. Indeed they may be the rule rather than the exception.

As I scientist, I see my curiosity as a reflection of who God made me to be. Understanding God’s world means understanding God a little better. For those interested in more about the LHC, a fun (musical) rap video was created by a young female scientist at CERN. It’s been watched almost 6 million times on Youtube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j50ZssEojtM

concentric circles

One of the fun things about being a professor is organizing student groups of one kind or another. One of our groups meets in order to provide extra opportunities for practicing written and discussion skills. These are important tools for scientists, so one can scarcely get enough practice.

This particular student group is always fun. We meet weekly. The faces change from year to year, but the discussions stay interesting. Every group is a bit different.

One of the fun projects assigns groups of three students to lead discussions on topics of current interest that cannot be about laboratory science (since that is what the rest of the program is about). Instead, the topics are to be current events, or ethics, or controversial issues. The goal is to present ideas about which people care deeply, and then to lead a thoughtful discussion that values all the opinions in the room without letting tempers or disrespect obscure the communication. It is fun. Sometimes it is challenging. I always enjoy it, and the students find the change of pace to be refreshing. This kind of discussion is all too uncommon during graduate school training, where 99.9% of the focus is on intense scientific experimentation.

The discussion topics tend to range far and wide. We’ve talked about piracy off of Somalia. We’ve talked about HIV, health disparities, conspiracy theories, the end of the world, religious views of origins, Facebook, and many more.

One of the things I find fascinating is how quickly the topics almost inevitably become discussions of spirituality and faith, seemingly regardless of the original subject matter. These core issues seem to be just below the surface for many students. It’s not like we are going to steer clear of religion. It finds a way of honestly bubbling to the surface once we let passionate discussions expand beyond science.

That fascinates me.

I also always get the nagging feeling that I should find extra-curricular ways to facilitate these conversations more broadly among students. Some are agnostics or atheists, but many adhere to strong faith traditions. I think these are worth exploring, even challenging. I feel that way partly because of my conviction that not all traditions are legitimate, not all are created equal, and many may be, as C.S. Lewis might put it, “echoes” of the one Truth.

A few weeks ago the students led a discussion of the 2010 earthquake disaster in Haiti. It was another interesting topic, especially for affluent American students. On the other hand, several in the room came from developing countries, and some had specific links to the devastated island. We were faced with the uncomfortable issue of how to choose whom in this world to help. With so many in need, and the media making the disparities so much more obvious than ever before, what are we to do? How do we “rank” the calls for help around us?

Great questions.

We listened to each other work through the challenge in discussion. The students had done some significant thinking about this. Most had developed some kind of philosophy of charity. As we talked, a sort of consensus began to emerge. It seemed to be about concentric circles. In essence, many expressed that we first take care of ourselves, then our “own” (our immediate family), then our extended family, then our immediate community, then…

The concentric circle model makes sense. We are in the very center, where we belong. Right? This life is essentially about us, right? After taking care of #1, who then better deserves our help than our parents, brothers and sisters?

We discussed how this model makes evolutionary sense, with our genes watching out for themselves. Protecting our DNA, and the DNA most like our own (mom, dad, sis, bro) sounds like a great survival advantage that should be a selectable genetic trait.

Settled.

But then we talked some more. We began to reflect on the admiration that societies hold for those that reject concentric circles and step right out of the center. We talked with a degree of reverence about Mother Teresa, and the martyrs and those who forsake comfort and health to bring resources or a saving message to distant strangers whose genes are as different as they could be.

A fable told by Catholic priest Henri Nouwen (1932-1996) came to my mind. The story is available online and isn’t hard to find by Googling.

Once there was a very old man who used to meditate early every morning under a large tree on the bank of the Ganges River in India. One morning, having finished his meditation, the old man opened his eyes and saw a scorpion floating helplessly in the strong current of the river. As the scorpion was pulled close to the tree, it got caught in the long tree roots that branched out far into the river. The scorpion struggled frantically to free itself but got more and more entangled in the complex network of the tree roots.

When the old man saw this, he immediately stretched himself onto the extended roots and reached out to rescue the drowning scorpion. But as soon as he touched it, the animal jerked and stung him wildly. Instinctively, the man withdrew his hand, but then, after having regained his balance, he once again stretched himself out along the roots to save the agonized scorpion. But every time the old man came within reach, the scorpion stung him so badly with its poisonous tail that his hands became swollen and bloody and his face distorted by pain.

At that moment, a passerby saw the old man stretched out on the roots struggling with the scorpion and shouted: "Hey, stupid old man. What's wrong with you? Only a fool risks his life for the sake of an ugly, useless creature. Don't you know that you may kill yourself to save that ungrateful animal?"

Slowly the old man turned his head, and looking calmly in the stranger's eyes, he said: "Friend, because it is the nature of the scorpion to sting, why should I give up my own nature to save?"

This piece seems to provide the most extravagant possible example of getting out of the center of the concentric circles. Is it possible that a person would sacrifice themself even for an animal—even for a scorpion—even for a scorpion that is viciously and mindlessly stinging in response to the saving gesture? Could humanity ever really jump that far out of the center of the concentric circles?

More importantly, why do our hearts admire the old man in this fable? What is it in us that reveres and longs to imitate this selflessness. Even though our minds reason us into concentric circles, something (and it isn’t our DNA) tells our hearts that serving strangers and saving stinging scorpions is what we were really made to do.

It fascinates me that we are wired to admire this non-concentric behavior.

Then it occurred to me that Nouwen’s story actually has nothing to do with scorpions or old men, and it is not a fable designed to guilt us into selflessness. It is not about trying to get us out of the center of our concentric circles. Nouwen is reminding us gently that there is a reason we all are wired to long for non-concentric lives.

This is because the loveliest story that has ever been told is about the ultimate non-concentric life. We are built to adore this story. It is about the loveliest heart that can ever have existed giving up everything for the most vicious stinging scorpion imaginable. It is about God taking upon himself humanity in order to experience the pain, hopelessness and meaninglessness that only humans could create for themselves. In this humanity, this loveliest heart saturates himself with the human experience of suffering. In this humanity, taking upon himself the excruciating (literally “torment of the cross”) pain, he willingly experiences torture and sacrificial death where no tug of DNA can be blamed.

This is a death as far from the center of concentric circles as any being could ever get. This is the one with the most to lose giving it up for the one with the most to gain. This is the story that echoes in every fairy tale with a happy ending. It is the story our hearts were wired to hear.

I try to resist turning our discussion groups into sermon platforms. I like to see how the students thoughtfully come to tough conclusions on their own. Sometimes this leads to very important one-on-one chats later in my office.

I only said to the group, “Could it be that the reason those whose non-concentric lives are so touching to us is because they point us to a deeper and more ancient story? We long for that story but seem to have forgotten it.”

It is a fun discussion group.

3/10