The Familiarity of Princes

Indulge me for a moment and, in return, I shall breathe new life into that most hackneyed of phrases, "Life is funny".

In 2003 I decided to buy a satellite radio for my car.  I spend quite a bit of time in my car and as a music lover the thought of such eclectic, commercial free music at my fingertips was very appealing.  I compared the two major carriers at the time, Sirius and XM, carefully pondering the seemingly endless list of channels each had to offer.  After some consideration and a bit of cash, a Sportster Radio with Sirius service was mine.

Most who know me will tell you of one of my most defining characteristics: I am a music snob.  I cop to it.  Life is to short to listen to bad music.  This is why despite being a Christian, I never took Contemporary Christian Music (CCM) seriously.  Bad musicianship and, if I may borrow a phrase from a certain pastor, the "Jesus is my boyfriend" lyrics did not play in its favor.

It was with this mindset I stumbled upon Spirit, Sirius's CCM station, as I was exploring the stations on my new radio.  A song was ending and with a smirk I decided to stay on the station and count how many times "Jesus" was sung in the next song.  A song called Whole Again by someone named Jennifer Knapp was the next song to play.  Impressed by the song musically, touched by it lyrically, and moved by its performance, I was jostled out of my self-satisfied moment.

Now, I am a typical human, so when confronted with evidence contrary to a long held belief, my brain searched for a way to protect my silly notion.  "Well, it's one song.  She got lucky.  A studio enabled song, that's all.", I scoffed.  A few days later, here she was again, except this time the song was Undo Me:

Put away my flesh and bone

Till You own this spirit through me, Lord

Undo me

The craft work of a true artist filled the car; the sly internal rhymes, the intelligently constructed melody, the tension building bridge releasing itself into revelatory verse, the expression of a personal journey universally experienced.  My silly notion had no defense, her very words proving their point.  Pride before the fall, indeed.

As I consumed Jennifer's music (yes, consumed, as it is sustenance to me, modern day manna), I felt a kinship I could not quite explain, something obviously deeper than just enjoying her music.  I have only been able to describe it one way - Two eternal seekers met, took comfort in this welcome yet momentary comradery, saluted one another, and then turned and quietly sailed toward the oceans of our own hearts.

When I met Jennifer, she had only recently returned from a several year, self-imposed hiatus from making music. In fact, she was never sure if she would ever return.  I had come to terms with the fact that I may never be able to hear her play live.  At sound check, she performed a new song she was in the process of writing, her amazing voice echoing beautifully in the hall, expertly conjuring up images found in Rainer Maria Rilke's poetry.  What she could not know at that moment was that I had brought her a volume of Letters To A Young Poet by Rilke as a gift.  When I gave her the book, each of us held onto our respective end of the book, looking down at the cover for a time and then at each other.  We slowly smiled.  As we shared and learned more about each other and as I explained how important her music has been to me, the closing paragraph of Rilke's ninth letter came to mind - "Do not believe that he who seeks to comfort you lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good.  His life has much difficulty and sadness and remains far behind yours.  Were it otherwise he would never have been able to find those words."

That other Good Book, The Farmer's Almanac, contains an aphorism about the four things that should never flatter us.  The first is the familiarity of princes.  Maybe, but I think I'll allow it, just this once.  Because here she is again, this time in my church, in my hometown.  Life is funny.