Of Churches and Subways

Until now, the most memorable performances of my life have taken place in churches.

This comes as something of a surprise to me. After all, as a contemporary singer-songwriter, I’ve spent quite a lot of time in café’s, clubs, concert halls, outdoor music festivals and even school auditoriums. But it’s the churches I remember.

I remember singing "She's Like the Swallow" while looking up at the domed ceiling of a Winnipeg church during the Kiwanis Music Festival. (I came in second.) And I remember singing "In The Bleak Midwinter" for the late-night service at our church on Christmas Eve.

I was brought up in a church-going family. My parents were both raised Baptist in the American South, and for a time my father considered becoming an ordained minister. He didn't do that, but gave guest sermons from time to time in the much more liberal United Church they happily discovered once they'd moved to Canada. For awhile, my mother directed the choir. These days my dad directs the church theatre troupe. Just last month I "came home" to give a concert at Immanuel United.

Music was very much connected to my idea of spirituality. When I started to play guitar, Bruce Cockburn was in his overtly Christian period, and I learned to play songs like "All the Diamonds In The World". My first songwriting collaborator, with whom I recorded a song while in high school, went on to become a successful Contemporary Christian performer.

Without being conscious of it, I found myself writing songs that included Christian messages and symbols ("Smooth Stones" for one). The majority of songs didn’t include overt Christian language, but did reflect an evolving faith which found reassurance and inspiration in the United Church creed: "We are not alone. We live in God’s world. We believe in God, who has created and is creating…"

And yet, I found myself drifting away from church itself.

My husband and I had different backgrounds when it came to spirituality. When we were a young couple, church-going was strictly a solo activity for me. When the kids arrived, we made a go of trying to attend as a family, but I soon discovered that trying to get a spiritually-ambivalent spouse and two preschoolers off to church was a special kind of Hell.

I also felt guilty about my church membership, because I didn’t volunteer enough, teach Sunday school, bake very well…or, too often, even show up. So I quietly withdrew from several warm and welcoming Toronto congregations, with lots of mumbled excuses and a hope that nobody would take it personally.

As luck would have it, a dear woman from one of those congregations keeps running into me on the subway.

She always asks about Dave and the kids and asks, delicately, "Are you alright, Dear?"

However, even if I'm not in church this Sunday, some of it is with me. Not the least of which is the message that we are called to give whatever gifts we have.

In the message of all faiths, the faces of which I see on the subway, I hear the refrains: "give to others", "open your heart", "speak your truth", "blessed be the peacekeepers", "give thanks", "forgive" and simply "love one another".

And I hear the Eastern wisdom, "Be here now."

As an artist living in a commercial culture that seems to question whether what I offer is even necessary, I am deeply grateful for the great spiritual teachings. I find myself using them, almost daily, to listen for calls and follow them...and to give to others in a spirit of generosity and trust.

I remind myself that although I may not be able see the Grand Scheme of Things, there’s evidence everywhere that there is one.

There is evidence that we are all connected, that love can overcome fear and tragedy, that harmony can exist even in the most challenging of circumstances.

The music I hear, this time of year especially, is a powerful reminder of a greater Love that I believe in yet do not fully understand.

Love one another.

Be here now.