IVP - Strangely Dim - August 2008 Archives

Cacophony from the Cubicles

I would like to speak for the cubicles. Well, not the actual cubicles themselves, but those of us working in them. Today, of course, is what I am affectionately calling (since he essentially did first) "Dave's Rip-Off Music Experiment". I've chosen my song (it's playing now; I'll reveal what it is in my reflection post), but, being a cubicle-dweller, I'm approaching the day with a bit of trepidation. For those of you who've never had the privilege (and there are advantages, believe me; you hear very useful things sometimes as you are innocently working away) of working "free" of doors and windows and your own ceiling, I'll explain a few of the added considerations in choosing a song for the experiment.

1. I wanted to choose a song that wouldn't drive my neighbors crazy. I like them. I want them to still like me at the end of the day.

2. I wanted a song with enough musical variation that it wouldn't drive me crazy, but one that doesn't have so much variation that I have to turn it up (during, say, the piano parts) and down (during, say, the trumpets or electric guitars) every few minutes. I could, of course, simply leave it at the same volume, but--see number one.

3. Headphones are good for neighbor relations in cubicles, and would solve the problems of numbers one and two, but, unfortunately, there are a number of parts of my job that I can't concentrate on listening to a song with words with headphones on. And, even more than wanting my neighbors to like me at the end of the day, I want my supervisor to still like me. And I don't want to find out what happens to people when they get kicked out of their cubicles. (Do they get relegated to bathroom stalls? An outdoor table next to the geese, even in the rain? A cleaning-supply closet? It's never happened here, but you hear stories from other workplaces . . .)

So, have I picked the perfect song? We'll see. I'll either end the day not having heard it most of the day because I had it turned down too low, or with deep insight over the song's meaning, but fewer friends at work. I suspect other cubiclers are in the same quandary I'm in, however, so for better or for worse, let the cacophony begin.

This Month's Donkey Congress: The Shack

Yesterday a group of us associated with Likewise Books met over lunch in our bimonthly Donkey Congress to discuss the runaway bestselling novel/theological treatise The Shack. We didn't publish it, but we read it anyway, because we're not particularly provincial. Anyway, I could write a summary of the nature and tone of our discussion, but I don't have to, because my friend Al Hsu already did. You can read his very thoughtful post over at his blog.

The thing about group discussions is that every one is different, even if they all involve the same book. I actually attended another discussion about The Shack earlier this week populated not by publishing professionals such as myself but by people involved in lay or vocational ministry. The conversation was slightly different and perhaps less critical theologically than the in-office Donkey Congress, but again people saw great potential in a book that Eugene Peterson called this generation's Pilgrim's Progress, Al Hsu called this generation's Disappointment with God and I'll call, I guess, this millennium's Confessions. Or this month's The Secret. Take your pick.

Our next Donkey Congress will be in late October, where we'll discuss the forthcoming book by Shane Claiborne and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, Becoming the Answer to Our Prayers. If you're interested in hosting a Donkey Congress in your very own time zone, give us a shout.

You Can Tell Everybody This Is My Song

And now, for a bit of prognostication.

Ahem.

In the future the world will be organized not by nation-states but by corporations. We will speak not different languages but different jargons. We will carry not passports but branded gift and credit cards. We will salute not flags but T-shirts. And when we find ourselves in need of political asylum, we will run not to our embassies but to our local franchises. I, for example, in moments of political turmoil will most likely be found cowering behind the fry pit at the nearest Taco John's.

I'm not finished. In the future the Christian church will be organized not by denominations but by songwriters. Rumblings from the pews will erupt into shouts of "I follow Chris Tomlin!" and "I follow Tommy Walker!" All our debates over doctrine will rhyme, to the point where theological conferences will resemble scenes from West Side Story or Grease. There will be bitter divisions over ordination of musicians versus the use of tambourines by the laity, and the relative merits of guitars versus pianos and electrics versus acoustics--not to mention the loud shouts of "organ only!" from the fundamentalist fringe.

Oh wait, that's already the case. Music defines our faith and practice more than we might think. In recent months I've read and even edited a number of books written by what I've started to call "Cockburn Christians." They are linked by their appreciation for and even devotion to the music of West Coast singer/songwriter Bruce Cockburn. I happen to like Cockburn Christians a lot. They're worldly wise, burdened but not broken, lovers of the Word and lovers of the world. They're poetic, artistic, humanistic, pietistic. They demand more from their music than the average consumer, and likewise they demand more from their faith than the average Christian.

I am, however, not a Cockburn Christian. I am closer to what I'll henceforth call "Sufjangelicals." These are people who hold to the basic tenets of the Christian faith but are linked more closely to one another by their fondness for the music of avant-garde musician Sufjan Stevens, who blew people's minds a few years ago with the second of his fifty-state concept album projects: Come on Feel the Illinoise.

Sufjan's spirituality is embedded in his music, and his music is embedded in his spirituality. He plays with the scriptures in a way that retains an appropriate reverence, and he plays just as deftly with the theology that has sprung from the Bible and with what you might call the psychology of faith. His music is quirky, textured, innocent, melancholy, playful, humble, introspective and odd--just like my faith, if I do say so myself.

So next week as part of the social experiment we announced in "I Am Trying to Rip You Off," I'll spend a day listening to "The Transfiguration" off Sufjan's Seven Swans album, a song that occasionally causes my friend and colleague Joel to burst into my office saying, "This is what Christian music should be!" And in the world of my dystopian future, this is in fact what at least some Christian music will be.

I Am Trying to Rip You Off

One of the nice things about working for a publisher is that you get a sneak peek at books--and by extension, creative reflections and stimulating ideas and even the occasional hot controversy. And sometimes, not only do you get to read something before anyone else, you also get to rip that book's author off.

This aspect of any job is particularly attractive to me: I worked for a couple of summers at a movie theater in part so that I could attend midnight showings of blockbuster films prior to their release. To be a geek is, at least in part, to strive after insider knowledge, and if a geek can simultaneously fulfill his or her gnostic impulse and pay the bills, so much the better.

Not all the insider stuff comes from the books. Some of it comes directly from the author--or, in this emerging context, the author's intentional community. Earlier this year I crashed a party being thrown by Word Made Flesh, the organization led by Simple Spirituality author Chris Heuertz; he and his friends on staff there were having a contest to see who could listen to a song of their choosing the most consecutive times for the longest period of time. I chose the song "When Your Mind's Made Up" from the soundtrack to the movie Once. You can read my reflections on the experience at my other blog. I didn't win, but I participated, which in this emerging context is all that really matters.

Probably because I didn't win, I would prefer to think of the contest as a social experiment. How do we experience songs differently when we listen to them repeatedly? What kind of life does a song take on? What kind of song can handle that level of scrutiny? What does our choice of song or even our decision to participate in such an experiment say about us?

So later this month I'll be unabashedly ripping Word Made Flesh off. Several folks here at Likewise Books are going to give this idea a shot. Each of us will select a song, using the rationale of our choosing (we'll share the various songs and rationales here), and listen to it exclusively for an entire workday. We won't be bound to our desk, but while we're at our desk we'll have the song as our soundtrack for the day. We will then reflect on the experience, reported to you on Strangely Dim as the reflections pour in.

I invite you to conduct your own experiment and let us know why you chose the song you chose and what the experience was like for you. This is an experiment--not a contest--so unlike Word Made Flesh's competition there will be no winners, and unlike most of my experiences as a lifelong geek, there will be no losers.

To prime your pump here are two song choices with brief rationale included:

From Stacey: "I think I want to listen to Rich Mullins's 'The Color Green,' which is one of my favorites--and I want to listen to a song that would be uplifting, something that encourages me to 'think on these things.' He is also the best poet in Christian music so it should be rich (pun intended - ha ha)."

From Kristie: "I choose Bob Dylan's 'Not Dark Yet'--one of my favorite songs ever."

The Dog Days of Summer Feature One Day of Rabbit

As is our custom, we mark the first of every month by shouting "Rabbit!" (or, if you're the author of the critically acclaimed and eagerly anticipated Culture Making, "Rabbit Rabbit!") at the top of our lungs toward any random passerby. As is his custom, friend of Strangely Dim "Web" beat us all to the punch in a communications blitzkrieg: e-mail, text message, Facebook message--curiously enough, no phone call. Better luck next time, everybunny.