Jesus never looked like Peter Frampton

In preparing for this particular blog post, I bit the bullet, went to Lala.com and listened to Peter Frampton's interminable Frampton Comes Alive! At the tender age of 25, I was obviously not around to witness this album top the Billboard 200 album charts for something like 10 jillion years, or see any videos of Frampton sucking on the microphonic component of that talk-box guitar effect he popularized (which is unfortunate, since the talk-box is possibly the worst thing to happen in the history of guitar effects -- if you need further proof, look to Bon Jovi's Richie Sambora). But I had obviously heard the mega-hits "Show Me the Way" and "Baby I Love Your Way" ad nauseam on our lite-rock radio station when I worked as a journalist for nearly three years, and needless to say, Frampton Comes Alive! is just about what I'd expected it to be: Expertly performed but utterly toothless, painfully unmemorable guitar-rock interspersed with Frampton's moronic stage banter about how this particular number is a "rocker" and that other one is "a bit funky." Hmmm, good to know ... still all sounds like crap to me.

But for the sake of this post, I want to focus on the album cover: A nearly iconic (OK, maybe just notorious) photo of Frampton himself, the neck of his Gibson Les Paul and two bright lights behind him playing second fiddle to his pasty white complexion, golden locks, seemingly stoned gaze and failure to button his shirt. I am drawn to this image because it bears a striking resemblance to most popular depictions of Jesus Christ our Lord. If that doesn't piss you off, it should.

It seems that somewhere down the line, people have forgotten or simply refuse to acknowledge that Jesus was Jewish by ancestry. With this in mind, it is very likely the Messiah had fairly dark skin, dark hair and brown eyes. He may have fulfilled the Jewish stereotype of possessing a relatively lengthy nose, and was probably about average height if not shorter (which had as much to do with people's general stature in the first century A.D. as the Jews' common physical traits). In addition, he probably rarely washed his clothes or cut his fingernails, and let's not even get started on whether or not the man even brushed his teeth. Ew. Our Awesome God's "spitting image" may have turned out to be a fairly nasty sight, and frankly, I'm totally comfortable with that. The Messiah is still the Messiah, whether or not he was much to look at.

Of course, an innumerable amount of medieval artists got all antsy about this notion and had to go and screw everything up. It's because of them (probably with the encouragement of more than a few northern European churches) that we now have the Nordic, Peter Frampton lookalike Jesus: Blonde, blue-eyed, tall, cleanly and so white we gotta wear shades just to look at any of these erroneous paintings. It seems that these Christians overlooked the Scriptural fact that God visited Earth in human form to save ONE people -- the Israelites, Awesome God's chosen noisemakers. Throughout The Holy Bible's four aural reviews of The Jesus Jam's tour throughout the Mediterranean, journalists Matthew, Mark, Luke and John make note of numerous lyrics that explain how the Jews have to hear the good tunes first, and none of this music will even apply to the Gentiles (i.e. everyone who isn't Jewish) until after The Jesus Jam, um, get run out of town. In other words, it's because of The Jesus Jam that European mutts like me are even allowed to join Awesome God's symphony.

But these stupid medieval artists just couldn't stomach that theological fact, portraying Jesus as an unmistakable Gentile and thereby setting in motion the still-prevalent image of Jesus as a white guy. There have been some notable exceptions, such as the Aramaic-speaking, very Jewish-looking Jesus in The Passion of the Christ (ironically portrayed by the U.S.-born James Caviezel), but in my experience most portrayals of Jesus still look like that from the film version of Jesus Christ Superstar, in which a blonde, pearly white Jesus plays opposite a black Judas -- and here we are almost unanimously calling Song of the South racist! To be fair, though, northern European white folks aren't the only ones who have seemingly tried to "rescue" Jesus from his Palestinian heritage. Numerous African artists have recast the Son of God as a black man, and I wouldn't be surprised if numerous Asian or Latin American artists have committed similar historical revisions. Heck, if someone asked me to paint a picture of the Jesus Jam, who knows if I wouldn't be tempted to portray them as a ragtag bunch of awkward, bespectacled nerds like myself?

Besides being historically inaccurate, though, I think these attempts to portray Jesus as anything but Jewish has only helped to further feelings of anti-Semitism among Christians. Anti-Semitism certainly didn't originate with all of this misleading medieval art, and its roots in Christianity can be arguably traced back to The Holy Bible itself. For example, Matthew's review of The Jesus Jam's seminal tour was probably written by a Jew but didn't do much to help the Jews' image, particularly because Matthew routinely, shamelessly bashed the Stereophonic Pharisees and did a disturbingly good job of depicting the Jewish crowd that advocated for The Jesus Jam to pack up their instruments and never play in their neck of the woods again, so to speak. Since then, general tension between Jews and Christians increased over the following centuries, and it all culminated -- to put it politely -- with the Holocaust, during which at least one German bishop went through The Holy Bible and omitted any lyrics that linked The Jesus Jam back to their Jewish origins.

I hear about stories like this and I just want to cry. Especially as a Lutheran, it was depressing for me to not only learn that Martin Luther published treatises like On the Jews and Their Lies, but that such hateful sentiments were common in Europe during the 16th century. And it's even more distressing to see devout Christians like Mel Gibson and Rev. Jeremiah Wright still generate 15-minute media fodder with ill-advised anti-Semitic comments. If Christians continue to do this, all we amount to in my mind are teenagers badmouthing our parents just because we arbitrarily can't bear the thought of being associated with our roots -- we're rebelling against our religious ancestors just because we can.

And yes, folks, the Jews are our religious ancestors; if it wasn't for Judaism, Christianity wouldn't exist. Far too many Christians still commit one of the greatest heresies possible by only listening to the second, "newer" part of The Holy Bible box set, because they think the tunes contained in that portion are the only ones that apply to Christian listeners. The songs in the first, "older" section are often deemed too lengthy and challenging for Christians to listen to comfortably, especially those verses that mention circumcision, food laws, burnt offerings and holidays we never even observe. And while it is true some sections of The Holy Bible's "older" part aren't directly incorporated into most Christian renditions of "The Word," it is still necessary for us to listen to in order for the compilation's "newer" part to make sense. It isn't a matter of choosing between one section or the other -- they represent two distinct but complementary phases in Awesome God's ongoing musical career, and like any superb "greatest hits" collection, the compilers intended for Christians to listen actively to every song contained therein. It's called the Judeo-Christian tradition for a reason; "their" history is part of "our" history, too.

Several months ago, I heard one of my friends say that the only difference between Jews and Christians is whether or not one believes The Jesus Jam's rendition of "The Word" was the best that ever was and ever will be. And fundamentally, that's it -- according to most Jews, Go Down Moses' version of Awesome God's symphony still stands as the best. In that aforementioned "older" section of The Holy Bible, there are lyrical clues that the Israelites were expecting some revolutionary rocker to come blaring a version of "The Word" that would save them from the unbearably awful sounds that had polluted their once-mellifluous world. Some Jews thought The Jesus Jam instigated that revolution, and consequently those Jews became Christians. Other Jews think the revolution has yet to take place, and considered The Jesus Jam nothing more than a bunch of overrated opportunists who deserved to get run out of town. To put it another way, Jews think The Jesus Jam were The Sex Pistols, while Christians think they were The Clash.

Obviously, this fundamental disagreement is pretty huge, and probably provides more than enough justification for Rabbinic Judaism and Christianity to eventually split into two different religions after The Jesus Jam's demise on this Earth. But I see no reason that we can't agree to disagree -- at the end of the day, we still believe that "The Word" is the greatest piece of music ever written, regardless of who played it the best. Failing to treat someone with dignity simply because they possess different religious beliefs than you is like refusing to be someone's friend just because they listen to music you despise. It ultimately comes down to personal preference, and I would hope we can freely, respectfully express our differences in opinion without wanting to wring each other's necks. After we die, I guess we'll see which of us was "right," if there's even a "right" religion at all.

More importantly, though, we've treated our ancestors poorly enough throughout history that I think we owe them an apology of sorts. So, to all my Jewish friends who may or may not be reading this, we Christians are sorry you as a people got blamed for running The Jesus Jam out of town when, in reality, we Gentiles would have been down there shouting "Crucify him!" with you. We're sorry Martin Luther said so many horrible things about you after he had a stroke. We're sorry people like Mel Gibson, Rev. Jeremiah Wright and a whole bunch of other Christians I can't think of right now still say pretty nasty things about you. While we're not directly responsible for the Holocaust (Adolf Hitler actually denounced Christianity as the invention of a Jew), humanity in general should be sorry for allowing six million-plus to die, more or less behind our backs. And of course, we're sorry it's gotten to the point where some people still think Jesus looked like Peter Frampton.

And really, fellow Jesus Jam fans, we should be ashamed of ourselves for letting it get to that point, too. I mean, Peter Frampton? To quote High Fidelity, PETER EFFING FRAMPTON!!?!!?!??? One of the most embarrassingly cheesy musicians in the history of rock & roll? Come on now, Jesus always has and always will deserve a better likeness than that.

The Holy Bible: A lesson in history

The first real-life "big time" journalism gig I ever got was writing music reviews for "alt.," a short-lived section of The Arizona Republic written for and by teenagers. As a high school senior, I was super-excited to finally get a chance early on to do what I love the most and get paid for it -- and hey, when you're 17 to 18 years old, getting a $50 paycheck every other month is a pretty smokin' deal (maybe not so much anymore with that darned inflation thing). But what turned out to be even more rewarding for me in the short term was hanging out with other young wordsmiths who actually listened to a lot of the same music I do. You have no idea how deliriously exciting it was to finally discuss the pros and cons of Radiohead's Amnesiac with more than one or two people. Then again, if you're a 25-year-old music nerd like myself, maybe you do understand my nostalgia for that pre-iTunes sense of childlike wonder from way back in 2001. If so, holla back, geeks.

But as fondly as I remember those days, there is something someone said that still haunts me like a ghost with 100,000 bones to pick. We were at a "company picnic" (i.e. let's make the kids feel appreciated to soften the blow of their page's inevitable demise!) and somehow Green Day got brought up in conversation. The discussion was going just fine until one person called Green Day the first punk band -- ever. Like, EVER EVER. To say I couldn't believe my ears would be a gross understatement. Here was this girl who completely overshot the whole existence of originators like The Ramones, The Sex Pistols and The Clash, not to mention progenitors like The Velvet Underground, The Stooges and Patti Smith and progeny like Joy Division, Elvis Costello and Black Flag. No, apparently 1976 was not the year the term "punk" was born; it all culminated in 1994 when three young dudes from Berkeley, Calif. took a legitimately punk sound and applied it to relatively inoffensive but maddeningly catchy pop songs on an album called Dookie. Give me a break. This was beyond ignorance -- it was flat-out naivete, which is arguably even more depressing.

But I would be hard-pressed to tell you I've not heard such obliviousness to musical history in less shocking forms since then. I hate it whenever I hear supposed music nerds extol the complex musicianship of progressive rock but totally decry the primitive thrills of 1950s rock & roll. Or when contemporary nu-metal heads proudly bear the Slipknot logo on their shirts and backpacks but grimace in underwhelmed disgust at the comparatively less heavy rock of Led Zeppelin or AC/DC. Or when people listen to avant-garde classical, free jazz or the farthest-out-there experimental rock and dismiss it as nothing but talentless "noise." Or when people describe Nirvana as the band that invented alternative rock or grunge. Or when some teenager points his or her chin in the air, trying desperately to appear condescending as they commit pop music's greatest blasphemy: "The Beatles were overrated."

Granted, I'm biased against these ignoramuses because unlike me, their childhood (and, to a somewhat lesser extent, adulthood) probably didn't involve a constant, willing quest for musical knowledge at the expense of a social life and other hobbies that tend to get you farther in the middle school/high school popularity contest. But honestly, people, I don't think it takes a nerd, scholar or even a particularly smart person to do just a little research and understand the essentials of musical history. Yes, progressive rock's sophistication is cribbed from various strains of classical and jazz, but classical or jazz is all it would be if it did not adopt its backbeat, instrumentation and singalong melodies from basic rock & roll. Yes, Slipknot was arguably as heavy as metal got when they debuted in 1999, but one cannot use that as an excuse to dismiss the sheer oomph of Jimmy Page or Angus Young's riffs that may or may not have aged particularly well. Yes, avant-garde classical, free jazz and experimental rock are challenging to listen to, but that's precisely the point -- and it's extremely likely their bizarre sonic excursions were direct reactions to a barrage of mind-numbingly tame ones. Yes, Nirvana popularized alternative rock and grunge like no other band before them, but they didn't invent either genre by a long shot; just ask R.E.M. or Green River, to name only two predecessors. Yes, The Beatles are the most popular and influential pop band of all time, but they are routinely listed in the upper echelon of Top 10 lists for a reason, grasshopper.

As I am progressing through my studies at Fuller Theological Seminary, I am starting to realize how many people I know (or at least know of) who listen to The Holy Bible -- the greatest album of all time -- with the same level of naivete. I've heard horror stories about people who assume this most wholly holy of records is not a box set, but a single LP on which each tune was written by the same composer. I've learned about other hair-raising moments when self-described fans talk about The Isaiah Playas and The Jesus Jam like they existed simultaneously and were playing shows together. I've heard people flat-out dismiss the whole album because some of its tunes happen to say some not-too-flattering things about women, homosexuality and sometimes entire ethnicities and nationalities; none of that even accounts for its lyrical references to righteous warfare or rampant animal sacrifice. But more than anything, I've heard far too many people claim that The Holy Bible is the absolutely infallible, historically and culturally universal, note-for-note transcription of "The Word" -- and may Awesome God smite thee who dares to claim any of its 66 to 73 variations on this theme contradict each other. These diehard, truly sheep-like fans have no idea nor do they seem to really care to learn about the 1,000-plus years of time and effort that went into crafting each track on this compilation. Some people just want to perform the music as it's written without thinking about it, assuming that the mere fact they want to perform it at all will be more than enough.

I recently learned that this sort of blind, fundamentalist allegiance to The Holy Bible is what some call "folk theology." It's basically the assumption that since this album is the greatest album of all time -- which it is, sour notes and all -- it therefore cannot be analyzed critically. You must simply play it verbatim and passionately scold listeners who speak up whenever one version of "The Word" seemingly stands in direct contrast with another version, or listeners who try to explain that a few parts of The Holy Bible's tunes don't sound all that good today. What is arguably an even greater travesty is that these folk theologians usually play these tunes in only one style: Quick, peppy and with disturbingly wide smiles. Even the harshest, dreariest and most legalistic lyrics sound like happy-clappy songs of praise coming from these self-deceiving experts. Any Christian with a functioning brain would be well-advised to stay away from any version of "The Word" that contains even one exhortation of "JAAAAAYYYYSUUUUHHHSSSSSSS!!!!!!"

But these folk theologians straight-up ignore something I think gives the Judeo-Christian tradition a leg up over other supposedly inscrutable faiths such as Islam or Mormonism: We are actually willing to go back and investigate the history behind The Holy Bible. And if we want to truly understand every sound made on this box set, we need to think about history. So many Christians are afraid to do that because then The Holy Bible transforms from a divinely composed, feel-good devotional treatise to what it was meant to be all along -- a centuries-old compilation of versions of "The Word" that were deemed the most authoritative and normative for Christian listeners by a record executive named Constantine. None of this historical investigation is meant to ultimately debunk any of The Holy Bible's tunes (although some agnostic listeners would like to think that's the case); it is merely an effort to put each song within its original context. And wouldn't you agree that music tends to make more sense once you realize why it was written, or at least acknowledged as relevant and influential?

Ever wonder why the first two verses of The Holy Bible's epic opener, "Genesis," explain two seemingly conflicting stories of humanity's creation? That's because the second verse about Adam and Eve was most likely written when Kool King David or Songster Solomon were at their peak, while the first "let there be light" verse was probably added later by a punk rock priest as a direct protest to the Babylonians' overlong polytheistic suites. Ever wonder why that often boring, sometimes antiquated tune "Leviticus" is still included in its grisly, unedited form on every reissue of The Holy Bible? Because without it there would be no basis for the Psalms, "Acts of the Apostles" or the four aural reviews of the Jesus Jam written by Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Ever wonder why "The Greatest Tour of All Time, According to John" is so different from Matthew, Mark and Luke's reviews? That's because John mainly wrote about The Jesus Jam's controversial gigs in Jerusalem, whereas the other three journalists focused primarily on performances in Galilee. (This also goes a long way in explaining why John's review is sometimes erroneously accused of anti-Semitism.) Ever wonder why The Jesus Jam kept calling themselves "Sons of Man" while their most devoted listeners kept calling them "Sons of God" or the Messiah? Go back several tunes and listen to "Daniel" -- particularly the seventh verse, in which the "beasts" of four different Mediterranean empires are slain or dethroned -- to get a clue. And to all you super-duper-liberal fans of Awesome God, ever wonder why The Holy Bible contains all those lyrical mentions of female oppression, homosexual condemnation, holy warfare, animal slaughter and all kinds of ethnic prejudice? Because these tunes were written two to three millennia ago in a time and place when those things were common; it is culturally ignorant to keep the bath water but culturally arrogant to throw the baby out, too.

Just a few nights ago I gave an homily on Habakkuk at University Lutheran Church in Tempe, Ariz. I focused primarily on the fact Habakkuk -- one of The Holy Bible's minor prophets -- starts out as an angry rant toward a seemingly oblivious God but in a few brief chapters mutates into a song of unabashed, throat-lump-inducing praise in the midst of tragedy. But I didn't delve into this before informing the congregants about the Chaldean Dynasty's destruction of the Jerusalem Temple and the Jews' subsequent exile, and how Iran's Cultural Heritage Organization reports that Habakkuk was captured and imprisoned by the Babylonians. Assuming that Habakkuk wrote his little section in The Holy Bible from a jail cell (which is likely but not really provable based on available evidence), his frustration with God was that much more understandable, and his ultimate unwavering faith in God that much more powerful. An agnostic friend of mine who came and supported me said he loved the historical context of my homily, which was not only kind and encouraging of him, but further cemented in my mind that historical and cultural context MUST be considered when one is performing The Holy Bible's variations on "The Word" in any capacity. No one can listen to this music with complete objectivity, and I think everyone has a tendency to take a few pleasing notes here and there and use them to support their own agendas to some degree, but that's not an appropriate way to perform anything off this box set.

That being said, one must be careful with what I've recently come to know as "academic theology." It's easy to set aside one's spectacles of faith when thinking critically about The Holy Bible; some people get so wrapped up in analyzing these important contexts that they forget why they enjoyed this music in the first place. To put it another way, it's the difference between being a musician inspired to play along with the records they love the most and being a music critic who may not even like the records they're reviewing. I've often heard theologians describe seminary as the place where Christian faith goes to die, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a few moments when my spiritual boat was rocked so hard I thought about jumping ship. But the ones who make it through all this minutia and academia eventually, theoretically reach what is called "second naivete," in which your faith is as strong as ever -- if not stronger -- and your academic knowledge is maintained through prayer, fellowship and listening to the aforementioned greatest album of all time on a regular basis. The record-making process may now be completely demystified, but the tunes themselves still sound as rockin' as ever.

I am nowhere near "academic" level yet. What I'm offering to you in this here blog is what I've heard described as "lay theology." My ministry resume is relatively limited compared to actual pastors, seminary graduates and people who have otherwise been in seminary for more than five months. And to tell you the bitterly painful truth, I still have yet to listen to The Holy Bible in its entirety. So occasionally I do make unfounded assumptions about it, hopefully to the immediate chagrin of those who know better -- I once said in my leadership and diversity class that the term "Christian" does not actually appear in any of The Holy Bible's lyrics, only to be rightfully corrected by two of my fellow classmates (to both of whom I'm very grateful). Still, my boat of knowledge has been rocked time and time again in this past five months, only to float back up to a significantly higher level than it ever was before. And since we are called by Awesome God to recruit musicians from all nations, I figured why not start the process now? I would like to think I know enough about the good news to share at least some of it with you; still, if you see any gaps in my knowledge of The Holy Bible, please keep the Ninth Commandment and let me know ASAP.

I guess the ultimate point I wanted to make with this post is though all believers have a long way to go in their faith journey -- seminarians or not -- it shouldn't take a rocket scientist or even a master of divinity to be able to consider The Holy Bible's historical and cultural influences and relevance. Doing so is not just vital for our own knowledge, but also helpful for us to be taken seriously by others who have never considered the value of "The Word" before. If we stay stubbornly true to folk theology, all we will ever sound like to unbelievers are naive listeners who really think Green Day was the first punk band. Consider The Jesus Jam's iconic refrain, as documented in the Synoptic Reviews: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind." As one of my professors eloquently put it, this is not a multiple choice question. Loving our Awesome God with heart and soul is all fine and good, but it's all for naught if we forget our minds.

Homosexuality: The Jesus Christ Superstar of its time

I am of the opinion that every man and woman who is honest with themselves has a celebrity man or woman crush, respectively. This is not to say that every heterosexual man and woman has fantasized about, um, "knowing" another person of the same sex (although I know people who would attest to such fantasies without batting an eye). All it may mean is that there at least one famous person you acknowledge as attractive, despite the fact they have the same kind of private parts as you. Mine is Seth Green -- it was uncomfortable, "is this really happening?" lust at first sight when I watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer in middle school and saw his geeky, boyish, non-werewolf likeness grace the screen. Oh, Oz, I ... well ... I don't really know what this feeling is. But I can at least understand why some girls think you're cute.

When I'm hanging out with friends and/or acquaintances, as an icebreaker I sometimes like to ask people which celebrity is the object of their man or woman crush. I did this at a friend's birthday party a few weeks ago, and the question was mostly well-received and hilariously answered by the 10-ish people that were there. It's a good way to get to know a person, as well as a quick, easy way to determine just how comfortable a person is with their sexual orientation. Some people answer the question instantly, like they've been waiting their entire lives for someone to ask them, while others fumble through stuttered gibberish and flabbergasted expressions before finally, sheepishly spilling the beans. So I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised when the question got around to one guy and he offered this reply, with a look on his face like humor is the eighth deadly sin: "If I were gay, I'd be celibate."

Wow. Point taken. To each their own, I suppose, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't shaking my head and snickering on the inside (and maybe a little on the outside, too). I was also incredibly depressed by his curt, judgmental response, because it clearly illustrated to me how much farther we have to go before the Big Controversial Topic of homosexuality can be at least discussed comfortably by some Christians. And trust me, if the Christian church hopes to survive, we MUST engage in that conversation. The whole "Don't ask, don't tell" attitude isn't going to cut it in the long run. Our society's acceptance of homosexuality is increasing by leaps and bounds, and whether you think that's a good or a bad thing, it's not something that can be ignored any longer.

I personally think it's a great thing. I'm not typically one for denominational pride, but I don't think I was the only proud Lutheran whose heart swelled with joy upon hearing the news in August this year. That month, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America narrowly passed a resolution allowing for homosexual clergy to engage in extramarital monogamous relationships. If an ELCA church decides to adopt this resolution (which they still have the option not to), the homosexual pastor there is no longer bound by vows of celibacy. Of course, this does not grant the pastor permission to sleep around -- to which I say thank goodness -- but it allows them to engage in an intimate physical relationship with one special someone if they so chose to. Frankly, it's not the LGBT community's fault they can't get married in most states, and until the fundamentalist conservative lawmakers who routinely prevent it from happening either change their minds or pass away, this resolution will have to do.

Of course, not every Lutheran feels this way. I've heard about numerous pastors who are outraged by this resolution, some so much so that they're leaving the ELCA. Many other churchgoers are abandoning the denomination for more conservative worship alternatives. And to top it all off, this resolution comes on the coattails of the emerging Reconciling in Christ movement, which advocates for churches to openly, explicitly welcome members regardless of sexual orientation, and has caused considerable controversy at two churches I'm involved with. The ELCA seems to be losing members left and right -- all we wanted to do was be a little more open-minded.

But I have a distinct feeling our open-mindedness toward homosexuality will be rewarded over the next several decades. A friend of mine who also rejoiced over the ELCA's recent decision pointed out that other denominations that made similar decisions -- namely the Episcopal Church and the United Church of Christ -- have more or less recovered from their initial drop in numbers. But ultimately, numbers are not what it's about. In a world where idiots like Fred Phelps grab all the headlines for propagating God's supposed hatred of homosexuals (I don't dare use that other "f" word Phelps loves so much), the LGBT community needs to know they are welcome in the church. And though I can't say I know a single church that turns homosexuals away from their services, a warm welcome is nothing if it's not accompanied by loving affirmation. Every LGBT person is a child of God, too, and they ought to be reminded of that, if not told for the first time ever.

To put it another way, I think social acceptance of homosexuality is the Jesus Christ Superstar of its time. Debuted in 1971, Jesus Christ Superstar is a musical theater adaptation of the canonical Gospels, beginning with Judas' anxiety over the "buzz" surrounding Jesus and ending with the Messiah's crucifixion. Doing some research for this blog post, I became pleasantly reminded just how awesome this Andrew Lloyd Webber-penned production is. I nodded my head in 5/4 time and wished the female vocalists singing on "Everything's Alright" would whisk me away siren-style to some blissful abyss. I giggled impishly to hear people screaming during Jesus' righteous ruckus in "The Temple," completely disrupting the corrupt marketplace it had become. I felt chills consume my entire body at the end of "Judas' Death," when the traitor's ranting is abruptly overtaken by that eerie chant: "Poor old Judas/So long, Judas." I wept uncontrollably to hear Jesus' final words in "The Crucifixion," accompanied by terrifyingly atonal vocal harmonies and noises no God-made piano should ever make. In my always-humble opinion, Jesus Christ Superstar is one of history's greatest creative interpretations of that Superstar we all know and love.

But naturally, not everyone thought so. I wasn't there to witness it, but from what I understand Jesus Christ Superstar caused quite an uproar upon its release. I'm sure at least some of this was the responsibility of those reliable knee-jerk reactors toward anything remotely religious in pop culture, comparable to contemporary Christians who protest the Harry Potter series or The Da Vinci Code just because they exist. But some of what I know about the initial controversy sounds warranted -- though it's actually quite Biblically accurate (disregarding its use of modern slang, of course), Jesus Christ Superstar more or less portrays the Son of God as an outrageous political rebel first, the Messiah second. From a theological standpoint, this is a little upsetting since Jesus had no illusions of taking down the Jerusalem Temple or the Roman Empire during his lifetime on this Earth. And while the song "Superstar" is a great tune, lyrically the sudden return of Judas before Christ's crucifixion seems a bit odd, if not downright unnecessary: "Tell me what you think about your friends at the top/Who'd you think besides yourself's the pick of the crop?/Buddha, was he where it's at? Is he where you are?/Could Mohammed move a mountain or was that just PR?" Um, OK. Have we been mistranslating the Greek the whole time? Because I'm pretty sure none of that's in the Bible.

But that was then, and this is now. When I saw Jesus Christ Superstar back in late 2004 at the Gammage Auditorium, I went with some folks from my church. And we weren't there to picket it -- we were there to watch it and enjoy it for the wonderful piece of Biblically inspired theater it has always been. And today Jesus Christ Superstar (along with its more Scripturally accurate but musically inferior counterpart, Godspell) has become a staple of church community theaters all over the world. Still, I'm sure there are certain Christians out there who want to wring Andrew Lloyd Webber's neck for daring to unleash this musical on the Earth. From what I understand, Jesus Christ Superstar is still banned in South Africa. But with all things considered, so what if Webber took a few liberties with the Bible? In the end, the message is still basically the same.

And on that note, the church is still the church regardless of the minister's sexual orientation or relationship status. Yes, the Bible does say some not-so-nice things about homosexuality, and I'm the last person to advocate for any part of Scripture to be omitted, but for the literal love of You-Know-Who, read them within their context! For one thing, a lot of this same-sex condemnation was a reaction against ancient pagan rituals, at least one of which entailed an old man penetrating a young boy in public. Additionally, about the Sodom and Gomorrah story in Genesis -- how would you feel if a group of people knocked on your door late at night and threatened to anally rape you? Sounds pretty horrific regardless of the victim's sexual orientation; I don't blame God for getting pissed.

But above all, the books of the Bible were written in a time and place where growing the family tree was of the utmost importance. Gay or straight, if a couple couldn't produce a son, they were nothing. And in this day and age, I think condemning the childless is completely unfair; in addition to homosexuals, you might as well condemn bereaved parents, barren women, sterile men, the romantically challenged and -- gasp! -- people who simply don't want to have children. Even if you disagree with me and think homosexuality is the horrible sin the Bible says it is (which it may very well be), is there anyone in ministry who isn't a horrible sinner at least some of the time? Out of Awesome God's list of bad notes, we've seemingly isolated certain ones we've heard to be more dissonant than all the others. But these bad notes are all equally sour and, if one tries hard enough, equally forgivable. Regardless of their musical resumes, no one should be barred from listening to or performing "The Word" if they feel so inspired -- NO ONE.

This all being said, I know for a fact some people like the guy I mentioned earlier in this post will continue denying the inevitability of celebrity man or woman crushes. But Christians who maintain that staunch, vow-of-celibacy attitude toward homosexuals -- in clergy or otherwise -- will have a hard time being taken seriously as church for the next generation. It'll be a cryin' but justified shame if their uber-traditional renditions of "The Word" are forgotten, usurped by the common crowd's much-too-loud chorus of "Hosanna, hey sanna/Sanna sanna Hosanna/Hey sanna Hosanna." God bless the Christians who realize Jesus Christ Superstar wasn't a heresy, but a slightly updated version of "The Word" all along.

Redefining marketability

I know this blog is called God According to a Music Nerd, but humor me as I transition briefly into God According to a Kinda Sorta Film Buff. I would very highly recommend reading Behind the Screen: Hollywood Insiders of Faith, Film and Culture for Christians whose divine revelations tend to be more visual than aural. As one could guess from the title, the book is a collection of essays from 18 different Christians with various connections to the Hollywood film industry, and many of the anecdotes contained therein are insightful, impassioned and outrageously funny. Craig Detweiler, a professor at Biola University, explains how The Passion of the Christ was a missed opportunity to reconcile the longstanding tension between Jews and Christians in Hollywood; I don't know about you, but making a film that ONLY focuses on Jesus' nearly unbearable suffering at the hands of those particular first-century Jewish authorities sounds quite anti-Semitic to me (and if you've heard about Mel Gibson's notorious drunken rant against a Jewish police officer, you can easily fill in the blanks). Thom Parham, from Azusa Pacific University, writes a hilarious piece about how non-Christian filmmakers are usually better at making Christianity-themed films than Christian filmmakers who are too worried about soiling sacred tradition to produce anything the least bit thought- or emotion-provoking. And several essays touch on the Southern Baptist Convention's tendency to somehow take offense to even the most innocuous movie moments, and subsequently protest its existence as a threat to the moral fabric of our society, blah blah blah ...

But for the purpose of this post, I will focus on "A Filmmaker's Progress," an essay by Scott Derrickson. In this essay, Derrickson -- director and cowriter of The Exorcism of Emily Rose -- details the steps toward his eventual "membership" in what he calls the Quality Club, evidently the ideal meeting place for Christian filmmakers. And the Quality Club has strict Fight Club-style rules: The work you produce must be excellent, marketable and virtuous. When I read this, I immediately decided it would be beneficial for modern-day Christian musicians to have their own Quality Club.

Christians who recognize the Real Reason they attend church (sorry, mere socializers don't count) shouldn't have to be told the value of being virtuous. Everything we do -- whether it be writing a song, directing a film, painting a picture, carrying a conversation or simply keeping our mouths shut in the face of traffic and frustrating family situations -- should be done with "The Word" stuck in our heads. Any note we play and sing that doesn't sound at least a little like "The Word" should probably be silenced, and yes, our admission into the Jesus Jam's upcoming performance at the Ultimate Temple DOES depend on that. Still, our reverence to "The Word" doesn't mean that we should stop listening to all other songs, period. Especially in this day and age, Christian musicians can and do learn a lot from secular music that frankly doesn't suck nearly as much as most CCM. And as I explained in a previous post, mediocrity has less to do with technical skill and everything to do with originality.

So, Quality Clubbers, we've determined why virtue and excellence are important ... but what about that marketability rule? That seems like kind of a toughie, especially considering we are to base our own unique versions of "The Word" closely on the Jesus Jam's rendition. Didn't the Jesus Jam play an unexpected, unwelcome show at the High Priests' Hangout in Jerusalem, deliberately starting a riot with a breakneck protest rant called "Awesome God's House Ain't a Market"? Didn't their "Beatitudes Medley" contain a section entitled "Blessed Are the Poor in Spirit"? And what about that uncompromising rocker they played called "The Eye of a Needle"? The chorus of that one made its message pretty clear: "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle/Than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God."

It seems as if making marketability a rule is at odds with these vital sections of "The Word." If we happen to make money from performing "The Word," hallelujah indeed, but that's not why we are hired to play it. All of our performances are meaningless if we don't inspire at least one person to pick up an instrument and join in the symphony, and it doesn't matter whether we do that with nine 18-wheeler trucks full of gear or a single beat-up ukulele. The Jesus Jam didn't tour the Mediterranean circuit on an extravagant tour bus -- heck, they weren't even luxurious enough to have the stereotypical Volkswagen van that barely functions. They WALKED to all their gigs, except for that "triumphal" one in Jerusalem where they rode through the branch-laden streets on donkeys. You don't get more indie than that.

But as I thought about it more, I started to realize that much like mediocrity, maybe "marketability" also needs to be redefined. In "A Filmmaker's Progress," Derrickson talks about marketability like it's a defeated requirement of sorts -- he's a reputable director hired by a studio and therefore has Earthly contractual obligations to fill. While I can certainly understand where he's coming from, I can't help but feel like he's sucking up to The Man. All the studio wants is to make money, and consequently, so does Derrickson. The only contract we should be following to a tee is that written by Awesome God, signed by Daddy Abraham, refined by Go Down Moses and renegotiated by the Jesus Jam. It may be tempting to place another, more lucrative contract before this one, but doing so will significantly hinder our chances of witnessing that final Ultimate Temple extravaganza. Derrickson's essay doesn't sound like "The Word" so much as the corporate-mogul narrator of Pedro the Lion's "Penetration": "If it isn't making dollars/Then it isn't making sense/If you aren't moving units/Then you're not worth the expense."

But if taken from a different viewpoint, marketability might not be such a bad thing. In fact, it might help us performers of "The Word" in encouraging others to join the symphony. A friend of mine mentioned a few weeks ago that not every song about God has to contain the word "God" in the lyrics, and I think that's true. I'm certainly not an advocate for omitting God-talk (i.e., "Jesus Christ," "sin," "prayer," etc.) out of utter fear -- far too many Christians become sheepish about their faith for the sake of being "respectful" to those who mercilessly throw us believers under the bus. However, I'm well-aware that bragging about one's faith can be construed as sinful if done for the wrong reasons, not to mention alienating for those who were required to perform unlistenable, unnecessarily rigorous monstrosities of "The Word" growing up and now cringe at its mere mention. Just because we are required to "Be Bold, Be Strong" doesn't mean we can't be tactful about it; if we aren't tactful about it, oftentimes we look no better than the Southern Baptist Convention protestors outside Disneyland.

As far as I'm concerned, when it comes to managing all three Quality Club rules with equal aplomb, there's still no Christian artist who's done a better job than Amy Grant. Yes, I went there, indie snobs -- I love Amy Grant. DEAL WITH IT!!!! In all seriousness, though, somewhere down the line Amy Grant became the default flogging horse for every secular music critic who ever briefly mentions how all Christian music sucks except this particular band they're reviewing, yadda yadda yadda. And sure, Amy Grant is an easy target; not only was she one of the pioneers of what we know today as contemporary Christian music, but she was one of the first Christian artists to experience success in both the Christian and mainstream markets. She was kind of a flogging horse for me, too, since much of her music is super-duper-polished and she also happens to be very pretty. She was just-another-pop-diva in addition to being partially responsible for CCM, and therefore on my poo-poo list.

But then I did a little more research and some closer listening, particularly in regard to her #1 hit from 1991, "Baby Baby." This song is how I was introduced to Amy Grant -- I remember watching VH1 at the age of 12-ish and watching her lip-sync over that incessant, manipulatively catchy (and unfortunately, unmistakably early-'90s) keyboard hook. I came to my just-another-pop-diva conclusion right then and there, but a few years later I was surprised to discover she was a Christian artist. I was also intrigued to learn much later that at least certain tenants of Christian culture flipped their wigs when Amy Grant became a sex symbol and genuine pop star; 1991's Heart in Motion alone scored five Top 20 hits, which is absolutely colossal for a Christian artist.

A situation like this begs for listeners religious and nonreligious to cry "Sellout!" in unison, but I don't know if that's quite warranted -- especially after discovering Amy Grant wrote "Baby Baby" about her then-newborn daughter, Millie. Suddenly, what I initially heard as a trite love song transformed into a sincere and quite moving tribute to the joys of parenthood: "Baby, baby, the stars are shining for you/And just like me, I'm sure that they adore you/Baby, baby, go walking through the forest/The birds above a-singing you a chorus." I'm seriously crying just typing that right now; not only does it make for an awesome welcome to the world, but I think it goes a long way in proving that a song can still express very Christian sentiments without involving God directly. And in a stroke of sheer marketing genius, the lyrics to "Baby Baby" work just as well as a simple, fun radio singalong, although I have a feeling those birds above were probably singing "The Word."

Also, in regard to the controversy over her relatively suggestive image, I've got to give mad props to Amy Grant for responding in 1991 with a concise quote she is now famous for: "Christians can be sexy." And why can't they? It's exactly because of protestors like those in the Southern Baptist Convention (with all due respect to Baptists who abstained from the boycott against Disneyland, etc.) that Christianity has been reduced to a mere niche market -- the mainstream market figures we can never be pleased no matter what they do, so why bother considering us? It's almost as if Amy Grant saw Christianity becoming compartmentalized and reacted by showing just a little skin. It wasn't just about making extra money or getting teenage boys to drool. She was making a statement that Christians can be sensible, relatable people, too, and deserve to be included in mainstream society just as much as anyone else. What she did was very punk rock. (Although I think she may have unintentionally started the continuing trend of all female Christian musicians looking like models.)

And as I've already ranted and raved about numerous times in this here blog, it's happening again, folks. Christian music -- and consequently, Christianity -- is seen as more or less a niche market in our crushingly secularized society, and that needs to change. I'd assume we already have the virtue (or as much virtue as we can possess as sinners), and we already know full well that the excellence can and must be improved. But now with this new, un-Derricksonian idea of marketability, let's start working on employing that into the Quality Club's mission. Simply performing "The Word" may not be enough for some people; offering lessons on how to appreciate the piece may prove extremely helpful. But more importantly, "The Word" should never be played from atop a gaudy, elevated stage. It sounds best when performed at street level.

Art and religion were meant for each other

Gogol Bordello are a band from New York City that plays an inspired, high-energy mix of Clash-influenced punk rock and Eastern European "gypsy" music. I dig their tunes a lot, but based on principles alone I have to give at least one thumb down to their song "Supertheory of Supereverything." Over a mid-tempo two-step beat augmented by violin, accordion and dirty electric guitars, frontman Eugene Hutz rants in his thick Ukrainian accent and noticeably broken English about why he doesn't read the Bible or trust Christ's disciples. (Hey, that rhymes! What a clever chorus!!!!) I could at least understand if he was criticizing Christian culture or hypocrisy within the church -- which a lot of good Christians rightfully continue to do -- but as I listened to the song, it seems like the reason Hutz condemns religion is because, like Steven from Nacho Libre, he "believes in science." In other words, he thinks religion and science are mutually exclusive by nature: "Give me Everything Theory/Without Nazi uniformity/My brothers are protons/My sisters are neutrons/I stir it twice, it's instant family!"

First of all, I'm offended by the idea of comparing Christianity to Nazism, especially considering Adolf Hilter's rejection of Christianity and the fact our whole message is about unity in diversity, or at least should be (yeah, Lutherans, blushing in embarrassment won't do much for our mostly pasty complexions!). Also, the whole religion-vs.-science argument is not only insufferably trite, but it's also unfair because all scientific theories are just that -- THEORIES based on well-researched speculation. A seminary buddy of mine who works as an engineer once explained that every atheist engineer is a person of faith in the sense that they are operating under the mere assumption that Isaac Newton's laws of motion are correct. But more than anything, I am perturbed by anyone's assumption that religion cannot coexist with something that does not directly conflict with it, and besides atheism and agnosticism, I can't think of anything that does.

In my last post, I wrote about how uncool it is to be a Christian in the indie rock scene, an attitude I think that scene adopts toward anything even remotely affiliated with any religion. And therein lies my fear: We are getting to a point in society where people think faith cannot coincide with good art. The laughably vacuous state of most contemporary worship music is at least somewhat to blame for this -- I can think of very few overtly Christian artists in the past decade whose cloying, narcissistic "message" didn't completely torpedo the quality of the music itself. But a good chunk of the blame also has to go to every artist that has taken the opposite approach. In the past century (if that), countless musicians have put their blood, sweat and tears into making the highest-quality music their God-given talents can muster, but wed those unbeatable tunes to lyrics that either protested religion or ignored it altogether. The ball arguably started rolling with a push from Ray Charles, who sang secular lyrics over church-born chord progressions, and was just as arguably kicked into full speed by John Lennon, whose claim that The Beatles were bigger than Jesus Christ was only the tip of a career-long iceberg of passionate atheism. As a consequence, few "respectable" artists nowadays even consider performing "The Word"; doing so guarantees either career suicide or eternal niche market damnation.

Fellow disciples and artistic souls, this is not the way things should be. Not only is it incredulous to assume good music and religion are mutually exclusive, but it's historically ignorant. As I alluded to before, it is only in the last several decades that music has become so secularized. Let's assume that these unbelievers are right (which they're not), and in the name of the good music "gods" we decide to get rid of everything that has the smallest iota of religious content. First off, we get rid of those nasty European hymns that formed the basis and inspiration for an incalculable amount of songs that followed them. Next, we erase the memory of African-American spirituals and most Appalachian folk and country music (and on that note, Alison Krauss and Gillian Welch). Then, we kick out every single singer-songwriter who ever dared to reference the Bible in their lyrics, such as Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Lou Reed, Bruce Springsteen, Warren Zevon, Nick Cave and Sam Phillips. And while we're at it, let's get rid of every alternative/indie rocker whose ever dared look to Scripture for inspiration, whether it be Sufjan Stevens, David Bazan, Damien Jurado, Denison Witmer, Gordon Gano of Violent Femmes, Jeff Mangum of Neutral Milk Hotel, Stuart Murdoch of Belle and Sebastian, John Darneille of The Mountain Goats and Mark Eitzel of American Music Club.

In the world of musical theater, let's just pretend Andrew Lloyd Webber doesn't exist. In the world of hard rock, let's forget some of Alice Cooper's latter-day material and all of his philanthropic efforts. In the world of progressive rock, let's jettison most of the material produced by Jethro Tull, Kansas and ex-Yes keyboardist Rick Wakeman. In the world of experimental rock, let's forget that Pere Ubu's David Thomas and Talk Talk's Mark Hollis are devout Christians. In the world of hip-hop, let's unravel the sometimes very spiritual flows of Nas, Common, Kanye West and, soon enough, DMX. (No, I'm not making that last one up -- he decided in prison he wants to become a pastor.) In the world of early country and rockabilly, you'll have to forget that Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Hank Williams and The Everly Brothers all recorded Christian music. In the world of rhythm and blues, you'll have to deny the fact that Little Richard and Al Green ultimately became ministers. In the world of classical, you'll have to forget ever hearing the immortal "Alleluias!" exclaimed in George Frideric Handel's "Messiah," Krzysztof Penderecki's The St. Luke Passion and pretty much anything written by Johann Sebastian Bach. In the world of The Beatles, you'll have to delete Paul McCartney's "Let It Be" and most of George Harrison's songs. That Andy Griffith dude, who recorded numerous Christian albums? Gone. "Tears in Heaven," Eric Clapton's poignant elegy to his deceased son? Gone. At least two-thirds of all the Christmas music you've ever heard? Gone. And a definite "no" to that one Irish band ... U-who?

My goodness, we're on a roll! Since we seem to be doing so well with this religious cleansing, why don't we move on to other forms of art, too? Lord forbid that we artsy types should have ever had to think about ... um ... the Lord. We have much work to do in the world of literature -- C.S. Lewis is arguably at the top of the hit list, with Dan Brown at a close second for totally different reasons. But Jane Austen, William Blake, E. E. Cummings, Philip K. Dick, Charles Dickens, Emily Dickinson, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, T. S. Eliot, Thomas Hardy, James Joyce, Jack Kerouac, Madeleine L'Engle, Flannery O'Connor, J.D. Salinger, Robert J. Sawyer, Alfred Tennyson, J. R. R. Tolkien, Leo Tolstoy, Kurt Vonnegut Jr. and even hardcore atheists like Philip Pullman have all apparently soiled their work with varying levels of religious content. (I say "apparently" because I haven't read every one of those authors myself, but have no fear, literature buffs, I plan to eventually.) And don't even get us started on Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, or just about any epic poetry that preceded those works.

We also need to do away with a great number of films that dared to give various aspects of "The Word" a music video, so to speak. Vicious but hilariously accurate satire like Saved! and Dogma? Gone. Lighthearted comedies like Sister Act and Bruce Almighty? Gone. Science fiction and horror thrillers like The Exorcist, Children of the Corn and Signs? Gone. All the distinctively Jewish humor in Woody Allen films? Gone. Stories set in Biblical times like Ben-Hur, The Passion of the Christ, Prince of Egypt or even the hysterically blasphemous Monty Python's Life of Brian? Come on, is that a trick question? GONE!

And what do you know, there's religion in a lot of visual art, too! We Christian peeps could have easily and very necessarily done without all the medieval paintings of Jesus the Jew as a somehow white guy. But it's going to be hard to say goodbye to the Sistine Chapel, The Last Supper and almost any other product of the Renaissance. Well outside Christianity, we'll probably have to get rid of sculptures like Laocoon and His Sons and Venus de Milo, too. And sorry, Japanese art lovers -- a significant portion of religiously themed manga is out of the question.

Hopefully, you catch my drift by now. Anyone who claims that high-quality art and religion are mutually exclusive is not only wrong, but also a historical revisionist. Art -- musical, visual, literary, cinematic or otherwise -- has always been one of Awesome God's greatest gifts to us measly broken folk, and what better way to put that art to use than to glorify His name as a "thank you" for giving us that gift? I almost feel as if the increasing secularization of art is a punishment of sorts for letting this gift become so poorly utilized in the past decade. People got so used to hearing awful renditions of "The Word" they decided to move on to other compositions that were less rewarding for musician and listener alike.

But fellow disciples and artistic souls, upon being given our various, creatively expressive gifts, we were asked to continue a legacy established thousands of years ago by a then-obscure group called Daddy Abraham. Daddy Abraham signed a contract unexpectedly offered by Awesome God, stating that as long as they only performed their own superbly rendered versions of "The Word" -- no other tunes -- Daddy Abraham and all the best bands that formed in their wake would secure a permanent gig at Awesome God's most hoppin' venue, The Promised Land. But this contract has a pretty hefty rider attached to it, and Daddy Abraham fell through on Awesome God's demands numerous times during their career. Nevertheless, every time Daddy Abraham or their most notable proteges trotted out a lackluster run-through of "The Word," or started playing something else altogether, Awesome God never fired them. Instead, He would come back with a copy of the exact same contract Daddy Abraham originally signed, sealing the deal all over again.

In all our various artistic capacities, we are bound by that same contract to perform "The Word." It's not enough to merely play it like we "have to" or play it like everyone else does. We have to play and sing it with all our hearts, souls and minds like it's never been heard by anyone before, or else our performances are unconvincing at best. And nowhere in the contract does it say that we are required to play only play upbeat, happy versions of "The Word"; just look to some of the more distraught Psalms to realize angst-ridden laments can be just as valid. The greatest travesty of all, though, is ignoring "The Word" altogether. That's a direct violation of the contract we signed upon being taken under Awesome God's management. We are not the ones who hired Him to do our bidding -- He hired us to do His, and so all of us need to keep our end of the deal.

And actually, I think many of us are keeping our end of the deal whether we realize it or not. As put off as I was by "Supertheory of Supereverything," the fact of the matter is that Gogol Bordello still took the time to write a song about the Bible. Love it or hate it, "The Word" is inescapable, and it's not fading into silence anytime soon.

There's nothing hip about faith

I was terrified from the very beginning. The floorboards were completely exposed. The walls were mostly bare except for a rare Joy Division seven-inch and I think a few abstract paintings. The couch we sat on was cramped and uncomfortable, and I vaguely remember half the cushions being torn. And the motley assortment of folks sitting before us were mostly white, often bespectacled, strikingly dressed and evidently ashamed of their God-given hair colors.

But in spite of this rather foreboding atmosphere, my then-roommate/bandmate and I took deep breaths and launched into our set list. I had already attended a few enjoyable shows at my friend's house and finally mustered the courage to ask him if we could play a show there. I was thrilled to hear him emphatically invite us to open for about 14 other acts at this December 2007 shindig. My then-group, The Invisible Teal -- essentially myself and whoever was available that night or otherwise not sick of me yet -- had been playing around the Phoenix Valley for more than four-and-a-half years, and I was chomping at the bit to prove to this mostly untapped audience that we had the melodic, creative and lyrical chops to hold our own with the snobbiest of the music snobs. (Quite a lofty goal for a mere vocalist/guitarist and percussionist -- we weren't no Dodos, that's for sure.) Plus, this performance gave us the opportunity to debut a few new songs, including one called "Purity."

Up to that point, I had never written a song quite like "Purity" before. It wasn't the typical slow, droning, epic prettiness The Invisible Teal had become known for in the area -- it was an upbeat, three-chord story-song in the vein of Bob Dylan or The Velvet Underground, talk-singing included. In this song, I detailed my initial reaction upon learning one of my fellow Christian friends had started smoking cigarettes, immediately after I had told this friend about my first experience getting drunk. As a naive, sheltered 20-year-old who was living away from home for the first time ever, I was convinced my friend and I were headed straight to hell upon ending our subpar versions of "The Word" with a whimper. But then I realized this is not the case -- far from it, actually. Just because we miss a few notes here and there does not mean that Awesome God will give our performances an "F" once we're reached the finale. In fact, I don't think Awesome God has ever given an "A+" to any rendition of "The Word" besides that of The Jesus Jam.

Metaphorical digressions aside, "Purity" explicitly documents this transition from embarrassed storytelling to utter moral repulsion to ultimate forgiveness. Deep inside, I was expecting listeners to be pleasantly surprised by what I thought was our newfound musical variety -- not all our songs sound like R.E.M., Radiohead or Low anymore! But as we played it that night, something else happened entirely. The person sitting to my right on the couch abruptly got up and left the room. One attendee who I had particularly admired for his musical tastes and sense of anti-fashion glared at me from outside through the living room window, with the kind of jaded contempt that could make the staunchest chin-stroker wet their pants. Applause (or any response at all, really) was rather scarce throughout the remainder of our set. I tried to talk to a few people afterward, but it seemed like few of them even wanted to be in the same room with me. I started wondering what the heck had happened. Did they really hate our music that much?

I did my best to ignore their aloofness and sat down with my roommate/bandmate and two other friends we had brought along. We watched the band after us play some irredeemably awful experimental rock and absolutely mangle a "cover" of "Hey Jude." My spirits were lifted slightly by the intriguingly angular noise rock outfit that played after them, but then something truly surreal happened. Before this group played their last song, their singer got up to the microphone and talked about how we are all good people regardless of whether or not we drink or smoke. And that was just the icing; the cake came when this band's drummer -- the aforementioned tastemaker who glared at me through the window -- pointed toward the back where we were sitting and said something that haunts me even now: "Choose your venue wisely!"

I looked to my roommate/bandmate to see if I wasn't just making this up in my nervous, insecure state of mind, but no such luck. The truth was instantly, painfully clear. These people didn't necessarily dislike our music -- they hated the fact I sang about Jesus at an indie rock house show. Even at the relatively early time we had played that night, a lot of the attendees had already inundated themselves with alcohol and tobacco, and apparently all they heard from "Purity" were the song's initial rants against drinking and smoking. As far as they were concerned, I was just some street preacher who had come to tell them all what evil, hell-bound sinners they were. Needless to say, I was furious. My friends and I had grabbed all our equipment and merchandise, I exclaimed a few things that were probably not too pleasing to the ears of the Lord and we left. The night was uphill from there, as is any night you sit with your good friends and watch something as gloriously inane as Wet Hot American Summer. But the film I was really watching was a newly released horror flick called Choose Your Venue Wisely on repeat in my head.

To be fair, my friend who owned that house apologized to me profusely, and the noise rock group's singer clarified that he didn't mean any harm by what he said (though I know for a fact the drummer most certainly did). But though I don't watch Choose Your Venue Wisely nearly as much anymore, I'd be lying if I said its images don't still haunt me. There are several reasons you never see me around the Trunk Space or any other downtown Phoenix art venues anymore -- my seminary studies keep me plenty occupied, my limited funds keep me from doing much for leisure and, in my less amiable moments, I've stepped on quite a few influential toes. There are many reasons I broke up The Invisible Teal -- I was drunk on the promise of two new bands which have since dissolved, our performance draw was significantly dwindling and, let's face it, our music got pretty darn boring toward the end of our "career." But nearly two years since that terrible incident, I've discovered the overarching reason: AS A CHRISTIAN, I FEEL UNWELCOME IN THE INDIE ROCK SCENE.

I don't know exactly when it happened -- estimably sometime between the Age of Enlightenment and the release of Modest Mouse's first record -- but it is unquestionable that identifying yourself as a religious person automatically makes you unhip in indie rock circles. There have been a few moments when I let it slip that I'm Christian at a show or party, and immediately endured an aggressive but very brief effort at de-evangelism. There have been a few moments the same kind of admission was met with a few well-meaning jokes, which I generally don't mind but still can't help but hear with a hint of tokenism. But more often than not, when I've told someone offhandedly about this one thing that happened in church or this other thing that I prayed about, the other side of the dialogue reverts to awkward stares at the floor, mumbled half-responses and finally a feet-dragging departure to the other side of the room.

It's bad enough to talk about your faith with members of the indie rock community at large, but singing about your faith is utter heresy as far as they're concerned. I've never been afraid to sing about my beliefs, and I've always been very aware The Invisible Teal's lyrical content would inspire a few snickers and guilt-ridden facial expressions. But I always tried to sing about my triune God in a non-cliche, non-condescending manner, and when Choose Your Venue Wisely unexpectedly debuted in my head that December night, I felt like I'd failed. Could I have been more tactful about it? Possibly. In retrospect, do I even think "Purity" is that great of a song? Not particularly.

Still, as I now realize more vividly than ever, we cannot let some listeners' gross misinterpretations of "The Word" discourage us from playing the piece at all. The fact of the matter is not everyone is going to want to hear "The Word" -- its challenging complexity and austerity is an acquired taste for some, and some self-deceiving "aficionados" write it off as nothing but hideous noise. But anyone who performs "The Word" and hears it for the immaculate masterpiece it is will rejoice in the opportunity to experience the most powerful piece of music ever written. Remember: The Jesus Jam were mostly poorly received when they played the greatest concert of all time (imagine playing a bad gig where the audience threw STONES instead of tomatoes or water bottles!), but that didn't prevent them from playing "The Word" with all the passion and expertise Awesome God intended it to be performed with. And for the few people at that concert that "got it," it was a truly life-changing experience. People need to hear "The Word," whether they want to or not.

And in the end, if listeners hear your unique rendition of "The Word" and still write it off as noise, they ought to remain respectfully aware of the other listeners who may have loved every gorgeous note. What happened at the house show that December night is possibly the most hypocritical thing I've ever experienced. The entire point of punk rock was that you didn't have to be part of any social or technical elite to pick up an instrument and make great music in the name of rebellion against this world's most corrupt establishments. And if you consider indie rock to be a very indirect outgrowth of punk rock, something went wrong. Now you're just not hip enough to hang with the indie kids if your guitar is in tune, your hair is traditionally styled, you wash your obscure band T-shirts, you sing on key or you sing about God. Things have come full circle -- at its worst, indie rock IS an establishment, and one that's just as rigid and closed-minded as the world's most unwelcoming churches. If I had sang a song with a chorus of, "F@#! God, f@#! religion/Go Richard Dawkins," I would've been the coolest person in the room for that moment, but if that's what it takes to be "cool," I'm not interested. I'm sure me playing "Purity" that night was punk rock in a way many of them knew nothing about.

A few weeks ago, I swallowed my traumatized fear and went to my friend's housewarming party in downtown Phoenix, which doubled as a house show with several gajillion bands. What I thought might turn into a series of dirty "What is your kind doing here?" looks ended up being the exact opposite. I saw tons of old friends and bandmates I hadn't seen in as many as three years, and every single one of them was friendly, sincere and apparently OK with the fact I'm in seminary. There were a handful of people who seemingly blew me off because I wasn't wearing thrift store clothing, but I was able to shrug it off and enjoy the night in full. One absolutely butt-kicking noise-punk band played a riveting set, and their singer/guitarist said something during the last song that boosted my hope for humanity and for the indie rock scene in general: "I know we like to make fun of the First Friday people, but we've got to f@#!ing love each other!" This feeling of hope was put into even sharper perspective later in the night by a stripped-down, acoustic indie pop band, with a song partially about how being a Christian or atheist doesn't give any of us an excuse to "be a d@#!"

Take that, tastemakers. To hell with hipness -- I love the Lord with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my mind, and I also love my broken neighbors as my broken self. I will never apologize for that love, and neither should you.

Don't let the sophomore slump get you down

I took a much-needed break from seminary studies to hang out with five of my friends several weeknights ago, but what I anticipated to be an uplifting night ended up being kind of a bummer. We met at one of our favorite bars and talked about various aspects of our lives in general ... actually, more accurately, four of us sat and listened and occasionally added our remarks while the remaining two had a very amusing conversation about sex. Good times all around, though I could feel God staring down at me with His arms crossed, and practically hear Him laughing hysterically at what was probably my very red face.

But the bummer came when one of my friends started talking about the numerous people in his life who have disappointed him, to which another one of my friends promptly responded, "Most people suck." Always the optimist, I politely interjected by saying "I disagree with that," in hopes of proposing a non-preachy argument that everyone has the capacity to be good, and that making a statement that most people are bad is not only unfair, but a little arrogant. But I never got the chance to, not least of all because one of my other friends at the table immediately started laughing at me.

She probably didn't mean it that way, but I felt totally patronized. I felt as if the entire table might as well have started patting me on the head and saying, "Awwwww, isn't that cute? He has the naivete to actually love people!" Though I enjoyed the rest of the night, I couldn't help but pine for that respectful debate that never happened. I felt utterly alone in my optimism, even in the presence of one of my devout Christian friends. But more importantly, I was heartbroken for my friends who were denouncing such optimism -- how badly burned were they that they closed themselves off to most people? And how could they do such a thing without feeling utterly depressed and alone in this world? I have yet to read President Barack Obama's The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts of Reclaiming the American Dream, but I at least understand the first part of the title more vividly than ever: Hope in the face of the world at large is nothing short of audacious. Not only is it rare, but it's frequently frowned upon by those who know nothing about it. Morrissey, former vocalist for The Smiths, put it another way in their song "I Know It's Over": "It's so easy to laugh, it's so easy to hate/It takes strength to be gentle and kind."

One of the best songs the Jesus Jam performed during the greatest concert of all time is a challenging yet rousing anthem called "Love Your Enemies." The band knew full well that the lyrics would be considered revolutionary by all generations that followed it -- in fact, I can imagine that every audience member at this concert was flabbergasted upon hearing them, especially after hearing so many Stereophonic Pharisees tracks before it about how the "unrighteous" shouldn't even be allowed to hear "The Word" at all. After the Jesus Jam's demise, their fans had inherited a mission to not only start their own bands, but also to keep "Love Your Enemies" in their repertoires, which is quite a daunting task even today. Not that "Love Your Enemies" is a particularly hard song to play once you get the hang of it, but THAT CHORUS -- "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you." Those words are hard to hear and even harder to sing.

But as musicians continuing the legacy of Awesome God-via-The Jesus Jam, it is absolutely essential that we don't omit "Love Your Enemies" from our performances of "The Word." It's by far the most challenging section of the piece, but the rewards are great for anyone who plays through it successfully, and even greater for those fortunate enough to hear it played well. If we skip the section altogether, we are doing ourselves and our listeners a disservice. It may be easier in the short run to not have to even worry about that section, but in the long run, listeners will notice that a crucial part of the symphony is missing and, mistaking it for a poorly written piece, may never want to hear "The Word" again. In the end, performing "The Word" is not about how much fun we're having playing it -- it's about the healing, nourishment and inspiration the listener is capable of experiencing when they hear it the first time. A superbly rendered version of "Love Your Enemies" will motivate others to pick up an instrument and master it themselves.

But as I learned that night with my friends, far too many listeners don't want to even give first few seconds of "Love Your Enemies" a chance. I think a lot of them may have heard this section in the past, but it made for quite an uncomfortable listen. Perhaps they deemed the musicianship a little too intense. Maybe they felt the melody is just too dissonant. But it's most likely that the words are just too painful for them to hear. They've had too many bad experiences in the past to ever want to listen to a song about forgiveness and reconciliation in the face of relentless hatred and hostility. To put it another way -- and veer into another musical metaphor altogether -- these listeners are stuck on the sophomore slump.

Anyone who has ever actively sought great new music should be painfully familiar with the sophomore slump. It's always a thrill to discover that relatively rare thing -- a debut album that actually has consistently good songwriting, refreshingly innovative sonics and a solid front-to-back flow. For most musicians, the debut album is merely those first few awkward steps after hearing the starting gun, before they actually find their stride and learn how to run. So it's always uplifting and exciting to find musicians that begin the race at a full-fledged sprint.

But with that unexpected starting sprint comes potentially crippling expectations: Now you want these musicians to win the race. You want them to prove themselves as the greatest runners of all time. But sadly, some of these musicians simply lose their energy and finish second, fifth or sometimes dead last. Countless artists have released utterly disappointing follow-ups to those amazing debuts (which I will explain out of popular hearsay as much as actually hearing the music). The Doors brought psychedelic rock to previously unheard-of levels of darkness with their self-titled 1967 debut album, but spent much of the rest of their career in the annals of schmaltzy pop, hackneyed blues-rock and Jim Morrison's drug-addled "poetic" indulgences. Dr. Dre basically revitalized West Coast rap with 1992's The Chronic, but his output has been spotty at best ever since. The B-52's and Pretenders helped define New Wave with their self-titled debuts -- released in 1979 and 1980, respectively -- but the former band has lost much of their endearing quirkiness, while the latter band has essentially become a mediocre Chrissie Hynde solo project. And Guns N' Roses made hard rock tough and ugly again in the face of polished hair metal with 1987's Appetite for Destruction, but it takes a truly special person to forgive Axl Rose's ego or "November Rain."

Nevertheless, though we tend to focus on sophomore slumps because it IS easier to laugh and hate than to be gentle and kind, numerous artists who fell prey to this curse quickly recovered and delivered on their initial promise. Ramones and The Clash both released second albums that fell short of the simple rock & roll revolutions they instigated on their self-titled debuts, but they more than redeemed themselves respectively with 1977's Rocket to Russia and 1979's London Calling, both considered two of the best punk albums ever made. U2's 1980 debut album, Boy, was followed by the comparatively lackluster October before they came back with even bigger statements and more riveting tunes on 1983's War. Pearl Jam followed their grunge powerhouse of a debut, 1991's Ten, with the inconsistent Vs. before taking a real walk on the wild side with 1994's odd but brilliant Vitalogy. And outside of the great first album/worse second album/better third album pattern, Bob Dylan basically screwed around for much of his post-Blonde on Blonde career before unexpectedly dropping the classic breakup album Blood on the Tracks in 1975.

Music nerd indulgences aside, the point is that we can't wallow in the throes of sophomore slump disappointment forever. I've seen it again and again (in myself, too) that listeners will stop listening to an artist just because they had the gall to upset their otherwise "perfect" repertoire and release a subpar record. All of a sudden, they decide not to follow this or that band anymore just because of a single misstep. Or even worse, this disappointment "puts things into perspective" for the listener and they decide this or that band was never really that great to begin with. Sometimes they base their level of disappointment on the simple fact this or that band are doing something DIFFERENT. Heaven forbid anything about their sound changes or progresses.

It is absolutely crushing for me to see my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ or otherwise treat people much the same way. As I said before, adopting the attitude that "most people suck" is not only unfair to that person, but it's a little arrogant since it more or less assumes that whoever is making that statement isn't one of those sucky people. By putting all your faith in flawed human beings alone, you are already begging for trouble. People are going to trespass against you sooner or later, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not. But we are called not just as Christians, but as human beings to forgive each other for those trespasses. It may be hard to listen to and sing "Love Your Enemies," but it's absolutely necessary if we are to get the most out of Awesome God's greatest love songs. And once you familiarize yourself with it, "Love Your Enemies" not only becomes easier to sing and listen to, but it can be kind of fun.

On our way to an internship interview this weekend at Fuller Theological Seminary's main campus in Pasadena, Calif., my mom and I got into a huge fight. I expressed my anger toward her becoming very upset over the fact she had managed to get dog poop on her jeans, after which she proceeded to lecture me for not letting her vent about something that had nothing to do with me. Long story short, one unnecessary rehash of our sometimes volatile past led to another, and it more or less culminated in her sarcastically apologizing for not being a perfect mother. All of a sudden, it dawned on me like the midday sun in the middle of July in Phoenix, Ariz.: Humans screw up sometimes, and it's totally unfair to see a person for the number of mistakes they've made instead of their overall, wonderful, God-given character. Performing and listening to "Love Your Enemies" may be challenging, but by doing so we are ultimately rewarded with life, while holding a grudge (and consequently acting upon that grudge) can only lead to death. Phoenix-based folk-punk duo Andrew Jackson Jihad summarized this notion in their song "People": "People are wasteful, they waste all the food/People are hateful and people are rude/But God, I love some people sometimes/Because people are very, very special/And people are impatient, they don’t know how to wait/People are selfish, people are prone to hate/But God, I love some people sometimes/Because people are the greatest thing to happen."

And we are the greatest thing to happen. So to my friends who unintentionally bummed me out the other night, I forgive you and love you for the broken but beautiful souls you are. Because of the Jesus Jam's timeless rendition of "The Word," we will always be better than the sophomore slump.