The Rocker

I’m a rocker. I can’t help it; I grew up in the 70’s… when Kiss ruled the world. In fact, you could say that I’m the Ace Frehley of local band, Jayson Bales & The Charmers... sans makeup… and the Dom Perignon habit. But it’s okay because these days, everything rocks, is being rocked or is rock star – even church rocks.

I’m not a fan of contemporary Christian music and my small town, southern Baptist upbringing frowns on drums and git-tars in the service – sorta like wearing white before Labor Day, it’s just not done. And, honestly, it could compromise my carefully constructed artist mystique. But despite my lofty position on the matter, I get an opportunity to fill in for a vacationing guitarist at Jayson’s church and my curiosity (or ego) is sufficiently piqued - before you can say kumbaya, I’m gigging for God on the next Sunday.

I have to be there for my first (and only) pre-service rehearsal, coiffed and loaded by 6:30… a.m. Are they kidding?! They are not. So, I prepare myself accordingly… except for my digestive system, which inexplicably decides to stage a sit-down, and the resulting inner pandemonium keeps me up all night, which causes me to oversleep, which gives me 15 minutes to get ready… and a negative 15 minutes for the trip there. Round 1 to the stomach.

I’m literally jogging into the sanctuary, guitar and amp in hand – apparently my time deficit and sleep deprivation have combined to give me Hulk-like strength. But before I can catch my breath, I’m stopped dead in my tracks by the icy, disapproving glare of the sound guy. Did I forget my pants… is it my pillow-sculpted, Jim Morrison hair… am I dreaming?!

“We don’t really use amplifiers here – we go direct. (heavy sigh) Just put it on the stage and I’ll figure something out…”

As he turns to go scourge some assistant sound guy for allowing this blasphemy, I lift my weary eyes to the heavens… and pray he gets electrocuted.

Minutes into rehearsal, it’s clear to me I lack two crucial elements: a UNT music degree and my brain. The other guys are real musicians, my head is spinning and all the solo practice I did with the mp3’s has flown right out the window. Even my meticulously handcrafted charts look like Chinese. The situation is getting desperate - I start to consider just turning my guitar volume off and feigning disbelief when no one can hear me… although, by the lack of any reaction to my playing, it’s quite possible they’ve already taken me completely out of the mix. After our run-through, the music director squeezes my shoulder, tells me how much he appreciates me helping them out and points outward to the left third of the now empty seats.

“You’re responsible for this area of the congregation – you need to play to them, engage them, pull them into the worship experience. And if possible, don’t use your charts – focus on what’s going on around you.”

What?!! Another shoulder squeeze, assurance that I’ll do fine and he’s off to the pre-service meeting. I head to the Green Room, for coffee, donuts and reverent reflection… but because of my stupid stomach, I settle for water, nothing and chart cramming. The other musicians are cordial, but I suspect they smell the fear on me and keep their distance… like wolves abandoning the weak. Is it getting colder in here?

It’s almost zero hour, and I know this from the countdown clock (seriously?) at the front of the stage. Should I be strapped in? Is my amp on? I should’ve gone to the bathroom again… 3… 2…1… blast off!!

All in all, not too bad. Once I see the smiling faces around me and feel the surge of congregation and music becoming one, it becomes clear my individual contribution is rather insignificant – it’s about the spirit in which it’s delivered and that whole “big picture/grand scheme” thing. I let go and just flow with the current. It feels… good.

Finally, winding down with Jayson and his family at our little Mi Cocina afterparty, I overindulge Mambo Taxis while watching the kids construct bean and rice sculptures. I allow myself a slight pat on the back… and a big sigh of relief, before heading home to sleep off the remainder of the afternoon. Yeah, I’m a rocker…