In case you were wondering..

10 Thoughts For And From A Worship Leader*

2011-09-08T14:36:00.000-07:00

A friend recently recommended this post, "12 Thoughts For and From a Worship Leader", and asked what my thoughts for worship leading might be...so, I thought I'd write a post about that.

I've been around the church long enough now to have heard my fair share of "The 7 Secrets To Success" and "The 3 Things Every Leader Should Know"...everyone has their two cents, their catchy one-liners, their $200 DVD series that they live and breathe and Tweet by...

...but what I found so refreshing about Carlos' list (see link above) is that these 12 things we're practical, unpredictable, original, and clearly coming from personal experience. So here's my stab at such a list. If you're a church musician, I hope this helps you to look at things in a new way...if you're not a church musician, my hope is that this list will help you understand your friendly neighborhood worship leader a little better...

1. Your band-members are people first, and musicians second. Treat them accordingly.

2. Learn how to talk to drummers.
Your drummer probably doesn't know what to do with advice like "more tom stuff" or "more energy!" Know what you want from them and how to communicate that to them before they show up for practice.

3. Communicate with your vocalists.
As an instrumentalist, it's easy to overlook vocals in an attempt to lock in the instrumentation. Make sure your singers feel like an important part of the band. Otherwise, during that big instrumental breakdown you rehearsed, instead of engaging in the music, your vocalists will stand there, feeling excluded, until the vocals kick back in.

4. Work closely with your pastor.
The best church services are the ones where the music and message support each other. Make sure you have harmony with your pastor on a relational level and with the subject matter of the service you're leading together.

5. Never lead a song "just because".
If you can't tell me why you chose the songs you did, then you haven't thought enough about the importance of what you're leading me through.

6. Get inspired.
Figure out what inspires you and do that before every practice, service, and songwriting session, especially if that's listening to good music. (Heresy alert: "secular" music can inspire you to worship just as much as "Christian" music...but that's for another post)

7. Re-Arrange!
If you're getting sick of or bored with a classic song, so are your people. You don't have to be a master song-writer to re-arrange a popular song- it's amazing how the littlest things can breathe life into a dull or dying arrangement: change the tempo, change the key, turn an anthem into an acoustic tune, or a hymn into an anthem, have a female lead a usually-male-led song, or visa versa. Do not be responsible for burying an important song underneath an outdated, predictable, or too-familiar arrangement.

8. Get feedback.
Find someone you trust, give them permission to tell you what you're doing well and what you need to work on, and then listen to and learn from them when they offer advice or criticism.

9. Expect big things to happen.
Every time you gather with your congregation. Every time. Do not let your lack of imagination limit what the Spirit wants to do.

10. Take this seriously.
This may seem harsh, but here it is: You are an artistic ambassador of the Creator God. Make music that reflects that. Please don't embarrass me and my church family by making mediocre art about an amazing God.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

What are your ten?

**photo taken from here

Musician or Worship Leader?

2011-08-04T15:51:00.000-07:00

-For those of you who don't know, when I'm not singing or writing in my living room, I am singing and writing at my church. This is a post about that-
- - - - - - - - - - - -

A man who is much smarter than I* once wrote:
The word “Christian,” I imagined even then, was probably best understood as a kind of verdict, a compliment even; not an adjective to be presumptuously self-applied or ever broadcast as a boast. I could aspire to be someone upon whom the word might be suitably dropped as a descriptive term, but doing so myself would be horribly tacky, akin to the cart before the horse.
The proof is in the practice.

You are a Christian when the world sees your life and considers it Christ-like.

...
....
.....

What about taking it a step further?
How does this apply to your label as a worship leader?:

Are you a worship leader
because that is the title lent to you on Sunday mornings?
or are you a worship leader
because when you enter into an atmosphere of worship,
people follow you?

There's a line in the sand:
on one side, there is reciting church songs,
and on the other side, there is leading worship.

The first is typically performed in a way that is either
uninviting to the congregation
or too much of a solo act for anyone to join in on.

The latter is verbally and musically engaging,
inviting, and understandable to the average congregant.

As church musicians, we are called to LEAD people to and through the songs we are singing. That means that our congregations find us musically inspiring and easy to follow, and spiritually encouraging, inviting, and trustworthy...

So what are you...a Musician or a Worship Leader?

*David Dark, in his review of Rob Bell's 'Love Wins' - http://theotherjournal.com/2011/04/20/bell-rings-true-a-review-of-love-wins/

Take off your shoes.

2011-07-21T16:28:00.000-07:00

Well hello friends...it's been awhile.

-For those of you who don't know, when I'm not singing or writing in my living room, I am singing and writing at my church. This is a post about that-
- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Now then, stand still and see this great thing the Lord is about to do before your eyes!" - I Samuel 12:16

- - - - - - - - - - - -
OK...
Picture this:

A fugitive murderer is herding sheep in the desert...
Good start, huh?

While in the far reaches of the wilderness, he comes across a bush, burning with fire, but not being burnt- out of the bush, comes a Voice, and the Voice knows his name.

Moses!...Moses!
Here I am...
Take off your shoes. The place where you stand is Holy ground

Moses does so. The Voice speaks:
My people need rescuing. I want you to go to them.

Moses fights with the Voice:
Me? How could I possibly do this? Do you know who I am?

The Voice answers:
I will be with you...and I AM WHO I AM.

He is The Answer to the question we are all asking.
Why me? How can I possibly do this?
I AM WHO I AM...that's how.

.
..
...

Every once in a while, I show up on Sunday morning to sing, and I feel like I've just wandered in from the wilderness, and the Voice of God meets me there.
He says:
This is a sacred place. Can you feel it?

God wants to do amazing things with His people.
He wants us to experience Him. He wants us to hear His Voice,
and see His Hand moving in our lives...
Not once in a while...
not just on "Worship Nights"...
not just on Thursday night of camp...
Every time we are together.

What would have happened if Moses would have ignored the Voice in the desert? What if he hadn't followed the divine longing in his heart to see what made the bush burn the way it did?
Would God still have found a way to save His people?
Yes...but Moses wouldn't have been a part of it.

Is it possible that we are missing great things because our expectations are not high enough for what God wants to do with our Worship? Do you believe that the simple act of recognizing that you are standing on Holy ground can open up the door for the Voice of the LORD to speak?
Stand still and see this great thing the Lord is about to do before your eyes!

Our Sunday gathering can be the place where God speaks to us and tells us of the great things He wants us to be a part of. Moses took off his shoes- he heard the Voice, and the Voice used his bare feet to change the world.

Are you listening? You are on Holy ground.
Take off your shoes.

wind chimes

2010-10-03T01:20:00.000-07:00

our words surround us

like some sweet-tasting secret that we have always known

but have since forgotten the taste of

like the sounds on the tips of our tongues,

we run after that which is inside of us, and a little bit ahead of us, always.

there are beautiful certainties that exist in this world of ours, outside of the realm of understanding- beautiful permanences in places that stand above and outside the grip of language, shape, and definition.

but you see,

in and around and between all of our clumsy inarticulations,

we are made to breathe, and in so doing, made to take in truth itself - to swallow a language that we can never speak on our own.

it is the never-ending song echoing in the caves of our hearts and running through the trees in our dreams. it makes it's melodies in our wind chimes; in our bedroom doors it marches on. it sends its song through old cans and tall grass. it fills our lungs in one moment, and in the next, runs from them in victorious laughter. in its old-age, it creaks around corners and in open places. it is a familiar friend to this place.

it remembers a time when we were not, though now is not that time.

it was and is and is to come.

and we are oh, so forgetful.

teach us to Breathe, and in so doing,

to take in that Great Mystery

which belongs to no man but is for every man.

*currently listening to Paper Route

*picture taken from here

Of Stained-Glass Windows

2010-09-20T23:37:00.000-07:00

In birth, the light shows itself, violently.
In death, the light hides itself, kindly.
In life, we see but through a glass darkly.

Our eyes, like two tiny portholes, speak in whispers regarding our sea-roar surroundings. We try to raise our eye-voices, but we know not what to say; in silence, we wait,
counting raindrops as they freckle the glass.
We weigh and measure these Hints,
as if They will come and explain Themselves to us - explain from whence They came.

[We are those ships that feel the wind but cannot see from where It's come.
We turn, suddenly, expecting to find It staring back at us,
but there is nothing to be seen - not through eyes such as ours, anyhow,
grayed with disbelief as they are]

But when we are awakened by the Great Morning,
we find that we are instead stained-glass windows,
and so the Hints come creeping through each crack until our bones are wet
with the stained-glass-paintbrush display...

...And how welcome are these chromatic pilgrims,
wanderers on these cloudy seas!
Suddenly we find that we have known all along what to say,
and it was only at first that we did not know
the colors, the strokes, the language
with which to speak these things:

- Come in, you Red and Green!
and you, ocean-wet Aquamarine!
Come and fill our pale frames
with Your technicolor certainty,
'Cause our bodies ache,
and we are oh, so tired of
this bleak and blurry glass -

we raise our voices, paled by possibility -
and we do not stop our words from running from our tongues

until we hear ourselves say
that which we have always known,
until Your color runs over us

and what is in becomes Out, and Out, in,
and everything Is what It could have been.

*photo from here

covers and such

2010-08-28T12:49:00.000-07:00

Hey Friends,

here are the two cover videos that we have done so far..just in case you were bored:

Prayers

2010-07-28T23:39:00.000-07:00

O, Spirit!

All creation sings Your praise,
And the trees and mountains are Your musicians.
They bellow the answer to Your whispers-
The rocks cry out the promptings of Your being.

With Your earth-chest You heave massive sighs of hurricane breath
And fill our lungs with the witness of Who You Are.

O, Jesus!

We remember You best with arms outstretched:
open wide - offering all of You
open wide - welcoming all of us

Your words are like water to our desert-souls:
"Come ye empty-handed! You need not a thing-
I only want you, and you only need Me."

O, Father!

For what You've done, we are Yours forever
But when we forget, help us remember
How You meet us on the road to lift our faces from our shame
And kiss them with Your laughter.

Forgive us when we hurt You,
And please, never stop welcoming us back into Your arms.

An announcement of sorts.

2010-07-20T18:50:00.000-07:00

Hello blog friends,

How are you? Good? Great.

I wanted to let you know about something that I/we find real, real exciting.

If you didn't know, I've been writing songs with a handful of my best friends under the name of Branches.
We are getting to the final stages of production on our debut EP, which should be finished around the first of September,

BUT..

until then, we're excited to share a sneak-peak of what we're working on via our Myspace page (which you can find here!)

If you don't hate it, add us as a friend, spread the word, sing along, and if you'll be around L.A. the first week of September, buy a ticket for our show with Tyrone wells here.

YES.

1, 2, 3..

2010-07-09T01:20:00.000-07:00

everything will be ok.

jump off the top bunk, because your dad will catch you -

he built that bunk bed,
and he is the strongest dad in the world..

he can clap really loud and catch fish and put you on his shoulders
and everyone else's dad is dumb.

and now back to our regularly scheduled program.

2010-07-05T23:49:00.000-07:00

nighttime is best.

in summer clothes, feet tiptoe the cool cement, remembering its cracks through cooling blisters. and oh, the last drip-drop-sounds of cars rolling home through almost-wet summer air..

wet - like a swimming pool spread out in said summer air, thrown loose like a blanket for all the neighbors to share; to lay down in the grass-green hills behind our eyes.

no fences, no curfews, no tuesday morning alarm clocks looming.

if you breathe slow enough, you can taste the yester-moment laughter and watermelon communion on your tongue,

so let's all breathe slow. enough. please.

wonderful black-sky, wet-grass, watermelon-sweet moment of minute memory, half-certain and most-welcome,

you are best.

*picture taken from here

The Necessity of Lament

2010-04-28T11:58:00.001-07:00

I'm currently writing my senior paper on
"The Lyricist's Responsibility".
I'm looking at faith-based writers and how they handle the responsibility of the pen.

I've never thought much about prophets. Like many things in the Bible, they have always felt a bit like mythical creatures... Nessie, Unicorns, the world's best cup of coffee, the guy who wears camel fur and eats grasshoppers...it's all a little hard to personalize.

One of the books I am reading (The Prophetic Imagination by Walter Brueggemann) is making me think of the poet as prophet for the first time.

He says that every significant human experience has its origins in Orientation- a Psalm 23 of the soul, where green grass and still waters drown out the distant darkness..Until something happens...
(insert Psalm 22)

Disorientation.

We move suddenly and violently from blissful ignorance to the awakening of devastation.

Both are necessary, yet both are incomplete as final resting points...

Where we are stuck in Orientation, it is the prophet's task to initiate lament.
Open eyes. Kick shins. Break windows. Break hearts.
Where we are stuck with the broken shins and glass and hearts of Disorientation, it is the prophet's task to introduce a new song - a song in which God's huge hands can hold every broken heart and things can still make sense; a song where right and wrong, dark and light, yes and no, The Healer and disease - can coexist in and around the same creation.

This is Reorientation - the marriage of Lament and Praise, and the charge and destination of every poet.

That's a big pen to be responsible for, and if Brueggemann is right, then I'm not ready.
I'm still learning how to color in the lines..

Typewriting

2010-01-20T23:30:00.000-08:00

My parents got me a typewriter for Christmas,
and I've been staring at it since.
I've been watching it grow pale in the wet window light,
slowly bleeding out, running dry of its ribbon-ink-blood.

If this was a story fit for books,
I would write about green eggs and ham and how scared I am.
I'd write about nights I've spent with my eyes closed tighter than a thousand fists. Closed tighter than the grip I've maintained on my delusions, and how the lack of circulation to the knuckles of my heart have made the fingers inside my chest turn white and stiff.
I'd whisper to you nervously about how my tongue feels like a treasure map pointing to a terrible secret improperly buried behind my fist-heart.
I'd tell you that I keep my heart in a fist. because I'm scared. to see the words my fingers would put together if I let them loose. and how I'm scared to see the black and white truth my hands could make for my fist-eyes - a ravenous beast of ink and tree that reels at the chance to swallow any inconclusivity I may yet reserve in it's conclusive and concrete claws of print and punctuation.

I would not, could not in a box.
I would not, could not with a fox..

But when I run out of treasure-map-talk,
these are only the musings of a heart in waiting.

Really, I let the keys beat out the last drops of permanence against innocent white so that I can do what's next (this is what really goes on inside and outside):

I sit down to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write to write words that no one will see but that I need to feel my fingers say. I need to see my fingers like ten little men on the moon, leaving prints in the unknown white.

So I typed an inkless letter to know what my fingers would feel like after fighting with my words. I wanted to wrestle with it all, right down to the literal process of pushing down those concave plastic circles, so that despite all of my work, I'd have nothing to say. That regardless of the hours I've spent behind those anxious keys, all I'm left with are white pages.

And the words im scared of what i cant see. were never so hard to write.

And I've never breathed such a permanent black and white sigh of relief (period).

Cymatics (or, thank you Zach and Jacob)

2009-12-07T11:08:00.000-08:00

The study of Cymatics seeks to show us that there is more to sound than meets the ear. Sound-waves move and pulse and swirl and cause their surroundings to do likewise. By focusing the vibrations of sound on something like water or sand, you can actually see the sound move through the material, eventually taking a shape.
You change the sound, or frequency, and you change the shape.

I watched this:

..and in the last 45 seconds, I started thinking about Creation.

So sound has the ability to shape things, and to take shape, right? So every shape we know of, the circle, the star, the snowflake, has a cymatic twin - it's auditory other.

Imagine an alternate universe that looks like ours, but everything you see is actually just balls of sound arranged into representations of the physical world that we know. We have the physical ability to create a shape through a sound. We can, in essence, sing or play a cube, a sphere, a starfish, into existence..

This sounds like Creation to me.

So when God says let there be "Light", what does his voice look like?
And when he says, "Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear", is He speaking the very shape of Sea and Land? Does his voice sound like dry land appearing and waters gathering? What if the thunder of creation is an ever-changing symphony of creative sound, pulsing through the formless and void, leaving trees and and seas and snowflakes and starfish in its footsteps?

Who knew Genesis 1 could be for Scientists... All this time I've been thinking it was for Artists and Botanists.

Tangent. Process. Renga.

2009-11-18T17:19:00.000-08:00

I haven't said much lately.
This is mostly due to the unfortunate preoccupation of over-commitment, but can be partially explained by another writing project I've been working on which I'm excited to share with you - eventually.

But for now, I have an idea.
It's not original, but neither am i.
It is unique however, and so am we.

It's called Renga.
It's a traditional form of process poetry which is responsible for what we now know to be the Haiku, and this is how it works:

Person A writes a Haiku
(a short poem consisting of 3 lines with syllables counting 5-7-5).

Person B writes 2 addition lines of 7 syllables each to tag on the ending of the first Haiku.

Person C writes another Haiku, drawing primarily on the last 2 lines for inspiration.

Person D writes 2 more lines of 7 syllables..and so on and so forth.

And seeing how i only affiliate with quick-witted, well-learned, articulate and creative people, i think this could go somewhere..

Or it could just be me ending a post with 17 strangely organized syllables. Either way, I come out looking more inspired and poetic than i really am, which i'm obviously OK with.

therefore...

Fading yellow leaves
Form ranks in Color's last march
Against coming clouds

*idea taken blatantly and without apology from http://www.soulpancake.com/view_post/1498568/i-see-your-haiku-and-raise-you-a-renga.html (which is a great blog you should all follow)

*a sidenote about the necessity of storytelling

2009-10-21T03:21:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure which day it is that you are reading these words and worlds - maybe it's October 21st. perhaps it's November 2nd. it could very well be June 14th..

I AM sure, however, that today is a very good day for making up a story.

Tonight, i watched a meteor shower, and in the too-dim-too-fleeting light of falling rock, i returned a question with an answer that never was until i spoke it.

mostly i don't know what i'm thinking about until i start telling a story about a make-believe place full of make-believe moments, and then and there, i slowly find out what's inside as i turn the pages in my mind and listen to my own self-revealing twists and turns..and then later i find myself remembering that story, and remembering some thing which never was..and then i know just what it was i was thinking about when i made it all up..and in that way, storytelling is like the string on my finger reminding me about what i'm hiding away in the crawl space behind my eyes..

and besides, listening to the words and worlds running between my brain and my heart is much more fun when to the sounds of imaginary pages being turned..or so says I, at least..

that's all.

chapter five: no one likes math

2009-10-18T12:33:00.000-07:00

i went in to yesterday doing all kinds of counting - i counted miles and REMs and responsibilities and commitments and connections and pages..but not calories.
i definitely did not count calories (good thing too, cause those cream sodas were real good. and those donuts, too) ...

but sometimes i count and list and stack and order
when all i'm really supposed to do is watch, just watch. that's all.
it's really pretty simple when you take the math out of the equation.
(get it?... equation?... man, i'm good)

really, what i'm trying to say is if i hadn't stopped counting,
i would've missed a really great night.
[author's note: this will most likely be a recurring theme in these chapters]

And so, when the numbers stopped, i heard my friends laughing, moving forward onto a beach access road with fog falling thick enough to drink. And i heard Mitch's playlist, perfectly and appropriately narrating our respective adventures through blown-out backseat speakers. And i heard Tyler(the other one)'s tongue react to his experimental coffee drink brewed far too hot to the warm clink of the black and white sounds of the Gypsy Den piano. And i heard an accordion, a cowbell, and dancing. And i saw two men hang out of the second-story window, looking down at us, half swaying to the sounds from inside. And i saw them wave us up.
So up we went.

everything's ever only exactly as it's supposed to be.

And so, in the end, when the numbers stopped, I heard a great story.
I didn't hear a full night's sleep, or a shrinking list, or a finished book,
but I heard a great story.
(and a little mariachi, too)

*recently, when I'm not listening to mariachi, i'm listening to this or this or this.
**also, i got the photo from here

chapter four: home

2009-10-09T17:09:00.000-07:00

*these are some types of homes
---------
my home smells and tastes like pumpkin bread.
it looks yellow and brown and orange and red. (the rhyming stops here)
it sounds like my parent's laughing beside Dress Shoes' rhythmic meeting of Hardwood Floor while my Old Piano sings along
and it feels like a little bit of light let in through partially closed blinds.

being home is
the right kind of catching up
followed by
the right kind of alone.

I'm gonna step outside a minute now..

..

So I was just laying in my hammock out back staring up at the clear, cold, blue sky changing frames from between the green birch leaves and branches hanging low and swirling slowly, thinking more about home, and God, and home and God, and the sky, and friends, and pumpkin bread, and then i came inside, noticing i had leaves in my hair and on the back of my shirt.
and i thought, "that makes sense".

...it's nice being home...

chapter three: on the airplane

2009-10-09T00:28:00.000-07:00

"[ i closed the book with one hand, and, placing the other on top to keep it shut, i breathed out fully and easily, glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed.

my eyes flickered suspiciously from the book, to my empty cup, up to the head-rest currently ignoring me, to my sleeping neighbor across the aisle and to the right, and to dimly lit letters spelling, "n-o-s-m-o-k-i-n-g", before returning to the book again.

Here, i opened the book with one hand, and, after following the index finger of the other back to those words, i read and reread them until i knew they weren't going anywhere.

and then i asked the man next to me if I could borrow his pen to write these things down on this napkin (which was left over from the stack he had given to me earlier when i had spilled my water all over the seat dividing us) because i didn't want to forget what i was thinking about during the narrative briefly described above.]"

- an excerpt transcribed and revised from 'The Napkin in My Pocket'

*image taken from here

chapter two: colder wind

2009-10-05T13:44:00.000-07:00

Dear Leaf, your time's come
fallen by a colder wind
than the one before.

- a haiku for the new season-

... here's to pumpkin flavored everything. God bless these days.

*currently listening to 'Beggar' - Achilles and the Tortoise

** image from Revivify's photostream

chapter one: tonight and this morning

2009-10-04T02:31:00.000-07:00

As i begin this thought, it's 2:32 am, and i can't imagine a better time to think out loud (metaphorically of course..my roommate's asleep in the bunk above me and so i can't imagine him being much in favor of me saying all this out loud to myself right now)

As i begin THIS thought, it's 2:34 am (seriously, it took me two minutes to write that?), and i know what i need to say, but i'm not sure how i'll do it
- and with that, i welcome you to the blog of an external processor.

so here's what i'm thinking about tonight and this morning:

i'm mostly sure that i don't live enough of my days starry-eyed and awe-struck at the story unfolding all around me.

i waste far too much time with my face pressed tight to newly-fogged windows which separate me from objective, rational existence [which is more like a museum exhibit than a firework show.. and watching exploding fireballs is always a thousand times more fun than looking at wax figurines of our pre-human ancestors..except for dinosaur museums, which are always awesome..but that's for another entry]

And so i spend far too few moments
with the kaleidoscopic looking glass
which paints my perception
like imaginative
and thankful memory
being made.

Me: Tonight was an experiment in the imaginative,
and you know what?
You: What?
Me: That is precisely why i am writing these things at 2:48am (it's been 14 minutes...i'll save you the addition) and not some boring time of night like 8:31 or 10:14.

- tonight i sang songs and ate tamales and watched stars peek around clouds and praised God in silence and watched a fire burn with new friends while we made up funny roller derby athlete names (i.e. princess slaya', condoleeza slice, slamela anderson, mary tyler gore, & loco ono)

and THEREFORE

-tonight is a night worth remembering -

so here's to nights and mornings spent open and expectant.
I hope you have so, so many of them.

*[ sweet smoke art - http://helmo.fr/ongoing/smoke-/ ]

a foreward..

2009-10-02T20:21:00.001-07:00

I'd like to start this blog with a promise:

I promise to be wholly inconsistent in my writing - to say far too much in one instance, and then to leave you verbally stranded in the next.

[If it helps you decide whether or not you will read this blog, I will provide you with this alternative comparison] ...

... I will most likely be an unhappy mediation between two unfortunate characters from the story of your last weird family reunion - the over-disclosing, oppressively informative aunt, and the reclusive, otherwise disinterested great-uncle who only speaks to you in passing to remind you that you're not as tall as your brothers are..I'm just saying...

So, that said,

consider yourself warned, internet, and stay tuned for Chapter 1...