Marci and I went to a concert yesterday evening.  We didn't understand a note of it.

It was our first time ever visiting the Muziekgebouw aan 't IJ, a beautiful modern theater situated along Amsterdam's harbor.  It was one of the rare occasions that we opted for a more high-brow form of entertainment on our night out.   After a lovely dinner together in Zeeburg, we made our way to the theater with high expectations.  And those expectations were totally dashed against the rocks.

When I had bought the tickets -- last-minute deals at half-price from the Uitburo on the Leidseplein -- I had specifically mentioned that I was looking for something light, something fun.  Nothing too experimental or dissonant.  I mentioned the fact that we had never gotten the opportunity to visit the Muziektheater aan 't IJ before, and that the tickets for that show were marked at a very reasonable price -- but I didn't want to experience anything too "out there."  The ticket lady looked at the vaguely worded description paragraph about the evening's performance -- the Nieuw Ensemble, playing works by Francesconi, Pesson, and Bellon grouped under the heading "Europe Today" -- and smiled at me.  She noted that the performance was categorized, "Contemporary Classical Music" and assured me that it would be a lovely evening, not at all experimental or dissonant or "out there."

But sitting in the theater, listening to the first movement of the concert's first piece, I felt suddenly red-in-the face, duped, trapped.  The music was exactly the opposite of what I had hoped for and expected.  There was hardly a discernible melody, harmony, or rhythm at all.  Nothing resolved.  Instead it was all seemingly random riffs, delighting in dissonance.  I could tell that the musicians were all incredibly talented -- masters of their instruments -- but they didn't seem to play together at all.  The music reminded me of the creepy soundtracks to those scenes from the movies where insects come crawling out of every crack in the room -- or when someone tumbles down the stairs, being chased by a psychotic stalker.  Do you know what I mean?  At times, the ensemble sounded like -- literally -- fingernails being scraped on a black-board.  At other times, it was more like squeaky markers writing on a white-board -- for minutes at a time.  Sometimes, the woodwinds simply breathed air through their instruments, kind of a Darth-Vaderish sound.  The musicians were hitting their fingers against the sides of their cellos and violas almost as much as they were using the bows to scratch out eerie, contrasting notes.  It was bizarre.  Totally out there.

Seriously, my favorite part of the whole concert was the intermission, where they served everyone free Cokes in the lobby.

Fortunately, Marci and I were able to laugh about it and have fun in the midst of the whole experience.  But we got to talking afterwards, and it was really perplexing to try and figure out the method behind the madness of that sort of music.  The musicians, conductor, and composers (two of which were actually in attendance for the concert!) were obviously not morons.  They had a high degree of pride and prowess in their chosen fields.  They certainly knew what they were doing.  The music must have meant something to them.  But Marci and I didn't get it at all.  It was more "noise" than "music" to our ears.  It made us tense and uncomfortable, rather than relaxed and entertained.

We found ourselves wishing that we had someone who could explain it all to us.  What is the beauty in this type of music?  Why should we sit up and take notice?  How do we decipher the music from the noise?

And as I've thought back on yesterday evening's concert, it's occurred to me that the Church could learn a lot from the Nieuw Ensemble.  Because really we're not all that different from each other.  Most Christians get really excited about participating in a worship gathering, where we get to hear someone preach about a section of the ancient Scriptures, sing songs of worship to the invisible God who sustains us, and other things like that.  Sometimes people raise their hands in ecstasy, or close their eyes as if they were getting a spiritual massage.  Every now and then a small, muted tone of assent rises in our throats.  It all makes sense to us and feels like home to us.  But we forget a lot of times that others do not have the same frame of reference that we do.  They don't know what it all means.  It just sounds like noise to them:  a bunch of crazy hoo-ha.  And without anyone to explain everything to them, they just grit their teeth until the end, take advantage of the complimentary cup of coffee -- just to redeem the very smallest part of the time they invested in the foreign experience -- and then they get the heck out of Dodge.  That's certainly what ended up happening with me and Marci at the concert yesterday evening.  We didn't stop to ask any questions or raise any concerns -- even though one of the composers was sitting directly behind us -- because we didn't want to sound like idiots, and we didn't want to hurt her feelings by suggesting that her music was not accessible enough for us.  And how often is this exactly the experience of others who can't understand or identify with the context of Christian community?!?

I don't know exactly what all this might mean for the Church -- or for my developing an appreciation for the music of "Europe Today" -- but it definitely seems like something to think about... 

It's hard to believe that I couldn't see it previously, but I totally encountered Jesus in the middle of Disney's "High School Musical."

 Now, I fully realize that this statement smacks strongly of that cheapest sort of evangelicalism -- with a demon behind every stubbed toe and an angel behind every discovered penny -- but you'll have to take my word for it that I'm not typically that sort of person.  I know that it's highly unlikely that the original song-writer(s) or lyricist(s) meant to create anything other than sappy, snappy, bubble-gum pop songs about high school romance.  And I am not at all in favor of re-writing the words to classic songs to somehow make them more "Christian," like that old song,  "Some Kind of Wonderful" by Grand Funk Railroad, that was re-written to be addressed to "my Jesus" instead of "my baby."

But even so, there's still something cool about how God can sometimestake a random set of circumstances and blend them into a truly meaningful spiritual experience.

All week, I've had this song in my head from Disney's "High School Musical." It's a song called "What I've Been Looking For" (which actually occurs twice within the movie, with two separate arrangements; for those of you who might be curious, it's the Ryan and Sharpay version that's been on the brain).  Likemany of the other songs from the film, it's a catchy tune.  Without even trying -- and actually with some deliberate effort to get it out of my head -- I just find myself humming the tune as I'm ridingmy bike, or cleaning up the kitchen, or whatever.  "Doo Doo DooDoo - Doo Doo DooDoo - Do Do.  Woa-ah-ah-oh."  If you've heard the song, you probably know what I mean...

Simultaneously, I've been spending a lot of the week feeling kind of awkward and lonely.  A combination of church leadership transitions, general season of ministry, and personal relationships have worked together to create this general sense of malaise in my life.  Nothing extraordinary.  Nothing alarming.  Just kind of tough, you know?  I've had these persistent questions bouncing around about ministry partnerships, healthy balances in my life, finding the right mix between personal responsibility and giving things to God -- that kind of stuff.  And while I've been seeking God on these questions -- through prayer, meditation, reading the Bible, and talking with others -- I hadn't found any soul-satisfying reassurances about the situations...

That is, until this morning.  I was riding my bicycle down the Rokin, right in the heart of Amsterdam, when I finally connected the words bouncing through my head (from "High School Musical") to my current life circumstances -- creating a kind of bizarre pop-worship song.  Again, I know it soundskind of cheesy.  But read the words for yourself (totally unedited!), and see if I'm not totally off-base:

It's hard to believe
That I couldn't see
You were always there beside me

Thought I was alone
With no one to hold
But you were always right beside me

This feeling's like no other
I want you to know
I've never had someone
That knows me like you do
The way you do
I've never had someone
As good for me as you
No one like you

So lonely before
I finally found
What I've been looking for

So good to be seen
So good to be heard
Don't have to say a word
For so long I was lost
So good to be found
I'm loving having you around

This feeling's like no other
I want you to know
I've never had someone
That knows me like you do
The way you do
I've never had someone
As good for me as you
No one like you

So lonely before,
I finally found
What I've been looking for

Cool, huh? Maybe you will just think I'm thanking my lucky angel (or moon-rock, if you're more inclined towards New Ageism) for such "wisdom from heaven."  And I'm certainly not offended if you write it off as such.  But it was a cool enough moment for me that I thought I'd share...

My head has been full of songs and the ticking of the clock today.

While bicycling to my first appointment this morning, I was inexplicably reminded of some old song lyrics by DC Talk -- an obscure 1990s hip-hop group.  It really doesn't make sense why my mind would have been drawn to such memories of music from my teenage years because I don't currently own any of those old albums, nor would there be any chance that I've overheard strains of the old songs on local radio stations or piped-in music at stores.  But the songs were there nonetheless.  First it was "Love is a Verb" (I'm genuinely shocked by how many of the lyrics to this song I can remember!).  Then it was "Lean on Me."  And then I was at my meeting -- so my internal soundtrack was basically absorbed by conversation.

One of the topics in this first conversation of the day, however, was the realization of the increasing velocity of time over the course of one's life.  Seriously, it's hard to believe that we're already almost at the end of 2008.  I've hardly gotten used to writing this date on letters and forms and whatever -- and now I'm already starting to have to train myself to turn those "'08"s (or sometimes still "'07"s in my mind!) to "'09"s!  Yikes!  So during the conversation, my thoughts were somehow turned toward Jim Croce and his song "Time in a Bottle" (the YouTube video above is the Muppet Show version of the song, which I remember very vividly from my childhood).  Jim Croce was, officially, before my time.  But I remember checking his greatest hits (on CD) out from the Marvin Memorial Library in Shelby this past summer and listening to its folksy melodies throughout long hot drives throughout the Midwest.  And for the rest of the afternoon, my mind was stuck on Jim Croce:  "Time in a Bottle," "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown," and "Don't Mess Around with Jim."

And then, after finishing up a supper with my family, my mind somehow switched to the "Sound of Music" soundtrack.  "Do Re Mi," "Edelweiss," and all that good stuff.  Even further back in time than Jim Croce and DC Talk.  But good stuff, and associated with other various memories from my childhood.

It's odd to try and figure out how all of these memories and melodies become intertwined and associated with each other.  But it's fun to enjoy the soundtrack for whatever it's worth.

See the first snowfall

See the first snowfall

Cool white butterflies dancing.

See the first snowfall

I still remember these lyrics from a song entitled "Winter Haiku," which I learned as a twelve-year-old boy singing in the Mansfield YMCA Youth Choir.  They still feel like some of the most elegant, most eloquent words that could be used to describe the simple joy of the season's first snowfall.

Amsterdam received its first snowfall of the year this weekend.  It hasn't been much, and definitely not enough to accumlate for any length of time.  But it's been beautiful and awe-inspiring nonetheless -- just a little dusting on my jacket, a little magic to the cold air.  Cool white butterflies dancing.

I was on my way to a meeting when the first flakes touched down, so I wasn't able to immediately participate in my favorite "first snowfall tradition."  But when I got home later that afternoon, I put on Andy Williams' Christmas album -- an old, time-honored tradition in the Asp family -- and sang along to the opening strains of "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas."

These traditions, these songs, these images, are definitely one of the unmistakable joys of November.