The Secret Chamber and the Afterglow
I’m in my bunk on the tour bus, which is in some ways like a coffin, in other ways like a berth on a ship. Some nights it feels more like a bunk bed at a sleep over with a bunch of friends, only your friends have whiskers and wives at home. To my left is a curtain that opens onto a little hallway of other drawn curtains where the other members of the tour are probably sleeping now. To my right is a book by Mark Helprin (one of the finest writers I’ve ever read) called Winter’s Tale. I’ve been reading it for six months or so and just can’t seem to finish it–not because it’s not good, but because it is. I don’t want it to end. Beside that is a book of poetry called Nine Horses by Billy Collins (which I highly recommend, especially if you’re like me and you don’t usually like poetry).
Let’s see, what else? A pair of dirty socks, my backpack, my cell phone, and a framed picture of a fourth grade class. The picture was a gift from a school teacher at our show in Charlotte. She gave each of her students a copy of one of my albums to coincide with a series of lessons and took a picture of the kids for me.
So now you know what it’s like in my secret chamber. Oh, I should probably also mention that it’s 3:31 am.
This morning, with David Mead’s song “Nashville” rolling down the road of my brain, I crawled out of my bunk and lifted the blinds to see the fine sight of my hometown, draped in fog. The Ryman Auditorium is a red brick beauty, a 118-year-old building kneeling among the skyscrapers in a kind of stately humility. It is a place that is thick with history both American and musical, and the spirits in its halls sing of the precious intersection of Place and Time.
In minutes the bus door flew open and my three kids barreled in to deliver hugs, kisses on the cheek, and a hundred questions at once. Jamie and I took the kids back home so we could sign some papers, start the laundry, and rush out the door to meet my parents for lunch once their plane landed. We ate at Five Guys Burgers and Fries, whose burgers are my current favorite. We talked about home and my dad’s ministry and the fact that I had just gotten word that the Ryman was close to selling out. I wiped the grease from my fingers, bade my family farewell for the afternoon, and headed back to the Ryman for soundcheck.
This is my favorite part of the day, I think. I saw friend after friend arrive at that grand ole concert hall with their instruments slung over their shoulders: Pierce Pettis and his guitar, Ron Block and his banjo, Michael Card and his bouzouki, Stuart Duncan and his fiddle. In walked Marcus, the violinist who helped me find the melody for “Deliver Us” nine years ago, Andrew, my boys’ old violin teacher, Randall Goodgame with his gentle grin, Kurt and his daughter. Then the rest of the band trickled in: Gabe, Garett, Ben, the Brothers Henry, Gullahorn, Cason, Biggs, Osenga, Jill, Bebo, Todd–all of them bearers of the Spirit and willing to use their gifts in this way for the sake of the Kingdom. I love bouncing from place to place, checking in on the little clusters of conversation to be sure everyone has what they need and knows where they need to be. I hear snippets of laughter and sincerity everywhere I turn. There’s an outpouring of goodwill and patience and service that astounds me. Every year, it astounds me. And I can only think that the reason for this goodness is the Gospel about which we have gathered to sing.
That Gospel draws us like the call of a jubilant voice deep in the woods. We hear, and we follow, and though we scarcely know how we know, we believe the source of the voice is good and the only thing worth knowing. All at once, we emerge from all sides in a clearing. We are cut by thorns and weary to the bone. In the center of the clearing swirls a warm, symphonic light within which glows–depending on the tilt of the head–a patient eye, or an open hand, or the slender form of a man with his hands on his hips, laughing. And you know that it’s Him. Then the skill in your fingers, the ache in your heart, the talent in your soul–all of it–strains to do His work. It strains like a warhorse pawing the ground in the moments before the charge.
Then comes the downbeat, and the crowd falls silent as the story is told.
After the show, after the pictures are taken and the thank-yous are spoken, Jamie and I escape to the nearest Waffle House. It’s a tradition. We sit in a booth and decompress over a plate of bad/good food. We pray before we eat and speak quietly so the people in the next booth won’t eavesdrop. Now that I think of it, this is my favorite part of the day. And it’s because of the company, not the food–honest. Near midnight, my bride dropped me off at the bus for the last three shows of the tour, and she went home to the Warren where our children and my parents are sleeping.
I am grateful for precious days like this one, when light, love, and music make it that much easier to believe that there is a God in whose heart lies a secret chamber for each of us, where there is rest and comfort and safety. In our Father’s house there are many rooms. Do not let your hearts be troubled.
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
Thanks, Andrew. This is beautiful. I am constantly astounded at how God overwhelms us by interacting with us in such profound yet inexplicable ways. As one of my family members said to me: His voice through all our experiences, relationships and circumstances is overwhelming. The He sings His love and the richness of His life through everything. We just need growing sensitivity each day to recognize Him, to pick out the harmonies He is creating through everything.
Thanks for sharing some of your setting. Such a community brings richness and depth that cannot be explained to life.
Very much looking forward to seeing the show in Montague tomorrow night and hearing the “old old story”. We’re getting about 12 inches of snow here in West Michigan today, so drive safe my friends and see you tomorrow.
*insert contented sigh here*
What a show at the Ryman! It was an honor and a blessing to be there. We ought to rent the place out and have a hymn sing.
We are one body made of many members, and while we each have our own place, I am glad that you, Andrew, are part of the voice.
Thank you for this. Life is hard these days, and I needed the reminder of rest, comfort and safety.
Last night’s show was so fantastic. This was our sixth time attending, and it never fails to move me and get me all teary. You’d think I could manage myself since I know what’s coming.
Thanks to all of you for putting this together and performing it every year. It’s my favorite Christmas tradition.
last night’s show really was fantastic! last time i made to nashville for this concert was 2003, and it changed my life because it renewed my joy in christmas. it’s easy to lose the sense of wonder and mystery that the incarnation should elicit from us when you’ve grown up in the church, and it makes it harder to truly celebrate what God has done. BTLOG restored all of that to me, which makes sense, since i am a story person.
thank you, andy, and thank you all for this gift.
Four friends - two couples - just read this aloud together and we smiled broad happy, warm smiles.. You have a wonderful gift for story, Andrew. And thank you for a wonderful concert last night.
God keep you.
I was invited to the show in Charlotte, and having no idea of what I was in for was completely blown away. I want to buy a cd for everyone on my list. Any chance I can get them for Christmas if ordered today? Thanks for coming to our part of the world, you made me remember what Christmas is about.
For a few moments I could almost feel the unity that must have been in that room and I long for it. Its not the music. The music is the breath that can only come from true Life. I hope you folks realize that what you have us unlike any out there. The is a heaviness in the music like the last fifty miles home, yet there is a lightness like lying in my bed when I get there. I don’t know if what we feel when we experience it is the same thing that you experience when you play it but I know there’s Truth in it. Its a Truth that gets deep beyond this thing that we have made Christmas to be.
I hope you folks know how you are messing us up!
Thanks AP
Mike
AP, and everyone else on the Ryman show,
My only complaint is that the day goes too fast.
This is a show my husband and I have wanted to see for years. A series of events starting last February allowed us to slowly make our way to Nashville from southern California over the last ten months. And somehow we found ourselves in the second row. I can only think of one other time I felt such a profound glimpse of Heaven, where the distance between God and his people felt so diminished. It was an awesome balance, reminding us we are strangers here with a work to do, and letting us rest together. Like a kiss on the forehead.
Thank you, to everyone who worked on and in this show.
This is what I wanted to come to..the show at the Ryman..for my 30th b’day..but we couldn’t work it out…
Maybe sometime down the road.
Thanks for sharing..Beautiful
andrew, saw the concert the other night in charlotte…every year, this group of artists helps me remember the beauty of the gospel caught up in the flesh and bones of a babe…and now i am at work in the neonatal intensive care unit (surrounded by other little babes) and can’t help but think of our baby saviour–thanks to you and all the artists that carry the tune that called this heart into the “clearing” where i found him waiting. peace of Christ to you. merry christmas.
I saw the show in Charlotte after waking up at 4:00am, working hard through the day, and driving 2.5 hours from Raleigh to Charlotte to see it, much like I did last year. I was wondering if it were really worth the effort I was going through. I can say without a doubt that I was absolutely blown away by the musicianship and the message. I couldn’t call enough people to tell them what an extraordinary evening it was. It is here that I remember why I support a child through Compassion. It is here that I see many artists telling a story through word, form, and song. It is here that I am reminded to behold the Lamb of God - to simply stop and look at the One who came to take away my sin. It was so, so good!
It is amazing what a group of people working together can accomplish. The music was beautiful! Seriously, when it ended I wanted the show to start over again right at the beginning.
always enjoy thoughts like these.
such a great night at the ryman! thanks for creating Behold The Lamb of God. beautifully done. I second the thought on the hymn sing. It Is Well….was amazing.
Andrew, thank you so much for taking me along with you throughout this entry! What is most wonderful is the opportunity to sort of feel the love had for the tour but moreso your love for your family. You have an incredible ability to write and express, and for this brief moment I was a fly on your journal wall…and therefore into this small (though huge) moment in your life. Thanks for being real. It’s refreshing.
i am one of the kids in the picture of the fourth grade class. i love the cd’s you gave us .our teacher told us the whole story and i think it is really cool that you helped her .thanks so much it was a great christmas present. i hope you remember what christmas is all about.
Andrew Peterson,
I like you. Let’s be friends.
Oh yea and that song Gullahorn played at the Ryman was absolutely hysterical! Is there a bootleg copy of that floating around anywhere?
Beautiful!
So as usual, my comments come late… but what a warm welcome.
Thank you, AP, and all the rest of you wonderful folks who make the show happen.
Someday, at the Ryman… someday.
Now to get psyched for Wingfeather II…