I am a songwriter. The songs that I write have basically three things: rhythm (I got that), melody, and words. These come together in an unpredictable fashion and… behold: songness. But about the words.

I have received a lot of feedback over the understandableness (or lack thereof) of the words at the last two Urban Hymnal events. We like reverb. We like playing rock songs in large, cavernous, acoustically messy holy spaces. We don’t believe that the music simply serves the words, but rather that the words are a part of the music. We also labor and sweat over every syllable and how it should sound, let alone the words that those syllables are a part of. The lyrics are significant. So if you can’t understand them have you missed it? Well, I think the “it” that we’re hoping for is something so much deeper than a head-understanding of the meaning of words and phrases.

Sigur Rós comes quickly to mind. Part of Urban Hymnal’s existence is owed to a trip Zadok and I made to Austin, TX to see said band. Financially unwise. Artistically and spiritually inspirational. Both of us left the concert having felt like we had encountered God in worship through this band that sings in a made-up language--when they are not singing in Icelandic (which might as well be made up). So clearly the impact on us had nothing to do with their words… or at least our understanding the words. I was moved. I know I am not alone as many of you have said things like “I worship to Sigur Rós.” Is this what the apostle Paul meant when he spoke of “groans that words cannot express?” Would Paul like Sigur Rós?

Rock shows in cathedrals are acoustic nightmares… and we love them. But should we print the lyrics? Our fear is that everyone’s faces will be buried in a piece of paper and miss out on all the visual pieces happening around them. Or that they will be so focused on understanding the meaning of the lyrics that they’ll miss out on their soul being moved. But I want you to hear lines like “dressed as a field, fed as a bird” {Zadok} because that sticks in your mind in the best way. So I’m asking for help. Print the lyrics? Sing in Latin? Not sing at all? Groan loudly? Oh help.

I'm quite proud of the narrative and progression of our last program, something not often found in Protestant music/worship. I think they call it liturgy or something; I am so low-church it is practically gutter. Two hours before doors I was frantically ringing up my high-church friends and soliciting them for incense and other sensual miscellany, as if they keep jars of myrrh in their glove compartments. Next time perhaps.

Our hope has always been to combine elements of both high and low church, and as well, offer something found in neither such as volume. Yes, we know, this last one was loud. The music is generally of the rock genre, which is supposed to be loud so we may not be apologizing for volume anytime soon. It is oh so quiet at times too. There is something liberating about setting up a rack of amps in a cathedral. If St. James will have us, we'd love to fill that immense space with layers of synths, guitars, and strings. Also, for the Deaf, volume is required to feel the music. What a fascinating experience that must be: to see the words and ideas signed out, the pianist pounding away on his console, and to feel synchronized waves of vibrations.

As always, we'd love to hear about any other elements you think would fit the next program.

From last night's event more than a few people had nice words for us, but the most common comment was "no offense, but the silence was my favorite part." None taken - it was mine too.

Honestly I had had a pretty late night the night before and not the calmest mind the day of--it was not until our silence point in the program that I finally felt my soul drop into place, catch up and be present and be aware that Christ is so present too. For me it felt like a fast forwarding frame that finally stops and starts playing in real time.

...And it makes me happy to hear so many say they needed that. My thought is, if we can get a couple hundred Seattleites to STOP just for 4 minutes and recognize that they NEED that... that we ALL need that... well that in and of itself is worth all the effort. However, you could have done that at home--and you can. Yes this silence is free anytime, but we avoid it like nothing else, maybe because we are afraid of what we will meet there...

I think sometimes I am both afraid I may hear something from God in the silence and also afraid I will hear nothing. So interesting that I can put expectations on what should be REST. Like I said before, the result of the silence for me was just my soul catching up with myself and then a real sense of being present with Christ and being glad to be there, knowing God was with me in all my tumult of emotion, in all the complexity that is my life and my world, and with all these other people in their worlds too.

What did you meet there in the silence?

You'd think by now we would have a dependable mission statement for Urban Hymnal but we don't. It became apparent as we wrote in the context of the death and resurrection of our Savior and found ourselves scrambling to justify some of our choices. "Don't go hiding" was the theme, and we took it to heart as we exercised freedom to express doubt, self-contempt, matters of sexuality, gender exclusive language and even country-twang vocals. I won't pretend that the resulting material is safe--it isn't. We are an artist group and not a church. And artists are curious, we dabble, we throw rocks from tall buildings and hammer at foundations. We also bring helmets and wet cement.

If I take a stab at some of our core values I can say we're about beauty, ecumenism, creating space, exploration, glory, blessing, rest. (Just a tad idealistic, eh.) Even these most lovely of ideas can lead to unsafe places. Exploration is dangerous. Love is dangerous. Glory is messy. And I am quite sure that we don't all experience rest and beauty in the same manner; some find beauty in unity, others diversity. These don't have to be exclusive ideas for the artist-in-community, but I find that in practice, catering to a large audience can result in rather anemic creativity. How much impact can I make if I am simply avoiding toes. I suppose we could do an hour of ambient instrumental music... ah but then we'd have to debate about the overuse of minor chords and the disrespectful attire of the musicians or other such froth. And so I find myself flinching: "Don't put us(God) in a box man!" Blech, the most fatuous of self-righteous clichés. Yes dogma is repellent and counter-diverse but so is irreverence.

Art was so much simpler when I had either the church to adorn or the club to entertain.

So should we get ourselves a trusty mission statement?

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Matt Whitney just sent me some of his sketches, which will be projected somewhere/somehow. His ideas on hiding are quite fascinating. I so enjoy these moments of collaborating.

Jen Grabarczyk blogs about paper clips, her muse for the visual installation piece at this Friday night's Urban Hymnal. If you aren't curious or bothered at the scope of this (32,000 paper clips), you may want to check your meds.

"Dear church:
We're a rogue music/art group that would like you to host us for an evening of 'artsy stuff'. We won't have an altar call or gospel teaching, no small group signups or church announcements. Oh, we're also keen on desecrating--er decorating your altar... interested?"

Ok, so perhaps our initial solicitations aren't this belligerent, and of course we don't desecrate (I have had to explain why a ball of yarn was strangling St. Marks' alter, though). The conversation with our hosts and collaborators has always come from a place of sincerity and respect for the space and the church body that operates there. We also come knowing that art in the church is too often dismissed or marginally supported. Those experiences are in many ways the reason we set out to do this as an independent, inter-denominational organization. So now you can see how artists develop their self-righteousness.

Consequently, I imagine that churches receive us with a bit of skepticism and concern. And rightfully so, churches are holy places, artists are notoriously unruly--no wonder we don't get along. Hopefully that can change, for the church without beauty is dogmatic dust, and art without meaning and structure is trivial and perverse. So it is with heavy baggage that both artist and clergy collaborate in the creative realm... Gets me wondering if the folks running the Sistine Chapel objected to Adam's balls on their ceiling.

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Jen Grabarczyk, the lead visual designer for UH02, attended our practice last night and sketched up this little piece.

We've found a host for UH02, Seattle First Presbyterian. They meet smack downtown and their space boasts a 1,200+ seat sanctuary that rarely gets use these days. There are fine people running the church now, which has sadly seen its share of hardships in the last dozen years and as a result is a smaller community. It is odd to witness all these incredible structures nestled in the shadows of skyscrapers, still plugging away, serving and loving the people of the city. Their humility and heart are remarkable. They have come to terms with the failures of the urban church at large and recommitted their mission to looking outwards instead of in, no easy task. Harry, their musical director, noted how the church structure itself was a testimony of the bunker mentality common to previous generations of believers here in Seattle. The building is mostly windowless, walled with thick concrete; the architectural narrative being that the outside world is a dangerous and hostile place. So now we shall hope to draw the city into the bunker, throw up lights and art and the biggest music we can muster, all in the name of the beautiful.