Up until the last century, our only access to music was either to make it ourselves or find someone who could. Imagine, unless you lived in the city and had means, Mozart's "Marriage of Figaro" was just dots on a page. It is baffling to realize that some of the most complicated and brilliant pieces ever penned were created in such a context. And how did listeners manage to comprehend such complex and lengthy music in just one listen? We take Green Day and pound those 3 minutes into our heads ad nauseum. It is in our nature to over-consume that which we find beautiful (the definition of lust I believe), which has me wondering if our access to nearly any song at any moment has diminished our reverence and consequently our enjoyment of the musical experience. We easily forget that there is beauty in restraint or moderation.

And so goes my curiosity with regards to recording and distributing Urban Hymnal. Part of the delight in the event is its intimacy and isolation; it is just a moment to be had. To record and recycle and relive seems contrary to the nature of a live experience, does it not? But even Goldsworthy made a film and a dozen coffee table books for the sake of permanence, as well as income. What makes him so endearing is his passion towards that which is fleeting (his mediums of choice include leaves, pollen, and ice). I think he is mad. But, I am also envious of his willingness to create and then literally watch as the thorns and dust overtake the work of his hands. I don't know if I'm that brave. I want a record of all I create. A tangible object that I can bring to the marketplace to justify my blood and tears.

So I am decidedly ambivalent as to whether we should record Urban Hymnal or not, knowing that my ideals are probably just that, ideal. For here I am at the office, days after our concert, regretting that I can't relive the experience of Tara's voice floating in the rafters of St. Mark's--even if it is through these unbearable computer speakers. And... here I am, at the office.

A professor of mine likes to riff on gratitude--he says it is one of the foundations to worship. So when someone says thank you, one should be compelled to say, "no, thank YOU", "no no, thank YOU, for saying thank you" and on and on (this isn't to be standard practice, but the heart of gratitude is found in being thankful to another's thanks--make sense?). So, of the many encouragements that were bestowed last night "thank you" felt quite right. I found my lips smacking "thank YOU" right back. We planned this thing for many reasons--some of which were unapologetically selfish--but in everything we hoped to bless; to delight so much in the moments of creating beauty that others could share in such moments; that the love of Christ would be found in music and art and sitting beside your neighbor in silence.

So: Thank you.

And thank you to all who helped last night: who ran balls of yarn, signed language, projected screens, greeted, dimmed lights and on and on.

We shall do this again. Next time we'll print more than 150 programs.

Humbly,
Zadok

You know that you're excited when you can't sleep. We just finished our last practice before St. Mark's around 11pm Tuesday night. It's 2am and I'm still pretty alert and my head is alive with ideas. I've also run into a few other late night musicians online and learned from one that Psalm 127 states that God grants sleep to those He loves. We both hope we're still included in that even though each of us stays up late often.

I have to say I feel very privileged to be working with the musicians in this group AND the others who are working to make this night possible. Its been mentioned before that the mere fact we're playing St. Mark's is pretty beyond the original expectation. I'd have to add now, after practice tonight, that the sheer joy of musical collaboration has blown me away too. It seems we have formed a mutual admiration society of sorts and I'm excited to see all of you Friday as I am sure we will like you too!

Excited! But still at a loss to describe to everyone what to expect. That has been the hardest part honestly. The word that keeps coming to my mind right now is "space". Urban Hymnal was formed by many of us who enjoy epic and dynamic music, but often find that it's not really practical for church as far as singability and accessibility. We wanted, through this music, to give ourselves permission and space to worship outside the confines. Also, I've often been at concerts where the music is so moving that it transports me and I often wish that I was not confined to my seat and could take a row to myself and my journal and just write, or draw, or lie down and soak things in. So my other hope is that we create space in that manner - space to respond and receive instead of merely consume.

Part Compline. Part concert. Part living room. Part sing along. Part art gallery?

So, bring your journal if you like that sort of thing! Or your colored pencils or just yourself and enter with us into the longest night of the year, during advent - the season of waiting and expecting. May we encounter God in our longing. See you there.

Mark has proven once again his knack for re-writing hymns. A few of us banged out his epic version of "I heard the bells on Christmas Day" and I thought I'd post it on the Urban Hymnal website. You can hear the creak of my chair, flat vocals, and Joel's assessment of the song at its end. Do have a listen, warts and all. I think it will be the highlight of the service with the full band and generous walls of St. Mark's. We are most excited to hold our first service/installation this FRI evening. Hope to see you there.

And in despair I bowed my head
“There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men.”