concert time, and the "jazz church"

It is the end of the academic term in our university town. That means it is concert time. Over the past fortnight, the music department has presented nearly eighty student performances. Several of them have been in our parish church; five in the space of eight days. But it took one of my rare ventures into another performance venue to appreciate what it means for us to host student concerts, and one aspect of what it means to be a Christian community on the borders of the university.

The other night, I went to a doctoral recital by a fine violinist who attends our parish. The venue, which I have heard praised, was new to me; a room in what was once an art museum. No one was at the door, and I had a hard time finding the room. No one helped me, and there was no sign that the institution cared that this violinist had given most of a year of her life to prepare for this night. How could they? There are several thousand student recitals every year. What is one more?

Once I got to the right place, it was all stone and glass and metal, as brittle and icy in its acoustic as in its appearance. It would be better by day with what I suspect is a nice view through the windows, but this was an evening concert on a cold, rainy night, and the windows were black. How does a daughter of Eve walk into such a space and make music? I thought of Frodo and Sam on the Plains of Gorgoroth.

The audience was small: ten persons, four of them the faculty members of her committee, sitting in judgment. Small attendance is not unusual for student recitals. But four of the remaining six (plus one of the faculty) were from our parish: me, plus three students who came out on a rainy night during finals week when they probably could not afford the time. We had come to support our sister in this endeavor. This, I submit, is Campus Ministry. It is people "bearing one another's burdens," and thus fulfilling the law of Christ. It would not happen without someone caring enough to create an atmosphere for it, but it is probably not often the direct result of anything we do on the parish staff. It is, rather, the result of what the Holy Ghost is doing among us.

The violinist played well. Particularly memorable was the Bach Second Sonata for unaccompanied violin, BWV 1003, the one with the gigantic second-movement fugue. She played this prickly and difficult movement with ferocious intensity, which is probably the only way to properly play it.

She attends church. Most students do not. What of them?

[overheard in the hallway: one end of a cell phone conversation] "Yeah. I'm at the jazz church. . . ."

We currently host the university jazz department, an arrangement that is likely to last for another five years or more. It can be inconvenient. For much of the week, I can hardly hear myself think in my office because of the jazz classes and rehearsals in the choir room, outside my door. It is hard to find practice time, either on a piano anywhere in the building or upstairs in the church on the organ. And the concerts, both jazz concerts and programs by other musicians in the community: I do not "cover" them all, leaving many to our excellent church sexton, but for quite a few, I act as house manager. I open the doors, turn on the lights, act as "greeter" at the door as the audience arrives, help move gear (a harpsichord most recently: everyone ran off after the Early Music ensemble concert on Saturday, leaving me and the cellist to cart the instrument out and load it in a van), close things up afterwards. It takes a lot of time, four hours or more per concert, and means more late evenings than I would like, leaving me only five or six hours for sleep. But this, I submit, is Campus Ministry.

Last Friday's concert was an undergraduate trumpet recital, which we had squeezed into the schedule at the last minute. He had been on the calendar for another venue, but they bumped him off for a choral concert. I helped the young man find electrical outlets for his computer and sound gear -- one of his pieces was for trumpet with electronic sounds and effects processing, his own composition -- and then helped him carry things out afterwards. As we loaded the last gear into his car, he said "This has to be the friendliest church in town." His girlfriend, a bassist who has been here for jazz classes, agreed. Another student in the audience, a trumpet major whom I have encountered while singing in a community choir, talked with me at intermission. She was surprised to learn that I am the music director "here at the jazz church" -- that term again. She assures me that this is what "everyone" calls it.

It takes a lot of time. But if it demonstrates the love of Christ, it is what we ought to be doing. We can, following the Rule of Benedict, extend hospitality. We can treat the students and others who come here for their classes, rehearsals and recitals as children of God. It is not much, but it is more than people are finding elsewhere.

Will these students join our church? No. But years from now, they may remember that, in the Name of Christ, we at the "jazz church" treated them with respect. They may decide that the Lord we serve is for real, in a world where little else is.