worshipful

Standing alone on a small empty stage beneath a wash of spotlights, soundchecking acoustic guitars, it’s easy to see that a dimly lit concert hall is a house of worship. Melody is a profound spirit, after all. I mean, who can say what it is?

When I was starting out, I felt every time I walked on stage I could lose my job. Or that something else really terrible could happen. Or that I could be discovered, become the next big thing and win the emperor’s crown.

Because in the beginning, I believed every show was about me.

But I’ve figured out that all those people, the ones who come and listen  … no one is there to harm me, or anoint me. They’re all there, well, to talk to God, and connect to their higher selves.

Every night there’s something living about it. It’s a church: people come to kneel heavy and feel things. There is also joy, and there is freedom. How often we talk about all the terrible things people do. But left alone, on their own free time, they’ll come to have music wash over them.

This is when you finally know as a singer that your place on earth is your place. It’s your stage, it’s your song. You have been put here to sing it, to get up there and give. Not to go inward or get afraid, but to look people in the eye, stay with them, and worship with them.

They close their eyes, I close mine, and we all drift off somewhere.

worshipful

 

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