Clergy’s got soul, even in mosh pit

Glenn Miller’s Big Band music filled the home of my childhood.

My dad, Don Haynes, was Glenn’s best friend and business manager.

My mom, Polly Davis, had been Glenn’s executive secretary. Glenn’s

widow, Helen, and their children, Jonnie and Steve, were among our

closest friends.

I learned to dance with my mom to Miller’s tunes, and Frances’ and

my first dance as wife and husband was to “Moonlight Serenade,”

co-written by Glenn and Chummy MacGregor, the band’s pianist and my

honorary “Uncle Mac.”

I have always found Glenn’s melodies comforting and energizing.

Like all of my favorite music, these serenades inspire thoughts and

feelings, memories and hopes, of love. Conversely, my least favorite

is music that evokes hate.

How understanding were my Miller-eared Mom and Dad to encourage my

listening to Elvis Presley? I loved “Don’t Be Cruel” and “Too Much”

as much as his clearly spiritual “Take My Hand, Precious Lord” and

“Peace in the Valley.” These, and songs like Mickey and Sylvia’s

“Love is Strange” and Doris Day’s “Que Sera, Sera,” helped focus what

spiritual journey I had as a child.

Members of our congregation will tell how often I quote music

lyrics from the 1960s: the Beatles’ “When I find myself in times of

trouble, Mother Mary comes to me ...”; the Rolling Stones’ “I do

believe in miracles, and I want to save my soul ...”; and, above all,

Bob Dylan’s poetry, such as “Ah, but I was so much older then, I’m

younger than that now ...” and “I see my light come shining from the

west unto the east ... I shall be released.”

Some love songs, written to be words between lovers, make

wonderful prayers. Multitudinous examples include Dylan singing his

own words: “If not for you my sky would fall, rain would gather too;

without your love I’d be nowhere at all, oh what would I do if not

for you ... and you know it’s true.” And Rod Stewart singing Tim

Hardin’s “Reason to Believe”: “Someone like you makes it hard to live

without somebody else; someone like you makes it easy to give ...”

Such familiar lyrics and their accompanying music come naturally

to me as often as do words from the Bible and Book of Common Prayer

in my own times of exultation or disappointment, of discouragement or

celebration.

THE VERY REV. CANON

PETER D. HAYNES

St. Michael & All Angeles

Episcopal Church

Corona del Mar

Life changed for me 40 years ago this month when, on June 13,

1964, a group of five smirking, distinctively clothed young men made

their television debut on the “Hollywood Palace,” hosted by Dean

Martin.

The lead singer gyrated in ways that made The King’s pelvis look

like it was immobile. The Rolling Stones, the anti-Beatles, dark and

aggressive, slammed into my musical consciousness.

The Beatles were a cultural phenomenon; the Stones were a bluesy

rock ‘n’ roll band. The Beatles were tailored; the Stones were, well,

not. The student body of my high school was divided into camps. There

were those who favored the cute Beatles, whose greatest desire was to

“hold your hand,” against those aligned with the surly Stones, who

warned about a “19th Nervous Breakdown” and demanded that people “Get

Off My Cloud.”

My status as a fan was solidified when, the next summer, the most

exciting guitar riff ever to open a song exploded from my transistor

radio. I saw the Stones sing it in Chicago, or rather, I experienced

them singing it. Four decades later, it hasn’t lost its punch or its

stand-up-and-take-notice demand. It announced a song whose lyrics

spoke to us in the mid--1960s: “and he’s tellin’ me more and more

about some useless information supposed to fry my imagination I can’t

get no ...”

Over the years, I have attended many Stones concerts, and I often

jog in the morning to one of the greatest songs for running ever

recorded: “Jumpin’ Jack Flash.” It still gets these 56-year-old legs

cranking. I am the proud owner of a large, framed photo of Mick

Jagger, personally autographed to me. Yes, it is on display in my

otherwise staid and traditional rabbinical study.

Many of the messages embedded in the Stones’ song titles still

infuse my sermons: “Can I Get a Witness,” “You Can Make It If You

Try,” “Everybody Needs Somebody To Love,” “Not Fade Away,” “Mercy

Mercy,” “Play With Fire,” “Heart of Stone,” “Gimme Shelter,” “Ain’t

Too Proud To Beg,” “Emotional Rescue,” and, of course, the immortal,

“You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”

I once agreed with the Stones that “Time Is On My Side,” but that

naive, youthful vision of personal invincibility has long

disappeared.

My following the Stones has paid a certain dividend -- it

humanizes me in the eyes of others. I see surprise register on faces

when I meet congregants in a movie theater, a grocery, a swimming

pool. “The Rabbi goes to the movies, shops, wears a bathing suit?

Doesn’t he sit and think deep thoughts all day and night in a

ceaseless drive to accumulate the wisdom of the ages? He’s at the gym

instead of communing with God?” When people discover my passion for

rock music, and particularly oldies, I convey to them that I did not

emerge from the womb as a spiritual leader, that there was life

before the Rabbinate, and that one can be religious and still fondly

recall the British Invasion at the same time.

For all my devotion, though, I still can’t quite bring myself to

buy the Stones’ logo T-shirt. You know the one. It’s just a bit

beyond my sense of propriety!

RABBI MARK MILLER

Temple Bat Yahm

Newport Beach

It amazes me how music can be so much more than noise coming from

a tube or box. It stirs our emotions.

This week, patriotic traditional music surrounding the ceremonies

of President Ronald Reagan’s funeral have stirred emotions of pride

and sadness. I once sat during a Pacific Chorale requiem performance

and was bathed in the feeling of God’s presence. Another time, in the

midst of a Christian punk concert -- complete with a mosh pit, which

I confess I jumped into -- I was drawn by the music and words to

tears at the awesome nature of God.

I have been most moved at music events where I could see God

connect with his people. Sometimes it has been in crowds of 50, and

at least once in a crowd of 100,000 where the voices of honest

God-seekers have drowned out the raucous music of the platform.

The audience of one ... God being the audience and I (we) become

the performer(s). When that happens, it doesn’t matter if you are

“jumping in the house of God” or singing “softly and tenderly.”

It is often forgotten that some of our most beloved hymns were

once secular tunes, and that the church organ was once an unwelcome

instrument in churches because of its raucous history. It was not the

music that changed, but the words. There is no such thing as

Christian music. The words are what make the meaning. Therefore, a

secular tune can become a church hymn in the right situation, such as

“Battle Hymn of the Republic.” The words make the difference.

An amazing thing is happening now. A new global worship music is

developing. The same songs we sing in our congregation are also being

sung in Africa and China and Brazil and Germany. More amazing still

is that my 4-year-old and I both love to sing the same music. This

same global worship music appeals to both of us and to my mom and

grandma as well.

That said, I like silence best. I hear God’s voice the loudest in

silence, in the crash of a wave or in the laughter of my 2-year-old.

ASSOCIATE PASTOR

RIC OLSEN

Harbor Trinity Church

Costa Mesa

In the past few months I have been asked several times about “Zen”

music. The surf, the ring of a cellphone and Mozart’s “Requiem” are

all examples of Zen music -- the sounds of life and also of silence.

I think people may have the idea that soft background music, white

noise, Kitaro or the shakuhachie (Japanese bamboo flute) are Zen

music. In Zen, our focus is to listen deeply, and to be fully present

to things as they are, rather than attempting to create certain moods

or to stimulate imagery or fantasies.

There is some chanting in Zen, but it is not melodic and it is a

very small part our practice. It is not at all like Gregorian chant

or the chanting of other Buddhists such as the Tibetan Gyuto or

Shartse monks, who have performed in the United States. Percussion

instruments such as bells and drums are used, but their purpose is

primarily as a practical means of communication without words. For

example, ringing the bell twice signals the end of a meditation

period and the beginning of walking meditation.

My favorite music is sacred choral music, especially Palestrina

and Bach. I think this is because I sang in an a cappella choir in

high school and a madrigal group, both taught by a man who directed

his Catholic parish choir. Another important experience for me was

symphonic band from elementary school through college. In preparation

for a sight-reading competition in 11th grade, we played a different

piece together each day, which provided an excellent hands-on kind of

exposure to classical music. Being involved in music was the most

enjoyable part of my high school years.

My earliest choices as a teenager were in folk, especially Bob

Dylan. I like classic rock: Janis Joplin, the Doors, Jefferson

Starship, the Rolling Stones and Chicago. As a result of my parents’

influence, I like big band, especially Harry James, Woody Herman and

Duke Ellington.

A recent discovery has been the contemporary Polish composer

Gorecki. I also like Philip Glass, Ralph Vaughan Williams and Henry

Purcell. Several months ago I got an interesting two-CD set called

“Selected Chinese Traditional Music: Twentieth Century Rol’s

Classical Recordings.” I only listen to music when I am driving, and

I do not know much about music of the last 20 years.

THE REV.

DEBORAH BARRETT

Zen Center of Orange County

Costa Mesa