And then, while the musician was playing, the power of the Lord came on him. 2 Kings 3:15
Some of the most profound conversations I’ve ever engaged in, conversations which have resulted in many further conversations and lasting friendships, have taken place without uttering a word. In these conversations we listened deeply to each other, we each initiated and responded to communication, but not a word was spoken. I’m talking, of course, about the conversation between musicians playing together.
These wordless conversations are, for me, a lot like prayer. You communicate what you need, what you are grateful for, what you feel deep within your soul, and you trust that it is understood on a deeper level than you have words for; you trust that it is understood even before you say it, on some intuitive level. You also listen with open ears and an open heart, both during the space between your own words while the other is speaking, and even as you are in the act of responding. You reflect on what you hear, hoping that you correctly interpret what’s being said to you. Your response is sometimes an expression of acknowledgement or sympathy, but you might also be expressing an insight which takes the conversation in a new direction. At all times, you strive to allow the conversation to go where it will, rather than where you intended it to go when you started. You allow yourself to be transformed by it. When you’re in the proper spirit, though it requires focus, commitment, confidence, and a check on your ego, none of this involves the least bit of strain; in fact, it feels like you’re being lifted on a cushion, floating effortlessly and connecting deeply with the other communicator.
One of the great advantages of this kind of wordless conversation is that it has the ability to cross what might in other circumstances seem like a barrier to meaningful relationship. I remember being introduced to a lesbian feminist in the 1970s when many women felt a need to separate from men in an effort to reclaim their own identity. We nervously took out our guitars, played and sang, and from the first song, knew that we would become musical partners. Years later, I found myself in a pickup band in a church. A man from the Island of Trinidad with skin much darker than mine set up his keyboard behind me as we prepared for a rehearsal. We played through the first song, and at its conclusion, I turned around and we looked each other in the eye as he and I shook our heads and smiled, wondering how it was that we’d known each other all of our lives, yet never before met. In both of these instances, and in many others, the ability to have a conversation without words has led to friendships which were initiated through our musical connection, but transcended it, and which have lasted. Though Leslie and I have not lived in the same part of the country for many years, we’re still in touch, and David and I continue to play music and remain friends on and off of the bandstand to this day.
None of this should be surprising; music is, after all, a language, and finding a common language, a common desire to communicate and a subject of shared passion are the starting points of conversation. From there, it’s all about having something to add to the discussion and knowing how to listen. Good to know that God is always a willing partner in this, no?
Improvising God, thank you for creating a language which allows us to cross borders and find our common humanity, despite our differences in culture, experience and perspective. Help us remember that we have this ability when we come to you in prayer.