black (or white) like jazz

I never cared much for liturgical rituals and so forth.

Years ago Agent Wife and I rented an apartment from a woman who was Jesus-oriented and deeply into her Episcopal church and all of their routines. During easter week she would invite us to all the special services and explain the significance of each ordeal. Agent Wife was very fascinated by it all. I would rather stick my crotch in a waffle iron for four hours than to ever do that again.

I don’t know why I have a mild aversion to rehearsed rituals and/or orthodoxies, whether extreme or mild.

Thankfully in the last few years of my existence, I’ve seen that faith in Jesus amongst many believers is kind of mosaic-like (for lack of a less-trendy analogy). Every person, church, denomination, theological branch, movement, or whatever has something to bring to that proverbial table.

During a brief meeting almost a year ago, I became a fan of Mother Beverly and her cohorts. They live in some kind of monk-like lifestyle amongst their neighbors in a poorer area of Beverly, MA. Thank you Mo Bev and crew for upholding your liturgical outreach of sorts.

I’m also a fan of all kinds of jazz and various improvisational music outlets. There’s something about the unknown that is attractive. Although jazz is quite structured, its music charts are often short if not vague. Twelve written bars of music can equate to 45 minutes of performance. The start is often clear, but listening to and being dependent on the other players is how you reach the end. The song can last two minutes or two hours. It can be a honeymoon experience or pure hell. Or both.

Some are on a path to Jesus via Handel. Some, Sun Ra.

I guess the CEO made us all different and allowed us different avenues. Thank god.