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Be there

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After reaching out to two friends recently, the similarities of their replies was surprising. The first said that my message arrived “during a particularly challenging week” and the note “completely turned my mood around!” The second friend wrote to say that my thoughts had reached her “at a time when they were sorely needed,” helping pull her through some moments of self-doubt and family responsibilities.

When writing to these two friends, I was unaware of their moods or needs. It just felt right to be there with them, if only through a letter, with a few thoughts and kind words.

You never know when someone needs you to be there, to be your best.

This is a recurring lesson during this year of the pandemic. It came up again last Saturday, at a place I’ve mentioned before.

Lene and Abeba Tsegaye are two sisters who left Ethiopia in the 1980s to escape violence and political upheaval. With the help of their brother they established Kefa Café in Silver Spring in 1996. The story of how they endured 200-mile treks across deserts and waist-high grass to escape political violence, entered into a new country as immigrants, and then established a haven where people talk to each other — not just another café where people bury their noses in laptops — is an amazing story in its own right.

But it is their gratitude and willingness to be there for others, even when they are going through their own challenges, that makes their stories and lives so meaningful to so many people. I have taken up the habit of stopping by Kefa for a coffee, bagel, or cookie a few times each week during the pandemic, because I can only imagine the difficulties in keeping a small business alive in these times. Last Saturday, because it was blustery, I had all the outdoor tables to myself as I drank my latte and nibbled on my treat.

Abeba stepped outside and we began to talk. Where the inside of the café is normally filled with light, art, and people, now all the chairs and tables are pulled together and the hand sanitizer is in a prominent place by the door. Like so much else during this year, I miss that welcoming space and I miss the human contact. I was glad Abeba was able to step from behind the counter for a few minutes.

Abeba at Kefa Cafe
Abeba’s welcoming smile in pre-pandemic times at Kefa Cafe

She told me these were challenging times, but she and her sister have seen challenges before. I was able to tell her how much the café meant to us, and how much I appreciated the sign they had placed in their window which read, “Gratitude turns what we have into enough.” She replied that they really meant it. For me, it is a constant reminder to be grateful and thankful during one of the most difficult years most of us have ever had to live through. Most of us, but some have endured much worse.

Lene and Abeba never know when one of their customers, or a street-dependent visitor, or a neighboring business owner needs them to be their best. They never know when I’m going to come by, concerned about the future of our country, and leave feeling better after our conversation and coffee. But somehow they have found their own happiness and can share it with others.

Robert Glazer recently made this same point in a Friday Forward entitled Simple Gestures. And, to keep with the coffee theme, he began his post by referencing this video by Ryan Estis, where he discusses a cup of coffee he purchased in the Minneapolis airport on Christmas Eve.

Years later, Estis is still telling the story of buying that cup of coffee on Christmas Eve from Lilly Olsen. “Their short interaction had a permanent impact on him,” writes Glazer, “and made him realize the power each of us has to make others’ lives better, in the same amount of time it takes to send an angry email or a bitter social media post.”

Estis relays that he was in the airport on Christmas Eve to fly home to be with his father, who had a terminal illness. Estis’s video ends with the words, “You never know when someone needs you to be your best.”

Over and over again we see that we are our best when we think beyond ourselves. When we are there for others. Especially in hard times, we should consider what others are facing. Our effort to recognize someone else’s presence, their work, and their lives is (almost) always appreciated. In those few instances where people don’t appreciate the gesture, then recognize that being there, saying thank you in whatever way you choose, is good for you.

Like gratefulness, being there and being our best is a recognition that we all count on the kindness of others: friends and strangers alike. No one got to where they are by themselves. Recognizing this basic fact of life is key to building circles of friends, networks of support, and real self-esteem. It is also key to a deeper understanding of grace.

My natural tendency is that of an introvert, who needs to withdraw and recharge. But when you are around others, that can be misread as aloofness or having a lack of concern. While recharging is important, I have to remind myself that connecting and being there for others is also part of the well-lived life. In addition to needing private times to recharge, I also need a greater mindfulness to think beyond myself.

You never know when someone needs you to be your best. Be there.

Have a good week.

More to come…

DJB

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

U.S.S. Arizona in Pearl Harbor on Memorial Day Weekend

Pearl Harbor: Memory and hope

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Tomorrow, December 7th, is the 79th anniversary of the 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor. An attack that led to the U.S. entrance into World War II. A date that President Franklin D. Roosevelt memorably described as one “which will live in infamy.”

Fewer and fewer people are alive who have personal memories of the attack on Pearl Harbor. My father and his sister — my Aunt Mary Dixie — were at Peabody College in Nashville listening to a performance of Messiah. When they came out, they learned about the attack at Pearl Harbor and their lives were changed forever. Both were WWII veterans. Both — like most in their generation — have passed. The Veteran’s Administration calculates that slightly more than 325,000 of the 16 million Americans who served in World War II are alive in 2020.

But the memory of Pearl Harbor remains. On December 7, 2014, Tom Coffey, a staff editor in the New York Times sports department, suggested that fans skip that day’s football games and use the time to remember the importance of Pearl Harbor. I loved his last line:

“Sunday afternoon seems like a good time to think about the sacrifices made by the men and women who died that day, and to reflect upon the wisdom of a statement that originated with Marv Levy, the longtime Buffalo Bills coach, that is still uttered in the sports world, albeit far too infrequently:  No game is a must-win.  World War II was a must-win.“

Pearl Harbor remains both a place and a response that is fused in our collective national memories. As my friend and colleague Tom Mayes writes in Why Old Places Matter, “The sense of identity provided by memory is largely what defines us as individuals and as a society.” Memories are often tied to place. And memories and identities are often contested, Tom notes, but “the fact that these arguments occur highlights the importance of the place. Regardless of conflicting points of view, the place itself transcends a specific interpretation….The continued existence of the place permits the revision, reevaluation, and reinterpretation of memories over time.” As former New York Times architectural critic Herbert Muschamp has said, “The essential feature of a landmark is not its design, but the place it holds in a city’s memory.”

Memory is also essential to hope, which is grounded in our knowledge of what has gone before. Hope as a sense of uncertainty and coming to terms with the fact that we don’t know what will happen, but we have memories that show us that good things — powerful things — can happen. Pearl Harbor is not just a place, but it is a reminder of a national response, when the nation and all its people became much more important than the tribe, political party, religious affiliation, or individual. When country, a caring for humanity, and a desire to defeat fascism and bigotry took precedence over personal achievement, power, and greed.

Today when 88% of the Republican members of Congress are either cowed by or purposely aligned with a weak and defeated bully, we need those memories of a strong and effective national response. When those members of Congress refuse to say that President-elect Joe Biden’s win — with 81.2 million individual votes, 306 electoral votes, more than 51% of the electorate, and a national lead of more than 7 million individual votes — was clear, decisive, and final, we need those memories of a strong and collective response to not only hope for a better future, but to give us the strength to work every day to make that future a reality.

We should never forget what happened at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. And the memory of that date, that place, and our response should support us in the difficult times ahead, through the shared work of the imagination. to remake our democracy.

More to come…

DJB

Image: The U.S.S. Arizona Memorial in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii by DJB

Tis’ the season…of Advent

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Happy New Year!

In the Christian liturgical tradition, the first Sunday of the season of Advent is the beginning of the New Year. In 2020, that day fell earlier this week, on November 29th.

So, once again, Happy New Year! Oh, and Advent is definitely not Christmas.*

As Frank Wade, one of my priests and mentors, wrote in a long-ago Advent sermon, the season begins with a call for repentance and with the prophet Isaiah, who gives us “the enduring image of the lion and the lamb.” Frank asks us to think about ourselves and the part that is “down behind the civilized surface.” He notes that in that part of our soul, we each have a lion and a lamb. When we are being called to repent, Frank suggests that we are “being called to enter into our own interior wild to face the lion and to call out the lamb. To challenge all that would hurt or destroy. To risk that which is vulnerable.” That’s what Advent is about, not Christmas trees and Santa Claus.**

But this is not a sermon, it is a Saturday Soundtrack post about music!

One of the reasons that Advent may get short shrift is that Christmas has the better music, or at least the better known music. But there are some lovely Advent songs which deserve greater exposure. Probably the best known is the haunting tune O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, heard here first in an English traditional setting by a choir of young boy choristers.

There are a host of versions and takes on this tune. Here are a few you may enjoy, beginning with Veni, Veni Emmauel by The Gesualdo Six.

We’ll follow with two “less traditional” versions, the first by the Nashville acapella group Forte Femme (where about halfway through they fall down the “Christmas rabbit hole”), and the second a more New Age/Celtic version from the Celtic Angels.

But there are more songs of the Advent season, and I especially enjoy those heard on Advent 4 when the focus really does shift toward the nativity. The talented group VOCES8 sings the traditional German Advent/Christmas carol, Es ist ein Ros entsprungen (Lo’, How a Rose E’er Blooming) as only they can. Soprano Eleonore Cockerham’s ethereal solo is beautiful. This would be my favorite of the season…

…except for the fact that I was singing a duet of the ancient Advent carol There is No Rose of Such Virtue on the Fourth Sunday of Advent in 1992 at the exact time that Claire and Andrew were entering the world. Again, there are many different versions of this carol, including one by Sting, but I prefer the traditional Chanticleer rendition.

Finally, I want to highlight a video by Ensemble Altera, a group which includes the tenor — who happens to be my son — Andrew Bearden Brown. This video was recorded just last month in Providence, Rhode Island, and is the first in a series of seasonal videos by the group. While the songs blend over into the Christmas season, conductor Christopher Lowery has labeled this episode The Promise and writes that this is “music that explores the individual’s relationship to the season of Advent, reflecting on the mystery of the coming nativity, the foretelling of the season’s promise, the role of the Virgin Mary, and contemplating our own finitude in this vast story.” The singing is lovely throughout, and the program includes some of my favorite songs of the season such as In the Bleak Midwinter.

No matter our faith tradition, we all grapple with the lion and lamb, those parts within us that are so difficult to face. I hope you find music of the season — whether it be Advent, Wintertide, or something else — to help you in that interior work.

More to come…

DJB

Image at the top for the Second Sunday in Advent (December 5, 2020) by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay. Image at the bottom of the Brown 2020 Advent wreath by DJB.

*And I’m sorry, but Emmylou Harris’s version of Christmas Times A-Coming is definitely not an Advent song.

**More about the Rev. Dr. Frank Wade, the source of this little sermon.

Tenement Museum

How we came to be the people we are today

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One of my favorite historic sites in the world began life in the 19th century as a tenement house on New York’s Lower East Side.

Historians Ruth Abram and Anita Jacobson co-founded the Tenement Museum in 1988…

…to honor, preserve, and interpret the stories of the hundreds of thousands of immigrants to the neighborhood that was, at the turn of the 20th century, the country’s most densely populated area. They began with educational programs and walking tours, and in the mid-1990s they purchased a former tenement building at 97 Orchard Street. It had housed nearly 7,000 people between its construction in 1863 and its conversion to a commercial building in 1935.

There they restored the apartments of seven families, including Irish, Italian, German, and Eastern European–Jewish immigrants. Visitors got an immersive, experiential window into the residents’ lives, as educators gave interactive tours. The museum became both a National Historic Site and a National Trust Historic Site in 1998.

Preservation Magazine, Winter 2018

Ruth served as the Tenement Museum’s president for twenty years and was recognized last year for her lifetime of vision and work with preservation’s highest award, the Louise duPont Crowninshield Award from the National Trust. Ruth is, to put it simply, a national treasure. She was followed as president at the museum by Morris Vogel, who filled that position two different times beginning in 2008 and, to put it simply once again, is also a treasure and one of my favorite people.

Morris took the impossible task of following a visionary founder of one of the country’s most unique cultural institutions and not only ensured its survival, but helped it thrive through good times and bad. That is no easy job, but his success ranks him, in my estimation, as a great leader.

His second go-round as Tenement Museum president is nearing its close, as he moves (again) into retirement. But I was delighted to receive a note from Morris earlier this week with his thoughts about some of the things he’ll miss. He mentions the Lower East Side neighborhood walking tours and the in-building “meta-tour” overviews of the two National Historic Sites that he has given since 2008; tours which allowed him to set the stories the museum tells against the larger backdrops of American history.

That’s Morris at his core: a teacher. He writes some of the best monthly updates to his board and supporters that I’ve ever read. And they are so good in part because he uses those opportunities to teach those of us who provide financial and other backing to the museum about why this place, and the immigrant stories it embodies, is so important in telling us today who we are as a people.

Morris has said that there is no more professorial a habit than sharing the books that have shaped his thinking. And then, in his most recent note, he recommends a thoughtful list of books “that might occupy, inform, and perhaps even delight you as we wait out the last stages of the pandemic.”

Most are old—classics, even—and reveal lots about our current circumstances; some are new, but with enough of a nod to the past to suggest how we’ve come to where we are now. All are available through online orders at the Museum’s independent bookstore, and you can purchase them here. As an added bonus, all shop purchases support the Museum.

I think seeing the books someone recommends opens a small window into their mind and heart. Here’s just a small sampling of Morris’s list that he provided, along with his comments on their importance. If you click the link to go to the museum bookstore (which you should) you’ll see more of “Morris’s Reading List.”

  • Daniel J. Boorstin, The Americans, Vol. 1: The Colonial Experience, 1958; The Americans, Vol. 2: The National Experience, 1967; The Americans, Vol. 3: The Democratic Experience, 1973. Brilliant panoramic overview of the full sweep of American history — as least as it was defined in the premodern period. Boorstin was Director of the (Smithsonian) National Museum of American History and later Librarian of Congress — and before that my professor at the University of Chicago. Another of his books, The Image: A Guide to Pseudo-Events in America, 1962, explains everything you need to know about Donald Trump (emphasis added).
  • Oscar Handlin, The Uprooted: The Epic Story of the Great Migrations That Made the American People, 1951. The classic overview of immigration history: scholars have been disputing its interpretation since it appeared. Pulitzer Prize in History — and Handlin trained the generation of scholars who created immigration history as a field.
  • John Higham, Strangers in the Land: Patterns of American Nativism, 1860-1925, 1955. The best overview of American nativism.
  • Gary Gerstle, American Crucible: Race and Nation in the Twentieth Century, 2001. Good contemporary scholarship on the subject.
  • Isabel Wilkerson, Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents, 2020. Oprah’s Book Club and Pulitzer Prize in Journalism. Wonderful contemporary overview about the intersection of race and class in American history.
  • Tyler Anbinder, City of Dreams: The Epic History of Immigrant New York, 2016. Smart and novellic.
  • Annie Polland and Daniel Soyer, The Emerging Metropolis: New York Jews in the Age of Immigration, 2012.  Annie, formerly the Museum’s executive vice president for programs and interpretation, is the most creative historian with whom I’ve ever worked.
  • Jacob Riis, How the Other Half Lives: Studies Among the Tenements of New York, 1890. Powerful journalistic expose of conditions on the Lower East Side. With the author’s photographs.
  • Andrew S. Dolkart, Biography of a Tenement House in New York City: An Architectural History of 97 Orchard Street. Our story, by the scholar who did so much to preserve 97 Orchard Street.

And, from the history of medicine (Morris’s own field):

  • Charles E. Rosenberg, The Cholera Years: The United States in 1832, 1849 and 1866, 1962. Rosenberg wrote or edited more than a dozen books (including one we did together) and nearly 100 articles. The Cholera Years, his first book, focuses on New York City’s tenements to explore how epidemics shifted from being understood as God’s judgment against the poor and socially marginal to disorders amenable to government intervention.
  • Judith W. Leavitt, Typhoid Mary: Captive to the Public’s Health, 1996. How far can government go in restraining an asymptomatic carrier to protect the public? A great early 20th-century New York story about an Irish immigrant cook in a world of class divisions and prejudice against immigrants and women.

I’ve read about one-tenth of this list, but find Morris’s pithy descriptions so evocative in helping understand their impact on his work that they encourage me to go online and buy the whole lot. (I’m not, but I’m tempted.)

Morris, thank you. What Ruth, Anita, Annie, you and others have done is to remind us that in America, just about all of us came from somewhere else. The Tenement Museum and other places where we came together — places where, as the poet Remo Fasani phrased it, we see “the past live in the present and in the future both, to have time again vibrate as one” — are worth saving. And our stories — all our stories — are worth remembering, honoring, and cherishing in the years ahead.

All the best, my friend, as you head into your next retirement.

More to come…

DJB

Image: 97 Orchard Street (credit: Tenement Museum)

Dreams and escape: An evening of music with Andrew Bearden Brown

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This special Wednesday edition of the Saturday Soundtrack features our own Andrew Bearden Brown as part of the concert series Music at Emmanuel in the program Dream & Escape. Featuring works by Samuel Barber, Mozart, and Gerald Finzi, the program was inspired by the vivid and strange dreams many of us were experiencing at the beginning of the lockdown. Christian Lane is the pianist, and the concert was beautifully edited by Max Kuzmyak. The recital was taped in lovely Emmanuel Episcopal Church in downtown Baltimore and premiered earlier this evening.

We, of course, know and love Andrew as our son. But we have also been thrilled to watch and support his professional singing career over these past twenty years. Having a chance to attend the taping of the concert last month was just the latest highlight in our two decades of marveling at his talent and dedication. Yes, in baseball parlance, I’m proud to be a “homer” when it comes to Andrew.

For those looking for more information than my familial bragging, here’s the link to the program information, text translations, and professional bio. I’ve highlighted Andrew’s bio here:

Andrew Bearden Brown is a new resident of Baltimore and recent graduate of the Royal College of Music, where he was awarded a Masters of Music in Vocal Performance under the tutelage of Justin Lavender. His studies were further supported by the Their Serene Highnesses Dr Prince Donatus and Princess Heidi Von Hohenzollern Scholarship and the Mason Scholarship. Lauded by The Washington Post for his “pure” and “poignant” sound, he began his singing career as a treble in the Washington National Cathedral Choir of Men and Boys under the direction of Michael McCarthy. At the Cathedral he sang for services of national importance, including the state funerals of President Ronald Reagan, President Gerald Ford, and most recently John McCain. During this time he also soloed at the Kennedy Center and with Leonard Slatkin in acclaimed performances of Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms. 

Following his undergraduate years at Brown University, Andrew Bearden Brown returned to Washington, where he developed a career as a Baroque soloist, specializing in Handel (Messiah – Providence Baroque/Brown University) and Bach (St. John Passion (solo) – Academy of Ancient Music & Voces8, Mass in B Minor – American Bach Soloists Academy, St. Matthew Passion – Providence/Brown (solo) & Buckingham Choral Society (Evangelist), Christmas Oratorio – Providence/Brown).

Andrew Bearden Brown’s operatic roles include Ernesto in Brown Opera Production’s Don Pasquale, Torquemada in RCM International Opera Studio’s L’heure espagnole, Ferrando in Felici Opera’s Così fan tutte, and Adolfo Pirelli in RCM’s Sweeney Todd.

Andrew Bearden Brown (credit: Kristina Sherk | https://www.kristinasherk.com)

After the concert, Christian interviewed Andrew, where they discuss singing Messiah in the pandemic, the influences of London on his interpretation of art song, and why he loves the Maryland flag among other topics. We get to hear two very interesting gentlemen with a great passion for music.

Thanks, Andrew and Christian, for the beautiful evening.

Enjoy!

More to come…

DJB

Image: Andrew Bearden Brown (credit Kristina Sherk | https://www.kristinasherk.com)

Go act in the world: Frederick Douglass and our escape from captivity.

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In the introduction to his Pulitzer Prize-winning biography Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom, historian David W. Blight sets out the work we still face today, more than 200 years after the birth of this former slave, social reformer, abolitionist, orator, writer, ambassador, and statesman who changed his world and became one of the most famous, influential, and important individuals of the 19th century.

As he tries to balance the narrative of Douglass’s life with “analyses of his evolving mind,” Blight writes of how he returns to that narrative, because…

“It is Douglass’s story, though, that lasts and gives and instructs. There is no greater voice of America’s terrible transformation from slavery to freedom than Douglass’s. For all who wish to escape from outward or inward captivity, they would do well to feel the pulses of this life, and to read the words of this voice. And then go act in the world.”

I recently finished reading this monumental 2018 biography, the first on Douglass in a quarter century, and I came away humbled, enlightened, and inspired. By Douglass’s life and work, certainly. But also by Blight’s efforts to capture, in very human form, the essence of his most extraordinary subject.

Frederick Douglass

Much of Douglass’s early life is well-known, in part because he wrote three different autobiographies before he died in 1895. His escape from slavery in Baltimore, his early work with abolitionist leader William Lloyd Garrison, his role in support of women’s suffrage, his travels across the country as he honed his amazing oratorical skills, his later break with Garrison, and his support for the Republican party and, eventually, Abraham Lincoln are pieces of the story many know, at least at the superficial level. When Douglass came to the White House on the evening of March 4, 1865, and is pulled aside from a crowded reception into a private conversation, he is able to tell Lincoln that his second inaugural address was “a sacred effort,” forever cementing his connection with The Great Emancipator in history.

Douglass, as much as anyone in his time, made the case that “a society that sanctioned cold-blooded murder and fostered homicidal madness as necessary steps to social order could only be called by its names — piracy and tyranny.” His memories and story gave him the voice and power of authenticity that few could match.

Blight goes into great detail throughout this 764-page work, so even those who know the Douglass story and perhaps see him through an iconic lens learn a great deal about his humanity, his character, his flaws, and the issues that drove the man toward greatness every day of his life. On a personal note, I was delighted to find a half-page detailed description of a visit Douglass made to Staunton, Virginia, my Shenandoah Valley home for 15 years, in 1879. There he gave his famous “Self-Made Man” lecture to a church full of listeners who include some 200 white citizens and the members of the City Council. These small vignettes and attention to detail make Blight’s work come alive.

I found in reading Blight’s book that I knew much less about Douglass and his work during Reconstruction and the period that followed “when white people made peace with each other” and African Americans slid into new depths of poverty and racism with Jim Crow laws as a result. Douglass spoke a great deal about history and memory during this period. For instance, he was appalled by the veneration of Robert E. Lee following his death, and the sentiment that he had “died of a broken heart.” Douglass, always quick to make his point, said simply that Lee “was a traitor and can be nothing else.”

Those words about escaping our own captivity stayed with me through the entire work. I heard someone say recently that a prophet is someone who sees what is happening in his or her day and calls for a change in how we do things if we wish to avoid the future consequences of those actions. Blight is not afraid to bring Douglass’s prophetic voice into today’s world as he analyzes his words and evolving mind. As he was drawing closer to death in 1893 and 1894, Douglass found his old voice and, as Blight phrases it, “preached an old creed.”

“Men talk of the Negro problem. There is no Negro problem. The problem is whether the American people have honesty enough, loyalty enough, honor enough, patriotism enough to live up to their Constitution.”

And so the question from the prophet remains today: are we willing to change in order to live up to the ideals of the constitution? We all have to face it on both a personal and community level. Douglass is a 19th century prophet, but like most great prophets, his words still ring true in the 21st century, if we’ll only listen.

Highly recommended.

More to come…

DJB

Women sing Waits

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Tom Waits is one of our generation’s great songwriters. His work, it is noted, often focuses on the “underbelly of society” while his songs are “delivered in his trademark deep, gravelly voice.” That voice is an acquired taste that I only take in very small doses. Thankfully, there are hundreds of covers of Tom Waits songs, which run the gamut from “brilliant” to “meh.”

When I recently ran across a cover or two closer to the brilliant side it started me down a path of gathering some favorites for a Saturday Soundtrack post. But after I pulled together a couple of ones that I enjoy — such as Bruce Springsteen’s live version of Jersey Girl and Jerry Douglas’s quirky take on 2:19 — I realized that I was discovering a whole group of talented women singers providing their perspective on Tom Waits songs. When I stumbled across the 2019 album released by Nashville’s Dualtone Records entitled Come On Up to the House: Women Sing Waits, and then the earlier Female Tribute to Tom Waits collection, I knew I had my hook.

This week, let’s focus on some of the female singers who have interpreted the quirky wisdom of Tom Waits.

I was first drawn in by one of my favorite alt-country singers, Courtney Marie Andrews, and her aching version of the sad and lonely Downtown Train. The song has been covered by others, including Mary Chapin Carpenter with her folk/pop sensibilities. But I prefer Andrews’ country voice, which seems to fit the mood of the lyrics.

“Will I see you tonight
On a downtown train
Where Every night its just the same
You leave me lonely
Will I see you tonight
On a downtown train
All of my dreams just fall like rain
All upon on a downtown train“

Waits is a songwriter whose tunes are open to all types of interpretation. Take a listen to his version of Come on Up to the House — a gospel-type song that isn’t really a gospel song — and then listen to the talented Sarah Jarosz move it out of the grit into a different direction. For another interpretation you can also check out the version by the trio Joseph from the Women Sing Waits album.

Well the moon is broken
And the sky is cracked
Come on up to the house
The only things that you can see
Is all that you lack
Come on up to the house

All your cryin don’t do no good
Come on up to the house
Come down off the cross
We can use the wood
Come on up to the house

Come on up to the house
Come on up to the house
The world is not my home
I’m just a passin thru
Come on up to the house

I mentioned the Springsteen version of Jersey Girl, which is a classic for all sorts of reasons, including, of course, the singer’s Jersey roots.

“cause tonight I’m gonna take that ride
across the river to the Jersey side
take my baby to the carnival
and I’ll take you on all the rides

down the shore everythings all right
you with your baby on a saturday night yeah
don’t you know all my dreams come true
when I’m walkin’ down the street with you”

But then I found this interpretation by the jazzy R&B British singer Corinne Bailey Rae from the Women Sing Waits album. It is affecting and warm.

Iris DeMent’s voice has been described as sounding like your loopy old aunt, but her version of one of my favorite Waits songs, House Where Nobody Lives, is as arresting as it is unique. An NPR description of her work is pitch perfect, when they note that DeMent “makes music that celebrates humanity’s efforts toward salvation, while acknowledging that most of our time on Earth is spent reconciling with the fact that we don’t feel so redeemed.” I find the lyrics for House Where Nobody Lives a perfect fit for this search for redemption.

“There’s a house on my block
that’s abandoned and cold
Folks moved out of it a
long time ago
and they took all their things
and they never came back
Looks like it’s haunted
with the windows all cracked
and everyone calls it
the house, the house where
nobody lives.

Once it held laughter
Once it held dreams
Did they throw it away
Did they know what it means
Did someone’s heart break
or did someone do somebody wrong?…

What makes a house grand

Ain’t the roof or the doors

If there’s love in a house

It’s a palace for sure

Without love

It ain’t nothin but a house

A house where nobody lives

I could write forever here but now I’m just going to include a variety of clips of women singing Tom Waits and encourage you to pick and choose…or listen to them all. They are:

  • Beth Hart and Joe Bonamassa with Chocolate Jesus
  • The always wonderful Patty Griffin singing Ruby’s Arms
  • The elegant Norah Jones and her interpretation of The Long Way Home
  • Sally Norvell with her jazzy, piano bar version of Please Call Me, Baby
  • And we’ll end this set with Clara Bakker’s smoky Temptation

One of my all-time favorite covers of a Tom Waits tune is Nanci Griffin’s version of San Diego Serenade. The lyrics are pure poetry, and she makes them her own.

“I never saw the morning ’til I stayed up all night
I never saw the sunshine ’til you turned out the light
I never saw my hometown until I stayed away too long
I never heard the melody until I needed the song“

“I never saw the east coast until I moved to the west
I never saw the moonlight until it shone off of your breast
I never saw your heart until someone tried to steal it away
I never saw your tears until they rolled down your face“

Let’s recognize what we have, while we still have it.

Enjoy!

More to come…

DJB

Observations from a lockdown: Being grateful. Giving thanks.

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This has been a difficult year in which to give thanks. Turmoil, hate, distrust, discord, pain, suffering, loss, and much more stare us in the face every single day. The most recent coronavirus surge has come just as we want to gather to celebrate with loved ones and friends. Instead of large gatherings, we find ourselves in lockdown once again.

It is easy to give thanks when everything is going well. It is in the most challenging of times, however, when it is most important to be open to gratefulness and to remember to be thankful. Abraham Lincoln’s famous Thanksgiving proclamation came in the midst of some of the worst times of the Civil War.

There is a difference between gratefulness and thankfulness. A Benedictine monk makes the case that at least some of what we think of as thankfulness is actually gratefulness. He describes the two in this fashion:

“Remember a night when you stood outdoors looking up at the stars, countless in the high, silent dome of the sky, and saw them as if for the first time. What happened? Eugene O’Neill puts it this way: ‘For a moment I lost myself – actually lost my life. I was set free! I dissolved in the…high dim-starred sky! I belonged, without past or future, within peace and unity and a wild joy, within something greater than my own life…to Life itself!’…”

Our thoughts may quickly turn to thankfulness for the opportunity to witness this beauty, but in the first few seconds the monk notes we are in some other state.

“Why do I call that wild joy of belonging “gratefulness”? Because it is our full appreciation of something altogether unearned, utterly gratuitous — life, existence, ultimate belonging – and this is the literal meaning of grate-full-ness. In a moment of gratefulness, you do not discriminate. You fully accept the whole of this given universe, as you are fully one with the whole.

In the very next moment, when the fullness of gratitude overflows into thanksgiving, the oneness you were experiencing is breaking up. Now you are beginning to think in terms of giver, gift, and receiver. Gratefulness turns into thankfulness. This is a different fullness. A moment ago you were fully aware; now you are thoughtful. Gratefulness is full awareness; thankfulness is thoughtfulness.“

I like that distinction.  If we are fully aware, fully mindful, we will often be grateful when we see something that connects us to things beyond ourselves. To a sense of belonging. It may result in joy, but in this year it may elicit other emotions. When we turn our minds to how to respond to those connections, then that thoughtfulness becomes thankfulness. And 2020 is a good time to give thanks for some of the things that have helped get me through a year like no other.

As I suggested the other day, I am grateful in the moments of wonder and joy my family brings to my life. I am so appreciative of how they helped me navigate this year with whatever grace I’ve been able to muster.

Several times — when it seems I have needed it most — friends have reached out and suggested a socially distanced coffee, drink, or meal. After months of separation, I look up in those moments and am grateful for the human touch, even six feet away. Their thoughtfulness triggers my thankfulness.

Helping hands (photo credit: James Chan from Pixabay)

The sound of live music often brings me into the “wild joy of belonging,” for which I am grateful. But that experience, perhaps with the exception of the occasional busker at the farmers market, has been limited this year. In its absence, I give thanks for musicians such as Matthew Steynor at St. Albans Parish in Washington, who work tirelessly to bring both professional and volunteer singers together online for choral music to touch the soul each and every week of the pandemic. There are tens of thousands like Matthew across the country. And I am also thankful for those musicians who are unable to tour and earn a living through their live shows, yet have still prepared online offerings that soothe us in these troubled times.

These times have featured a nation roiled with systemic racism trying to come together to understand how to provide social justice for all. It may not be joy I’ve experienced, but I am grateful to be called to belong to this moment. And I am thankful for those who have called most effectively: protestors in the streets of the nation’s cities and towns, authors like Ibram X. Kendi, heroes we’ve lost like John Lewis, and new heroes we’ve found all around the world.

Of course, the fight for social justice has come in the midst of a worldwide pandemic. My thankfulness is for those battling this disease on the front lines and for those who are donating out of their own generosity, resources, and heart to find a cure.

Finally, when our nation realized that we are in a battle for the future of democracy, I am thankful for all those who turned out to vote and who helped turn out the vote. Working together, we are helping to bring a new day.

Gratefulness is a recognition that we belong. We all count on the kindness of others: friends and strangers alike. No one got to where they are by themselves, and that’s especially true in a year like 2020. Recognizing this basic fact of life is key to a deeper understanding of grace.

I am thankful that I have so much, in my 65th year of life, for which to celebrate on this Thanksgiving Day. As I wrote on my birthday, I want to say thank you to the many family, friends, colleagues, and even strangers who have been there for me over 65 years.

I count myself lucky to have crossed paths with so many people who have, in the words of Fred Rogers, loved me into being. You may, or may not, remember what you did to lift me up. But I remember.

Thank you all. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

More to come…

DJB

Image by Kerstin Riemer from Pixabay

Put on a sweater like Patti Page: an update

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(EDITOR’S NOTE: I thought of this 2014 post when I was sitting at an outside table yesterday, catching up over coffee with a friend. As the weather turns colder, some members of the family may be tempted to turn up the thermostat in our hermetically sealed houses. But in this year of the coronavirus, we have found out once again how much we need fresh air and good ventilation. We find we are often safer outdoors than inside where both fresh air and circulation may be minimal. We can benefit from, as Lloyd Alter calls it, the Dumb House. Unfortunately, Alter’s blog post was updated in 2018 to capture more of the newest technology, but in the process he lost some of the humor of the original, along with the great picture and line about Patti Page. But I still have them! So this post is slightly updated but more relevant than ever.)

I loved the original Treehugger post from 2014 entitled In Praise of the Dumb House.

In that post, Lloyd Alter talked about all the newfangled gadgets to keep your house temperature perfect — and environmentally correct. But he points out the problem with this line of thinking:

As Victor Olgyay noted exactly 50 years ago in his book Design with Climate, comfort is not determined by temperature alone, but by a combination of temperature, humidity and air movement. The Nest thermostat turns an air conditioner or furnace on or off, where you might be just as comfortable opening a window or turning on a fan. That’s what you would do in a dumb home. Instead, the Nest causes you to use energy to do what used to be free.

In his original post he went on to say:

There is also another problem with the smart thermostat: people no longer put on such smart sweater sets like Patti Page used to wear.

Exactly.

…because we are too lazy to put on a sweater or take off a jacket, we have let the thermostat and the mechanical engineer behind it change the way we make buildings.” A smart thermostat might actually increase the energy used, not because it drops the temperature when you are not home, but because it increases it while you are there, when you could in fact get just as comfortable by putting on a smart looking sweater.

This rang so true to me. Every day during the 2013 holiday break, a member of our family who shall go nameless but who had become acclimated to Southern California weather would come downstairs — often wearing pajama bottoms, a t-shirt, and standing  barefoot — to exclaim, “I’m cold. Turn up the heat.” To which I — attired in my natty pullover or warm hoodie “repping” said family member’s college — would reply, “Put on a damn sweater.” Now I know I should have added, “like Patti Page!”

It was at this moment that I realized that I’ve turned into my father. This is exactly the type of thing he would say. For example, when I used to go around our offices at the Watergate and turn off lights in meeting rooms (that would later cut themselves off automatically), some folks would look at me quizzically. I usually responded by saying, “Sorry, but my father worked his entire career for the Tennessee Valley Authority. When we left a light on in a room, he would come in, flip the switch to off, and say ‘I work for the electric company, I don’t own it.’”

Yep, Daddy would definitely be in the “put on a sweater like Patti Page” camp.

More to come…

DJB

Isolated minds. Dead hearts.

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Benefactors ennoble us through praise, a comment, recognition, a simple gesture, or a note. They also inspire our minds and touch our hearts.

I was fortunate enough to hear one of my benefactors, The Rev. Dr. Francis Wade, on a weekly basis from 1998 until he retired in 2005. Frank is universally recognized as a great preacher. He speaks and writes with clarity and a thoughtfulness that has touched countless individuals, as I was in 2001 when he observed:

“This past week has shown two of the ways that evil can affect human beings. It isolates the mind and kills the heart.”

I recently revisited The Face of Evil, Frank’s thoughts from the Sunday after the attacks of 9/11. His words were powerful at the time and they have stayed with me ever since.* After building a strong case that evil is a reality in life, Frank made this observation about the isolated mind killing the heart. Reading it again in the context of the divisions of 2020, it struck me like a bolt of lightening.

My thoughts immediately went to the recent news that plans by a domestic terrorist group to kidnap the Governor of Michigan also included televised executions and the burning of the state capitol. Those thoughts jumped to politicians and their enablers who have such a desire to retain power at all cost that they call for the disenfranchisement of millions of our fellow Americans because of disagreements with their politics or the color of their skin. And yes, I thought of the horrific murder of George Floyd, a 46-year-old black man who died in June in Minneapolis after Derek Chauvin, a white police officer, knelt on his neck for almost eight minutes while Floyd was lying face down handcuffed on the street. We have reached the point in our civic lives where we can be easily overwhelmed by evil and hatred.

Theologians are not the only ones who see humans as possessing both an intellect and a soul that work best when they work in tandem. Scientists, ethicists, philosophers, activists, and poets have all reminded us that to live fully is to live with both mind and heart engaged.

What happens, however, if they are separated? When the mind becomes isolated and the heart is left to wither? Frank has some ideas.

“An isolated mind disregards the essential value of others. Isolated minds allow others to become faceless, unique-less, discounted, and expendable. That sort of isolated thinking is the root of all prejudice….When evil kills the heart it takes away love, compassion, understanding, forgiveness, and gentleness.”

“The hatred we let flourish in us is a heart-killer,” Frank notes, and we are as susceptible to it as those whose work we saw on 9/11.

Hatred is seductive. When we get to the point where the hatred in our isolated minds is killing our hearts, we may find it satisfying to hold onto our grudges and pass judgement without thinking of the consequences to ourselves and to others. We undertake actions that may be against our best interest simply to “own” or “trigger” another group. And we may not see it as evil, because in the modern world we have avoided evil’s reality for a long time.

Much of what we are seeing in today’s polarization is designed to isolate the mind and kill the heart. It is evil, feeding on hatred and sowing discord. There are those who work to control our financial systems, branches of government, and mass media who benefit from polarization. And they are a force in our lives, a force that requires résistance.

Think about it. We can only put children in cages, separated from their parents, when our hearts are not involved in the decision. We can only dismiss the pain of under-employed, drug addicted, hate-filled rural residents and put their plight out of our minds if we take our hearts out of the equation. We can only deny the systemic racism that is part of our national DNA and evident for those who care to look if we rationalize our choices while refusing to give our hearts any voice in the matter.

As David Charles Rodrigues, the director of the film Gay Chorus, Deep South has said, in light of the growing hate and intolerance we all need to step back and begin “judging our judgements.” We need to resist the hatred that profits from polarization and do the hard work of reconciliation with those who have hurt us and who we have hurt.

Writing in the context of 9/11, Frank noted that “The Middle East is filled with the rhetoric of dead hearts where people foolishly seek the absence of their neighbors rather than community with them.” I believe we can take Frank’s statement and rewrite it to say, “America in 2020 is filled with the rhetoric of dead hearts….” We are just as susceptible to hatred as anyone else.

I have written before about ways we can get past the haughtiness of certainty and the toxicity of stubbornness that is at the core of the isolated mind. In terms of the intellect, we should heed the words of economist Jeffrey Sachs who has written that, “We are a technology-rich, advertising-fed, knowledge-poor society.” Correcting our information crisis requires both individual and community action. For my part, I have stopped reading progressive sites and writers where attacking our fellow citizens seems to be part of the sport. Those on the right might consider ditching FOX News and the rest of the right-wing infotainment network for similar reasons.

In terms of our hearts, we need to nurture empathy so that we are better equipped to appreciate the challenges others face. It is difficult to remain stubborn when you bring in your heart and are empathetic to the needs of others. According to recent neuroscience, empathy is hardwired into all mammals. Our default — our authentic self — is to have the courage and strength to help others. But as Frank notes, the force that wants to isolate our minds and kill our hearts is very strong. That force is working on us to suppress our authentic selves in the hope that we will only focus on our needs and our grievances.

This week of Thanksgiving is as good a time as any to begin to change. Resist those forces of hatred, discord, and polarization with both your mind and heart.

More to come…

DJB

*The sermon is included in Frank’s 2002 collection entitled Rites of Our Passage.

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay