My drive to St. John from Pontiac is long compared to most who are part of this community (though, I know there are some who travel even further still). While at times I lament its length, especially when I have to make the journey during rush hour, it has some advantages too. Thanks to the advent of certain technologies, it is also quite often a productive time. The voice to text capabilities and notes app have aided me in writing articles and children’s sermons from my mobile office (including parts of this very piece).
In other instances, I find the comfort of my car and my long commute serves as a sanctuary. In my personal little pod, navigating to and fro, I am alone with myself, with my thoughts, and with my music. Between home and work, I don’t have much time alone. In the car I can turn the music up and sing my heart out in my semi-private, semi-public refuge.
There are a few other staples of my drive. I get the news, insight, and even some moments of wonder from WDET, Michigan Public Radio, 99% Invisible, Reveal, On the Media, Radiolab, and other podcasts. Lately, however, these have been difficult to engage with. A few moments dialed in to current events and I find myself brimming with emotions, in need of a healthy outlet.
There are few things that provide relief like letting go with a song perfectly fitting for the moment. Enveloped by music, in the car, my frustration, anger, rage, sadness are carried on the words of poets. Through the music, I can channel feelings of joy, happiness, contentment, hope, love - even when I am struggling to locate any of them within my own person. Music can be a catharsis or an escape. (Ironically, I looked up the definition to make sure catharsis was the precise meaning I was intending. The example sentence was “music is a means of catharsis for them”).
Most of the time, in my car, I just put my music on shuffle, with the skip button handy, spanning eras and genres to cater to my whims. I do have a few playlists, typically reserved for specific situations. “Up North with Grandma” was created as a soundtrack for just such adventures. “Tennessee” to serenade Laura and me as we drove there to see a concert in a cave. Other playlists in my library were created for other specific, non-car related, moments. “Teach” for school safe background music in the classroom. “Acc” to curate an ambiance when I was working at the Alley Cat Cafe. “Tgiving” features songs of thanks for the Thanksgiving dinners St. John hosted in the years leading up to Covid.
When it is a certain feeling, a certain mood that is intended, shuffle may not be the way to go. A playlist, the modern-day mixtape lets us hone in on a specific sound to fit the moment. This idea of setting the mood was on my mind some years ago when I started a playlist called “Lent.” (This was actually inspired by an “Advent” playlist that came first). Occasionally, when a song feels like it's hitting some Lenten themes, I add it to the list - a compilation of songs of laments, of questions, of brokenness, songs that delve into troubles, into the wilderness, songs that contemplate mortality.
Lent beckons us into reflection. We face shortfalls in ourselves and in the broader world. We intentionally open our hearts to suffering that we might be moved to greater depths of compassion, mercy, forgiveness, justice, and generosity. As we receive the ashes, marking the start of Lent, we are reminded “you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
After Pastor Mark delivered the ashes to one of our youngest congregants Wednesday night, the little boy jumped for joy. More than likely, he was just happy to be included in this interesting ritual with the adults, but his response led me to another channel for experiencing this seemingly somber event. Within the mournful themes there lies a celebration of a fact that connects us to what has been and what will be, that connects us to each other and all the living things that make up creation. We are all dust. We are remarkable and we are ordinary. We are matter and energy brought to life. We are ancient wonders and the building blocks of the future.
To dust we shall return, but what will we do with our time before we do? Do we honor our connection to each other, to creation, and to generations to come? Do we celebrate the sacredness of our brothers and sisters of dust? Even when they challenge us? Are we open to the call to care for the vulnerable? Do the choices we make, from the clothes we wear to the food we eat to the policies we support, reflect values of compassion, mercy, forgiveness, justice, and generosity? Are we doing the work or are we just saying the words?
So, as we contemplate these and other Lenten questions and sentiments, here’s a playlist with songs fitting the theme to guide us as we journey to and fro in our sanctuaries on wheels, or maybe doing the dishes. Or dusting. To dust we shall return.
“Are we really living or just walking dead now?” Janelle Monáe.
In the olden days of mixtapes and CDs, I would meticulously arrange the songs, listening to the ends and beginnings of each to ensure a smooth flow. Untethered by the space constraints of old, I tend to load up playlists with whatever strikes my fancy and let the shuffle button dictate sequencing. There are two versions of the playlist. The main one, embedded here, is the PG version. For those comfortable with a few swears, and references to what are generally considered more adult themes, you can find the uncensored version here.
I am interested, what songs would you add to the playlist for Lent?