Introducing Delvyn Case:
Classical Christian Punk Musician
"This is punk. This is living your life as an artist within a specific community. This is writing the music you want without compromising its style or your message. It is also about making your own opportunities – not just because no one else will make them for you, but because the opportunities that bring you the most satisfaction are not the kind that others can make for you. It is devoting your time and your energy and your skills to the service of those around you. It is a spiritual vocation.
-- Delvyn Case
-- Delvyn Case
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First Impressions
As I explore the music and theopoetics of Delvyn Case, and as I hear him describe his vocation, I sense a deep resonance with open and relational (process) theology. Not that he is himself a process theologian. He doesn't mention it in his writings, and there are aspects of his thinking with which process theologians may not resonate: for example, his emphasis on God as a source of order but not novelty, in his article on Kendrick Lamar; or his emphasis on the cross of Jesus as an atoning sacrifice rather than a revelation of divine love and vulnerability. In these respects he seems more "classical" than "process" in orientation.
Still, his work and interests are a powerful expression of so many of the values and insights important to process theologians, such as the ten areas of overlap below. And he brings these values and insights down to earth, and into the ear and heart, with his music and his many projects. For me, process theology is not simply a worldview; it is, more deeply, an activity of the mind, body, and heart. It is theopoetics. Delvyn Case shows the powerful place that music can have in this activity: music as composed, performed, received by anybody and everybody. Even people like me, who play singalong music at senior citizens centers and local bars and restaurants. And even people like the folks in their 80's, 90's, and 100's who sing along, and the people who voted differently than I in a recent election. Yes, we process thinkers are naturally disposed to appreciate, and want to learn from, the kind of work Delvyn Case is doing.
This is not surprising. Process theologians are intuitively interested in music, not only because we love it, but because we envision the whole universe as vast and evolving network of inter-becoming, filled with subjective form, and music has an uncanny capacity to reveal and evoke so many of them. For us process theologians, the universe itself is music-like and God is, too. Indeed, some of us compare the universe as to an improvisational jazz concert, with God as the indwelling lure who beckons toward novelty as well as order, toward community as well as individual fulfillment, and who shares in the joys and sufferings of all living beings. God is much closer to a creative conductor, who offers an undetermined score, than a king on a throne. Here are ten areas of resonance:
I. Music is a form of creative self-expression in community with others and the natural world
2. Participatory music-making in service to community can be understood as applied theopoetics
3. The call to be a musician is akin to an invitation to dance, to take risks, to
4. There is a strange energy at the heart of the universe (God's empowering lure, God's breathing).
5. This strange energy reveals a God Who Mingles with Grass and the whole of Nature
7. This strange energy also reveals a God who Mingles with Music
8. Our response to this energy is a coalescence of breath and spirit illustrating an act of co-creativity.
8. The coalescence of breath and spirit unfolds in multiple ways which constitute a spiritual alphabet
9. The flow of music reveals (and embodies) the flow of God through time.
10. Our vocation, each in our way, is to become a "punk opera composer," helping bring about communities that are creative, compassionate, participatory, multi-faith, and multi-cultural, with no one left behind.
We process theologians are "punk" in the sense that we are willing to buck the trends of consumerism, colonialism, and a mechanistic worldview in service to a world that is all-age-friendly and good for people, animals, and the earth. Some of us are Christian, some Jewish, some Muslim, some Buddhist, and some non-of-the-above. Still our hearts are in the Fat Soul Manifesto. We may or may not have spiked hair, but we do indeed have spunky hearts. And Delvyn Case does, too.
-- Jay McDaniel
As I explore the music and theopoetics of Delvyn Case, and as I hear him describe his vocation, I sense a deep resonance with open and relational (process) theology. Not that he is himself a process theologian. He doesn't mention it in his writings, and there are aspects of his thinking with which process theologians may not resonate: for example, his emphasis on God as a source of order but not novelty, in his article on Kendrick Lamar; or his emphasis on the cross of Jesus as an atoning sacrifice rather than a revelation of divine love and vulnerability. In these respects he seems more "classical" than "process" in orientation.
Still, his work and interests are a powerful expression of so many of the values and insights important to process theologians, such as the ten areas of overlap below. And he brings these values and insights down to earth, and into the ear and heart, with his music and his many projects. For me, process theology is not simply a worldview; it is, more deeply, an activity of the mind, body, and heart. It is theopoetics. Delvyn Case shows the powerful place that music can have in this activity: music as composed, performed, received by anybody and everybody. Even people like me, who play singalong music at senior citizens centers and local bars and restaurants. And even people like the folks in their 80's, 90's, and 100's who sing along, and the people who voted differently than I in a recent election. Yes, we process thinkers are naturally disposed to appreciate, and want to learn from, the kind of work Delvyn Case is doing.
This is not surprising. Process theologians are intuitively interested in music, not only because we love it, but because we envision the whole universe as vast and evolving network of inter-becoming, filled with subjective form, and music has an uncanny capacity to reveal and evoke so many of them. For us process theologians, the universe itself is music-like and God is, too. Indeed, some of us compare the universe as to an improvisational jazz concert, with God as the indwelling lure who beckons toward novelty as well as order, toward community as well as individual fulfillment, and who shares in the joys and sufferings of all living beings. God is much closer to a creative conductor, who offers an undetermined score, than a king on a throne. Here are ten areas of resonance:
I. Music is a form of creative self-expression in community with others and the natural world
2. Participatory music-making in service to community can be understood as applied theopoetics
3. The call to be a musician is akin to an invitation to dance, to take risks, to
4. There is a strange energy at the heart of the universe (God's empowering lure, God's breathing).
5. This strange energy reveals a God Who Mingles with Grass and the whole of Nature
7. This strange energy also reveals a God who Mingles with Music
8. Our response to this energy is a coalescence of breath and spirit illustrating an act of co-creativity.
8. The coalescence of breath and spirit unfolds in multiple ways which constitute a spiritual alphabet
9. The flow of music reveals (and embodies) the flow of God through time.
10. Our vocation, each in our way, is to become a "punk opera composer," helping bring about communities that are creative, compassionate, participatory, multi-faith, and multi-cultural, with no one left behind.
We process theologians are "punk" in the sense that we are willing to buck the trends of consumerism, colonialism, and a mechanistic worldview in service to a world that is all-age-friendly and good for people, animals, and the earth. Some of us are Christian, some Jewish, some Muslim, some Buddhist, and some non-of-the-above. Still our hearts are in the Fat Soul Manifesto. We may or may not have spiked hair, but we do indeed have spunky hearts. And Delvyn Case does, too.
-- Jay McDaniel
Delvyn Case's Philosophy of Music
1.) Everyone can perform, create, and enjoy music - no matter their background or degree of experience.
2.) Music has the extraordinary ability to create community by fostering co-operation and mutual respect among all kinds of people.
3.) Our musical lives are fundamentally multi-cultural. Thus, when we perform or listen, we experience first-hand the incredible richness and variety of American - and human - culture.
4.) Music (and the arts in general) play a central role in the development of a healthy community, especially when they are approached in a manner that recognizes this power and responsibility.
-- Delvyn Case
1.) Everyone can perform, create, and enjoy music - no matter their background or degree of experience.
2.) Music has the extraordinary ability to create community by fostering co-operation and mutual respect among all kinds of people.
3.) Our musical lives are fundamentally multi-cultural. Thus, when we perform or listen, we experience first-hand the incredible richness and variety of American - and human - culture.
4.) Music (and the arts in general) play a central role in the development of a healthy community, especially when they are approached in a manner that recognizes this power and responsibility.
-- Delvyn Case
Participatory Music as Service to Community
The call to be a musician as an invitation to dance
Personally, I experienced the rich sense of gratification that comes from feeling that what I love to do is also something that is valuable to others, and, in turn, that that is a service to something greater than myself...That “something greater” is, for me, God.
-- Delvyn Case
When artists create, they hear the call of the creative voice (however they imagine it.) They have to go where they are led, for if they don’t respond enthusiastically and faithfully to its call –and instead seek first to understand it, codify it, justify it, and explain it – they are no longer being artists. They are no longer being lovers.
In short, the creative act (whether one is a professional or amateur) opens one to an orientation toward the world that is distinctly “love-oriented”: that is, an existence that is marked by faith and hope.
Other writers and thinkers seek truth within discourses of theology or philosophy; I read and respect them, and I value the work they have done. But I’m not afraid to step outside the academic disciplines and explore my topic as a lover.
I may not be a good dancer, but when my beloved calls, I will leap right onto the dance-floor. I hope you'll join me!
-- Delvyn Case
Personally, I experienced the rich sense of gratification that comes from feeling that what I love to do is also something that is valuable to others, and, in turn, that that is a service to something greater than myself...That “something greater” is, for me, God.
-- Delvyn Case
When artists create, they hear the call of the creative voice (however they imagine it.) They have to go where they are led, for if they don’t respond enthusiastically and faithfully to its call –and instead seek first to understand it, codify it, justify it, and explain it – they are no longer being artists. They are no longer being lovers.
In short, the creative act (whether one is a professional or amateur) opens one to an orientation toward the world that is distinctly “love-oriented”: that is, an existence that is marked by faith and hope.
Other writers and thinkers seek truth within discourses of theology or philosophy; I read and respect them, and I value the work they have done. But I’m not afraid to step outside the academic disciplines and explore my topic as a lover.
I may not be a good dancer, but when my beloved calls, I will leap right onto the dance-floor. I hope you'll join me!
-- Delvyn Case
Strange Energy
"O power of the Divine Fire, O Strange Energy, You who dwell, Christ my God, in light, wholly unapproachable: how in Your essence, totally divine, do you mingle yourself with grass?"
-- St. Simeone
Although not specifically pastoral, the piece came to him while walking in the woods, contemplating how humans respond spiritually and physically to nature and music. He was particularly struck by the way musicians breathe life into their instruments and communicate with their whole bodies while playing.
-- Online Arts Journal, North Carolina, describing how Delvyn Case wrote Pneumenon (see below)
How can the God who created black holes also hold every blade of grass in his infinite love? How can that same God listen to every prayer from every human soul? And how can that eternally blameless and ineffable Energy deign to manifest Himself in human form – and in a human who experienced torture and death at the hands of beings created by his Father?
-- Delvyn Case, Program Notes for Strange Energy
Thus, the guiding metaphor structuring Strange Energy is that of the recontextualization of the ordinary, but to do so in order to show the universal connectedeness of all of us. The concert experience in the Western tradition serves in many ways to divide, not unite, and thus Strange Energy represents an attempt to undermine that sad reality. Thus, I have asked that the performers surround the audience, placing them literally in the center of the music-making experience. In addition, the performers not only play their instruments – skills which separate them from the listeners - but also whisper, whistle, and blow on glass bottles – activities that all of us can do. The close-up photographs of the flowers confront us with the intricate beauty that surrounds all of us daily, but which most of us take for granted – and which none of us (artists or not) can fully recreate."
-- Delvyn Case, Program Notes for Strange Energy
"O power of the Divine Fire, O Strange Energy, You who dwell, Christ my God, in light, wholly unapproachable: how in Your essence, totally divine, do you mingle yourself with grass?"
-- St. Simeone
Although not specifically pastoral, the piece came to him while walking in the woods, contemplating how humans respond spiritually and physically to nature and music. He was particularly struck by the way musicians breathe life into their instruments and communicate with their whole bodies while playing.
-- Online Arts Journal, North Carolina, describing how Delvyn Case wrote Pneumenon (see below)
How can the God who created black holes also hold every blade of grass in his infinite love? How can that same God listen to every prayer from every human soul? And how can that eternally blameless and ineffable Energy deign to manifest Himself in human form – and in a human who experienced torture and death at the hands of beings created by his Father?
-- Delvyn Case, Program Notes for Strange Energy
Thus, the guiding metaphor structuring Strange Energy is that of the recontextualization of the ordinary, but to do so in order to show the universal connectedeness of all of us. The concert experience in the Western tradition serves in many ways to divide, not unite, and thus Strange Energy represents an attempt to undermine that sad reality. Thus, I have asked that the performers surround the audience, placing them literally in the center of the music-making experience. In addition, the performers not only play their instruments – skills which separate them from the listeners - but also whisper, whistle, and blow on glass bottles – activities that all of us can do. The close-up photographs of the flowers confront us with the intricate beauty that surrounds all of us daily, but which most of us take for granted – and which none of us (artists or not) can fully recreate."
-- Delvyn Case, Program Notes for Strange Energy
A God who Mingles with Grass
reflections after listening to Strange Music by Delvyn Case
Let's say, with Saint Simeone, that God mingles with grass. How can we imagine the mingling? Some may think of this mingling on the analogy of a political monarch, sitting on a throne, who deigns to step down and mingle with his subjects. On this view God begins as a self-contained authority figure, preoccupied with being flattered, whose primary impulse is to maintain order, but who stoops down, almost despite himself, to mingle with the ordinary.
Admittedly Delvyn Case's Program Notes (see below) can suggest this image. But when I consider more of his work, I suspect that this way of putting it would itself be disturbing and unfair. My sense is that Case believes God's essence is love, not self-aggrandizing power. After all, he is a Christian. For him, the love of Christ is an image of God. This means that there is something to learn, not only from how Jesus lived, but also from his own faith in God. Jesus' had faith in God as an eternal Companion, not an overlord. If we take Jesus as a key to understanding God, then our image of God need not begin with images of vanity and power, but with images of tenderness As John Cobb puts it, God is the Abba of Jesus not a king on a throne.
If God is indeed Abba-like, then it is possible that God mingles with the grass in something of the same way that Delvyn Case mingled with grass while walking in the woods prior to writing Pneumenon (see below). God feels the presence of the grass, and everything else that is happening on our small planet, in a spirit of love and responds by creating fresh possibilities for healing and wholeness, relative to the situation at hand. The possibilities which God provides (we process theologians call them "initial aims") require our response for their actualization. Like the musicians who perform Strange Energy, we must breathe life into our instruments, with our whole bodies playing.
There's more. Delvyn Case believes in "the universal connectedness of all of us." Accordingly he finds something "sad" about the sharp separation of performers and audience in Western music. I suggest that this universal connectedness is a feature of God's life, too. At least this is how we process theologians see things. We believe that what makes God "God" is not that God is the least connected reality in the universe, but rather the most connected. God's own subjectivity -- God's life -- is not self-contained but rather connected from the beginning. Case seems to believe this, too. He has written a piece called Perichoresis, and describes it this way: "Perichoresis is a fast and joyous composition for brass quintet. The title refers to an ancient theological term used to describe the mystery of the Holy Trinity by imagining the three Persons involved in an endless, whirling dance." We process theologians find great wisdom in this image of God in whose life there is dancing, and believe that the image bespeaks, not simply a movement internal to God but also a movement between God and the world. Thus we do not imagine God as transcendent first and immanent second, as an afterthought. Instead we imagine God as immanent from the very beginning, even as transcendent. The immanence is God's "consequent nature" and the transcendence is God's "primordial nature." Always they are together.
This means that there has never been a sharp separation of performers and audience. Always God has been with the world and always the world has been with God. God has a spacious heart that has always included the universe within the divine essence: see God with a Spacious Heart: An Introduction to Panentheism. This spacious heart has two sides: a side which perpetually receives and is affected by all the joy and suffering in the world (God as fellow sufferer) and a side which responds to what is felt with a strange energy: that is, with a spirit that invites and beckons, pulls and cajoles human beings and other creatures toward whatever fullness of life is possible for them, relative to the situation at hand. This spirit is the subject of Pneumenon.
-- Jay McDaniel
reflections after listening to Strange Music by Delvyn Case
Let's say, with Saint Simeone, that God mingles with grass. How can we imagine the mingling? Some may think of this mingling on the analogy of a political monarch, sitting on a throne, who deigns to step down and mingle with his subjects. On this view God begins as a self-contained authority figure, preoccupied with being flattered, whose primary impulse is to maintain order, but who stoops down, almost despite himself, to mingle with the ordinary.
Admittedly Delvyn Case's Program Notes (see below) can suggest this image. But when I consider more of his work, I suspect that this way of putting it would itself be disturbing and unfair. My sense is that Case believes God's essence is love, not self-aggrandizing power. After all, he is a Christian. For him, the love of Christ is an image of God. This means that there is something to learn, not only from how Jesus lived, but also from his own faith in God. Jesus' had faith in God as an eternal Companion, not an overlord. If we take Jesus as a key to understanding God, then our image of God need not begin with images of vanity and power, but with images of tenderness As John Cobb puts it, God is the Abba of Jesus not a king on a throne.
If God is indeed Abba-like, then it is possible that God mingles with the grass in something of the same way that Delvyn Case mingled with grass while walking in the woods prior to writing Pneumenon (see below). God feels the presence of the grass, and everything else that is happening on our small planet, in a spirit of love and responds by creating fresh possibilities for healing and wholeness, relative to the situation at hand. The possibilities which God provides (we process theologians call them "initial aims") require our response for their actualization. Like the musicians who perform Strange Energy, we must breathe life into our instruments, with our whole bodies playing.
There's more. Delvyn Case believes in "the universal connectedness of all of us." Accordingly he finds something "sad" about the sharp separation of performers and audience in Western music. I suggest that this universal connectedness is a feature of God's life, too. At least this is how we process theologians see things. We believe that what makes God "God" is not that God is the least connected reality in the universe, but rather the most connected. God's own subjectivity -- God's life -- is not self-contained but rather connected from the beginning. Case seems to believe this, too. He has written a piece called Perichoresis, and describes it this way: "Perichoresis is a fast and joyous composition for brass quintet. The title refers to an ancient theological term used to describe the mystery of the Holy Trinity by imagining the three Persons involved in an endless, whirling dance." We process theologians find great wisdom in this image of God in whose life there is dancing, and believe that the image bespeaks, not simply a movement internal to God but also a movement between God and the world. Thus we do not imagine God as transcendent first and immanent second, as an afterthought. Instead we imagine God as immanent from the very beginning, even as transcendent. The immanence is God's "consequent nature" and the transcendence is God's "primordial nature." Always they are together.
This means that there has never been a sharp separation of performers and audience. Always God has been with the world and always the world has been with God. God has a spacious heart that has always included the universe within the divine essence: see God with a Spacious Heart: An Introduction to Panentheism. This spacious heart has two sides: a side which perpetually receives and is affected by all the joy and suffering in the world (God as fellow sufferer) and a side which responds to what is felt with a strange energy: that is, with a spirit that invites and beckons, pulls and cajoles human beings and other creatures toward whatever fullness of life is possible for them, relative to the situation at hand. This spirit is the subject of Pneumenon.
-- Jay McDaniel
Breath and Spirit
PROGRAM NOTE for Pneumenon.
“The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit." John 3:8
“Pneumenon” is a word I coined that combines two Greek terms of central to ancient philosophy and theology: “noumenon” – which means the hidden world beyond our senses – and “pneuma” – which means both “breath” and “spirit.” This new piece is a musical attempt to demonstrate the way these two contrasting terms and concepts can be reconciled.
The notion of “spirit” denotes some kind of ineffable yet powerful force that resides inside of us, ready to make itself known in a transformative way. Catholic mystics, African griots, and Christian Pentecostals are well-known examples of religious people who - when filled with the “spirit” – sing, dance, pray, feel, or see things that are amazing, powerful, and even out of their control. But “inspiration” of this sort can be felt by anybody who is moved by a powerful experience to do something beyond that which they might normally feel capable – or even comfortable.
Our “spirit” is what we are really made of; it’s that which reveals our true nature – or allows us to experience that which cannot normally sense (the noumenon.) For some, this base reality is God. For others, it is love, or nature, or community. Regardless, we all sometime feel a connection to something that is greater than ourselves, and prompts us to act in ways we might not have been able to anticipate.
When we go to an orchestra concert, we hear beautiful music emerging from the instruments we see before us. In a sense, we can think of those instruments as the world of “phenomena.” We can easily sense it and understand it. But holding those instruments are dozens and dozens of human beings, usually dressed in black, who are acting almost as puppeteers. We are not supposed to pay attention to them – even though it is THEY whose physical actions are bringing the music to life. The performers make no sound. They are not supposed to be sense - yet they are really the “base reality” at any concert. They are, in essence, the noumenon.
In Pneumenon, I wanted to explore the ways that the musicians themselves can contribute to the music we hear. In addition to playing their instruments, the performers are asked to contribute to the sonic landscape by making a variety of sounds using their hands, feet, legs, and mouths. The idea is to bring into the world of phenomena the incredible sonic potential of each musician’s body and breath, and thereby challenging the separation between the idealized, abstract world of classical music and the corporeal foundation of live music-making. Consistent with the idea of the spirit as surprising and resistant to control, the piece reveals a wildness and intensity that may be out-of-the-ordinary, humorous, and sometimes even uncomfortable in its directness.
-- Delvyn Case
PROGRAM NOTE for Pneumenon.
“The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit." John 3:8
“Pneumenon” is a word I coined that combines two Greek terms of central to ancient philosophy and theology: “noumenon” – which means the hidden world beyond our senses – and “pneuma” – which means both “breath” and “spirit.” This new piece is a musical attempt to demonstrate the way these two contrasting terms and concepts can be reconciled.
The notion of “spirit” denotes some kind of ineffable yet powerful force that resides inside of us, ready to make itself known in a transformative way. Catholic mystics, African griots, and Christian Pentecostals are well-known examples of religious people who - when filled with the “spirit” – sing, dance, pray, feel, or see things that are amazing, powerful, and even out of their control. But “inspiration” of this sort can be felt by anybody who is moved by a powerful experience to do something beyond that which they might normally feel capable – or even comfortable.
Our “spirit” is what we are really made of; it’s that which reveals our true nature – or allows us to experience that which cannot normally sense (the noumenon.) For some, this base reality is God. For others, it is love, or nature, or community. Regardless, we all sometime feel a connection to something that is greater than ourselves, and prompts us to act in ways we might not have been able to anticipate.
When we go to an orchestra concert, we hear beautiful music emerging from the instruments we see before us. In a sense, we can think of those instruments as the world of “phenomena.” We can easily sense it and understand it. But holding those instruments are dozens and dozens of human beings, usually dressed in black, who are acting almost as puppeteers. We are not supposed to pay attention to them – even though it is THEY whose physical actions are bringing the music to life. The performers make no sound. They are not supposed to be sense - yet they are really the “base reality” at any concert. They are, in essence, the noumenon.
In Pneumenon, I wanted to explore the ways that the musicians themselves can contribute to the music we hear. In addition to playing their instruments, the performers are asked to contribute to the sonic landscape by making a variety of sounds using their hands, feet, legs, and mouths. The idea is to bring into the world of phenomena the incredible sonic potential of each musician’s body and breath, and thereby challenging the separation between the idealized, abstract world of classical music and the corporeal foundation of live music-making. Consistent with the idea of the spirit as surprising and resistant to control, the piece reveals a wildness and intensity that may be out-of-the-ordinary, humorous, and sometimes even uncomfortable in its directness.
-- Delvyn Case
A God who Mingles with Music
If God mingles with grass, then surely God can mingle with music, too. Here, as above, we need not imagine a monarch on a throne deigning to step down, but rather an eternal Companion whispering into the ears of each and every human being. And we might then recognize music as one way that we experience this whisper. The whispering will be in the music itself, in the performance of it, and in the listening.
True, not all musical events will be evidence of the mingling. We can develop beloved communities with help from music, and we can also march to war. The capacity of God to mingle with music will partly depend on the orientation of listeners. As Byrd McDaniel (PhD program, Brown University) puts it: "People listen differently. This is not something rooted solely in personality or taste but rather something deeply engrained in our cultural background--a positionality rooted in race, ethnicity, nationality, class, gender, sexuality, (dis)ability, and age. The way we listen reveals our orientation to the world."
There is no need to romanticize music as always to the good; always its power depends on circumstances and social location. Still we process theologians, and Delvyn Case as well, so I suspect, recognize that music can itself inspire individuals to a sense of full aliveness they might otherwise lack, and that it can, in Cases's words, "foster co-operation and mutual respect among all kings of people."
What does it look like when the mingling occurs? There is no need to highlight a single mood or emotion that signals the mingling. Instead it is better to recognize that there are many, many moods and practices that rise up when people, as it were, sing alone and together. Mary Ann and Fred Brussat offer thirty seven of them in their website Spirituality and Practice. They are, as it were, thirty seven ways to be breathed by God, so many of which are communicated through, and evoked by, music. Where these moods come alive in life, God is immanent in the moods themselves, and the music ("secular" or "sacred" or both) are the way that God is present. They are modes of inspiration.
-- Jay McDaniel
If God mingles with grass, then surely God can mingle with music, too. Here, as above, we need not imagine a monarch on a throne deigning to step down, but rather an eternal Companion whispering into the ears of each and every human being. And we might then recognize music as one way that we experience this whisper. The whispering will be in the music itself, in the performance of it, and in the listening.
True, not all musical events will be evidence of the mingling. We can develop beloved communities with help from music, and we can also march to war. The capacity of God to mingle with music will partly depend on the orientation of listeners. As Byrd McDaniel (PhD program, Brown University) puts it: "People listen differently. This is not something rooted solely in personality or taste but rather something deeply engrained in our cultural background--a positionality rooted in race, ethnicity, nationality, class, gender, sexuality, (dis)ability, and age. The way we listen reveals our orientation to the world."
There is no need to romanticize music as always to the good; always its power depends on circumstances and social location. Still we process theologians, and Delvyn Case as well, so I suspect, recognize that music can itself inspire individuals to a sense of full aliveness they might otherwise lack, and that it can, in Cases's words, "foster co-operation and mutual respect among all kings of people."
What does it look like when the mingling occurs? There is no need to highlight a single mood or emotion that signals the mingling. Instead it is better to recognize that there are many, many moods and practices that rise up when people, as it were, sing alone and together. Mary Ann and Fred Brussat offer thirty seven of them in their website Spirituality and Practice. They are, as it were, thirty seven ways to be breathed by God, so many of which are communicated through, and evoked by, music. Where these moods come alive in life, God is immanent in the moods themselves, and the music ("secular" or "sacred" or both) are the way that God is present. They are modes of inspiration.
-- Jay McDaniel
""
A God who Flows
Delvyn Case has written an article on Kendrick Lamar's music, with specific reference to DNA. He proposes that the music of Kendrick Lamar reveals a principle of order at work in the universe. He writes: "Though we are dazzled by his flow, its variety never overwhelms the logical order that lays beneath it. I'll leave it to others to debate the religious implications of his lyrics. What I’m certain of is that his delivery, his flow, is an amazing reflection of the beauty and intricacy of God's created order."
Perhaps this is true. We process theologians believe that God is a principle or order as well as novelty in the universe and in human life, that God is, among other things, one who orders. Yes, the order of the universe amid its variations can well reflect a beauty and intimacy in the divine mind.
But for us God is also one who delights in novelty, in surprise, in the unexpected -- and one role of God's spirit in the universe is to evoke surprise through the provision of fresh possibilities. Part of being fully human is to be dazzled, and the spirit, the very breath of God, is in the be-dazzlement.
For process theologians, the living spirit of God is in the flow itself, including its improvisational novelty. There's much more to God than logical order. There is the strange energy. We call it the spirit of creative transformation, and for those of us who are Christian, it is the very meaning of the Logos: the living word that becomes flesh, not only in Christ, but throughout the world.
Delvyn Case has written an article on Kendrick Lamar's music, with specific reference to DNA. He proposes that the music of Kendrick Lamar reveals a principle of order at work in the universe. He writes: "Though we are dazzled by his flow, its variety never overwhelms the logical order that lays beneath it. I'll leave it to others to debate the religious implications of his lyrics. What I’m certain of is that his delivery, his flow, is an amazing reflection of the beauty and intricacy of God's created order."
Perhaps this is true. We process theologians believe that God is a principle or order as well as novelty in the universe and in human life, that God is, among other things, one who orders. Yes, the order of the universe amid its variations can well reflect a beauty and intimacy in the divine mind.
But for us God is also one who delights in novelty, in surprise, in the unexpected -- and one role of God's spirit in the universe is to evoke surprise through the provision of fresh possibilities. Part of being fully human is to be dazzled, and the spirit, the very breath of God, is in the be-dazzlement.
For process theologians, the living spirit of God is in the flow itself, including its improvisational novelty. There's much more to God than logical order. There is the strange energy. We call it the spirit of creative transformation, and for those of us who are Christian, it is the very meaning of the Logos: the living word that becomes flesh, not only in Christ, but throughout the world.
The Vocation of a Punk Opera Composer
Excerpts from "Punk Opera as Spiritual Vocation," an article by Delvyn Case, as it appeared in The Sacred in Opera: A Project of the National Opera Association. Click here for the article as a whole.
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"For my green-haired comrades, being a punk is a vocation because everything they do – from writing songs to promoting their own shows to designing their own t-shirts – is informed by a clearly defined worldview: a worldview that was developed in service to a set of important ideas and ideals. First of all, punks espouse a radical commitment to the purity of musical and artistic expression, even to the extent of eschewing traditional notions of success. Though every punk wants her music to be heard, there is always a Faustian fear of success – of “selling out” – lest the music became corrupted by evil corporate America. At the same time, a punk worldview is founded on a commitment to the local community: the music is created from within a certain locally-based subculture, and is designed specifically to serve that small community. Elements of punk shows, like its material culture, fashion items, and – of course, the music itself – cannot be understood outside of the context created by the totality of that culture. Musical decisions grow out of practical needs - and vice versa - resulting in an integrated conception of art and society. For an authentic punk, this worldview is not just the result wishful thinking, but is manifested on a daily basis by the degree to which the music fuses with the subculture.
This is the way that I am a punk, and how my own sacred opera project is an example of punk opera. It’s opera not viewed merely as a piece of music or as a dramatic production, but instead as holistic series of actions that brings satisfaction both to the artists and the many people who collaborate to make the event a success. I conceptualized my piece – The Prioress’s Tale – not just as a composition, but as a project that was intended to grow out of the specific community I lived in – in my case, the city of Quincy, Massachusetts, just south of Boston. Every step of the process of creating the project – from writing the music to raising the money to promoting the premiere – grew out of my connections to those in my city. "
Excerpts from "Punk Opera as Spiritual Vocation," an article by Delvyn Case, as it appeared in The Sacred in Opera: A Project of the National Opera Association. Click here for the article as a whole.
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"For my green-haired comrades, being a punk is a vocation because everything they do – from writing songs to promoting their own shows to designing their own t-shirts – is informed by a clearly defined worldview: a worldview that was developed in service to a set of important ideas and ideals. First of all, punks espouse a radical commitment to the purity of musical and artistic expression, even to the extent of eschewing traditional notions of success. Though every punk wants her music to be heard, there is always a Faustian fear of success – of “selling out” – lest the music became corrupted by evil corporate America. At the same time, a punk worldview is founded on a commitment to the local community: the music is created from within a certain locally-based subculture, and is designed specifically to serve that small community. Elements of punk shows, like its material culture, fashion items, and – of course, the music itself – cannot be understood outside of the context created by the totality of that culture. Musical decisions grow out of practical needs - and vice versa - resulting in an integrated conception of art and society. For an authentic punk, this worldview is not just the result wishful thinking, but is manifested on a daily basis by the degree to which the music fuses with the subculture.
This is the way that I am a punk, and how my own sacred opera project is an example of punk opera. It’s opera not viewed merely as a piece of music or as a dramatic production, but instead as holistic series of actions that brings satisfaction both to the artists and the many people who collaborate to make the event a success. I conceptualized my piece – The Prioress’s Tale – not just as a composition, but as a project that was intended to grow out of the specific community I lived in – in my case, the city of Quincy, Massachusetts, just south of Boston. Every step of the process of creating the project – from writing the music to raising the money to promoting the premiere – grew out of my connections to those in my city. "