performance, worship, and those fucking k-marts

I have mentioned before that I field some crazy-ass requests as manager of a tiny concert hall.  

("You've gotten a lot of mileage outta that 7-foot vagina thing, Nicole."  Yes.  Yes, I have.)

The other day I had another one I did not see coming:

I would like to discuss the live art aspect of the upcoming performance.... Is it possible for the youth to generate a mural on canvas on stage? We would provide tarps. If so, what kind of paint would be permitted?

I read that to my son, and in his deep, rumbling bass he said simply: "No."  

Which was similar to my first reaction: Hell to the no.

My second impulse was to post this little gem on Facebook and watch the hilarity unfold.

And sympathy.  I was totally looking for sympathy, too.

But along the way there was confusion when my friend Jane mistook this event, "performance art," for another next month, a youth conference with an "emergent worship" element.  For a minute there I thought spray paint was becoming a regular part of mainline protestant worship, and I thought, Geez, I leave the church and ten years later, all heck is breaking loose!

We finally realized we were not talking about the same event, but in the meantime, because I had not heard this term, emergent worship, I looked it up.

Here is what I found, from Fuller Theological Seminary, a post called "What is Emergent Worship Part 1":

I think the first thing to be said in answer is that these are movements that enthusiastically embrace the postmodern cultural context in which we find ourselves.  Some of the cultural features of this context include new technologies, new forms of connectivity, and decentralization.  Those in the altworship and emerging movements embrace new technology as well as the decentralization of power and decision making that current technologies make possible. 

Okay, then.  Not helpful.  Not seeing a connection with paint.

I read some other tidbits that indicated there was no one style of emergent worship or congregation.  Which sounded pretty Unitarian Universalist to me, and reminded me of some bad jokes, but, again, not helpful.

This was going nowhere fast, so I asked a church friend, and in the course of that conversation, learned about the giant puppets.  

Even though the eagle creeps me out a bit, I have no problem with the *idea* of giant puppets, per se, and I even wore a giant puppet outfit for a Revels performance once.  All this got me to wondering about the difference between performance and worship.  

Back in college, my best friend Tamara and her family took me to St. Mark's Cathedral in Seattle for a performance of Handel's Messiah.  My step-mother played recordings of the Messiah at Christmastime, and always participated in a sing-along Messiah when I was growing up, but I had never seen it live myself, and never in a cathedral.  Tamara is a musician, and so is her mother, so they explained all kinds of interesting connections about the text and music before the event began, and then during the break.  Music had never seemed a puzzle before, filled with hints and subtleties and delights.  It was a magical experience.

Years later, I took a friend to a performance of Messiah in a different venue, an old fashioned gilded theater, and it was, frankly, the suck.  The tenor fired out the opening lines, "Comfort ye, my people," with a machine gun vibrato that was anything but comforting.  It was all downhill from there; we left at intermission.  And it wasn't just the tenor who ruined it.  The whole thing just felt off, and I sensed it the moment I entered that building.  

Context matters.

Now, I love ritual and liturgy.  But I'm not current (obvs!) on what is going on in the church, and definitely not not knowledgeable enough about these things to be able to make meaningful comment about that difference, between worship and performance.  I know what works and what does not, for me, in either case.  And that eagle situation above?  That would be in the "not" camp, as performance or worship.  And that is partly to do with the venue.

If I could have a do-over with divinity school, I would be all about the space aspect of worship, the history and evolution of "houses of God."  And I would think big thoughts about how and whether the space impacts the meaning.  Over the years I have wondered about it again and again, ever since that coffee hour after church one Sunday when I heard a very dapper, proper older gentleman describe a new multi-million dollar church in a fancy part of town: "It looks like a fucking K-Mart."  

Ouch. 

But, yes.  

Even if worship, generally, neither the K-Mart nor the cathedral variety, mostly doesn't work for me, I like the idea that there are folks out there thinking about new ways to worship, new ways of using space — perhaps because I manage a venue that truly works for almost no one who uses it.  Which means that I have spent more time thinking about lighting, color, and acoustics than anyone with zero training should have to.

As I see it, my job is to facilitate and make room for something meaningful, even magical, to happen.  I am lucky to work with musicians who are willing to think outside the box, or, in our case, think past the baby-puke colored acoustical towers and inaccessible Par Can lights bolted to the vault ceiling.  Trying new things is hard when you are short-staffed and limited with resources, and not set up for, say, flinging paint.  

After my whining, I did the research and responded to that request with utmost diplomacy, and, you know what?  Sure, it could be a disaster.  But it is just paint.  And it might be fantastic.  Either way, it will make a great story.