I cannot remember a time when music has not been a central piece of my life.
Along with drawing and later theatre, music got me through my school years. Since that time, writing has overtaken drawing, but music has remained alongside it as my companions and comfort. Whenever I’ve needed an artistic voice for joy and pain alike, it’s always been there for me.
Music has also been central to my sense of call to ministry. A significant turning point in my spiritual journey happened during a concert the summer before my senior year of high school. I played in groups throughout college and seminary for worship and other faith-related events. And music played a definitive role in my years as a pastor.
The final service that I led for my last church was on Easter Sunday, 2020. The lockdowns had already begun, and I did so by preaching and playing my guitar into my phone camera. After that, I not only set aside my pastoral responsibilities, but I set down my guitar as well. I didn’t play much during the pandemic, and I very rarely picked it up after those restrictions were lifted.
I have no idea why this happened. One would think that, in this time when many turned to art and music to get them through so much anxiety and uncertainty, I might lean more heavily on it like I had throughout my life thus far. Instead, I let it fall to the wayside for the first time.
This had always felt wrong to me, but I never committed to correcting it. Another day would pass with me looking at my instruments in my basement studio but never touching them.
During that same time, I became fond of Austin Kleon’s Practice, Suck Less charts. The idea behind them is that you commit to doing something every day during a given month, and then at the end, in his words, “you will suck less.” These have come in handy while I was preparing for belt tests in karate or committing to making progress on a manuscript.
For the month of March, however, I decided that I’d play music every day. I was overdue for this, and it was a good decision. There was no plan for each day, I just opened one of my binders of chord charts and picked whatever caught my eye. After the first week, I had my finger callouses back. By the third week, I’d finished a draft of a song.
But the moment I’ll remember most from this month came on the 30th day. I pulled out a folder of chord sheets I’d used in worship at my most recent church. As usual, I leafed through until I felt like playing something. This included a communion chorus I’d first heard when going through my spiritual direction training, and then another simple refrain from Christopher Grundy titled Waiting For You.
This latter song, I just couldn’t stop playing. I felt moved to keep playing and singing through it again and again. After a while, I switched to singing harmony. And eventually, I became quiet and just lightly strummed for a while longer.
During these final stretches, I thought about leading a congregation through this song. I thought about playing nearly every Sunday for 15 years. I thought about seminary chapel worship, and the makeshift band of college students I led my first year. I thought about worship in college. And eventually, I became quiet.
Quiet, and also grateful. Grateful for the solace that this has brought me my entire life.
And grateful for this latest instance when music finally healed something inside me yet again.
Jeffrey A. Nelson 