Now here is an intimidating thought. A statement of faith. I seldom think of my faith in terms of statements. I speak a faltering language that at best consists primarily of questions, asides and whispered midnight prayers. The two midnight prayers I pray over and over, and which summarize all my prayers are:

1) This gift of life is too big. I give my life back to you, the giver. Take my life and make of it something beautiful, and
2) Thank you.

But this is music. These records that you see here on this table do tell the story of much of my journey over the course of the last ten years, if not longer.  This music was my way of asking what I would like to make of this gift of too-large life that I was given. And what this gift of too-large life would make of me. This music was my way of trying to find new ways of expressing gratitude for the sometimes frightening freedom to discover what I believed to be true. And when I lost my way at times, (to put it mildly), this music was instrumental in helping me find my way back home. These records, in little ways and big ways, saved my life.

I wrote down the following words once after reading them, but I’m not sure anymore who said them: “Those who believe in God, but without passion in the heart, without anguish of mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, and even at times without despair, believe only in the idea of God, and not in God himself.”

I guess what I want to say is this: if you prefer your music to function more or less as a pep rally for Jesus, you’re definitely at the wrong table. There probably is a place for that kind of music, but I for one was never called to be a cheerleader.

If however, your spirit is hungry for something a little different, if you have ever had a heart broken, if you have passed through valleys of shadows in your life where all was mostly lost, if you have discovered that most of the good things in life are given not taken, if you have unexpectedly been swept upstream with joy beneath Abraham’s stars, if you have come to grips with the fact that it will take at least a lifetime to learn to forgive those who have wronged you and to forgive yourself for wronging others, if you puzzle from time to time at the cruel radiant beauty that surrounds us pulsing everywhere, beauty that seems to want to tell us in a language beyond words, beauty that makes no sense when you consider how innocent children suffer everyday and how some people have their lives all but irreparably shattered right in front of their eyes - loved ones snatched prematurely and painfully away, dreams stillborn, relationships uprooted from the soil of hopeful hearts - then you may well recognize your own self in this music.  You may find some fresh language for the soul, music for embracing the sweet sadness of life, music born of welcome tears and deep rejoicing. And music that speaks of a desire to know the Man of Sorrows, the Friend of Sinners, the Rose of Sharon.

You see, we just want it to be real. We want to risk being honest enough to tell our uncensored secrets. To say that as often as not a journey a faith is a special state in which we struggle to ask the right questions, and not just a question of stating special right answers.

So, I hope you ultimately don’t mind if I didn’t bother to bring the catchy slogans and the pom poms. I brought my life and a simple two-part midnight prayer:
1) This gift of life is too big. I give my life back to you, the giver. Take my life and make of it something beautiful, and
2) Thank you.

I hope Over The Rhine’s music reflects this prayer. Enjoy the festival.
 

Linford Detweiler for Over The Rhine.