The Meandering Mind of a Reluctant Disciple

It was early Sunday morning, Palm Sunday to be exact, and I was driving the short distance to Trinity Episcopal Church where I would be reminded that Jesus’ Passion was about to unfold—entry into Jerusalem, a disappointing time with his reluctant disciples, a mock trial, and crucifixion—not to mention the broken hearts along the way—Mary Magdalene in particular.

My Lenten practice of daily coloring in an adult coloring book was six weeks old, and my rigorous Middlebury College Winter Term schedule had come to an end the week before Ash Wednesday. (I had taught a class on social media and communication in the month of January.)

Students, Lent, coloring books, death and resurrection, were finding their place in my thoughts alongside memories of Jessye Norman and Jussi Bjorling singing The Holy City (Jerusalem) and Puccini’s Nessun dorma, respectively, as I drove the ten mile route. All this while I was listening to my favorite doo-wop songs, specifically “Those Oldies But Goodies (Remind Me of You)” by Little Caesar & The Romans.

I love to let my mind wander—free-associate is the psychoanalytic term—and as much as I have a say about when it occurs, I wander often, and in unpredictable directions.

So, that said, stay with me, I’m now meandering but I’ll get there, maybe.

I am caught off guard when the lyric to the first verse of Little Caesar’s song—“Those oldies but goodies reminds me of you…”– triggers my critical side. Didn’t anyone tell him, and the lyricist it should be remind, not reminds—an unforgivable subject-verb agreement error! Even more than poor word choice, or incorrect verb usage, I dislike it when my judgmental self pops into consciousness—“Roger, the Righteous.” So what if the lyrics wouldn’t pass muster in English class! It’s a cool song that reminds, yes, reminds, me of early adolescence—young love and dancing.

Doo-wop was created on inner-city street corners by singers who were more interested in harmonizing and having fun stretching their “instruments” in a capella arrangements than in getting words and phrases “right.”

Snap your fingers, tap your feet, combine sensible lyrics with nonsense syllables while the tenor soars, and the bass mimics the deep ’n low sounds of a double bass.

Listening to doo-wop as a pre-teen I cared about the beat, and loved to lip-sync with all the harmonizing voices—particularly the nonsense syllables sung by the bass. My parents hated the music, and forbade me to listen to it, but (as you might expect) I cleverly found a way around their restriction.

Winter Term students take issue with the criticisms of older generations who judge their uses of new technologies: “You’re losing the ability to converse, make eye-to-eye contact, and you’re disrespectful, rude and discourteous when you stay glued to the screen in the presence of others.” In fact, they claim in their defense, they’re evolving with the new devices in the same way previous generations had when cars, phones, jazz, radio, rock ’n roll, and TV were claimed to threaten and corrupt values and destroy relationships.

I love music and the feelings the artists stir in my soul—The Five Satins, The Platters, Little Caesar, Willie Nelson, Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Vladimir Horowitz, Jessye Norman, Jussi Bjorling, and Itzhak Perlman, to name a few. I’ve imagined Jesus dancing, and perhaps doing so with Mary while the fishermen-disciples snapped their fingers and tapped their feet against the hulls of their beached fishing boats. I can hear them blending their voices in heart-felt harmonies, making up lyrics and nonsense syllables of love and loss during breaks between treks across the sweltering countryside, and barren landscapes while wondering what Jesus will do next—a boggling miracle or threatening confrontation with authorities. Saint Peter might have been the bass, and I can picture Matthew as the tenor. I’m guessing Jesus smiled while Mary Magdalene and Joanna, mother of James, sang incredible backup.

As I reflect on this past January, doo-wop, a dour week (Passion Week) of sadness and loss (albeit with hope in the end—Easter and resurrection is coming!), I’m struck again by how easy it is for me to lose my way in judgment, criticism, and self-righteousness—correcting grammar, judging the use of e-devices, and wanting “things” to be the way I want them to be (Jesus could have done so much more for a needy world if he’d hung around) rather than allowing “things” to be as they are—appreciate the message, try to harmonize, embrace faith and believe in the mysterious. Like the disciples, who at first did not believe that Jesus had risen from the tomb, I doubt and question. At times, and again like those apostles, I think resurrection is nonsense, if not an idle tale.

But, thankfully, the mysterious world is bigger than my finite thinking and flaws. I witness “resurrection” in my practice with frequency. People leave their “tombs” and emerge into light—not easily done, but it occurs, and though I am a reluctant disciple in numerous ways, my faith and belief in humankind, and God deepens with each doubting confrontation.

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