We live in a world bent on division. As Americans, we sink -- stuck in the quicksand of dissension where civil discourse cannot exist. Even before the election of November 2016, we seemed to have drawn permanent, inked lines in a bitter concrete jungle.
Since then, we have become more and more concerned with being right than seeking compromise. We seem more focused on political parties and sides than what is best for all of us as a nation.
I have sung with the Turtle Creek Chorale (mostly gay) men’s chorus for nine years. Last month, around 150 of us embarked on our Friendship Tour, coasting out of Dallas on three buses on a Thursday morning, June 21, for Tulsa, Oklahoma; Little Rock, Arkansas; Shreveport, Louisiana; and Tyler, Texas. Our mission, as always, was to share beautiful music and bring joy, but this time, to communities outside of -- and most likely very different from -- our own. More importantly, we hoped to seek compromise and unity with the listeners along the way. Without preaching or criticizing, we sought to build bridges by sharing our songs and stories and perhaps baring our souls in the process.
I have sung with the Turtle Creek Chorale (mostly gay) men’s chorus for nine years. Last month, around 150 of us embarked on our Friendship Tour, coasting out of Dallas on three buses on a Thursday morning, June 21, for Tulsa, Oklahoma; Little Rock, Arkansas; Shreveport, Louisiana; and Tyler, Texas. Our mission, as always, was to share beautiful music and bring joy, but this time, to communities outside of -- and most likely very different from -- our own. More importantly, we hoped to seek compromise and unity with the listeners along the way. Without preaching or criticizing, we sought to build bridges by sharing our songs and stories and perhaps baring our souls in the process.
Something unexpected happened.
We absolutely did those things. We sang our hearts out in four churches over the course of our tour. I am quite certain we brought joy to numerous people in our audience. We probably even changed some lives for the better.
But I was changed, too.
One portion of the tour changed my life profoundly. We had the option of going to sing at Central High School in Little Rock. We were told we would literally get on the buses, go to the campus, sing one song, and be on our way, so I contemplated skipping this portion of the tour to rest or sight see, but I ended up going. From the moment the buses pulled up to the front of Central High School, the school attended by the Little Rock 9 at the height of desegregation in the late 1950s, I knew this was sacred ground. The building stood boldly, proudly, and beautifully as we silently and reverently exited the buses. We sang Gilpin’s “Why We Sing” on those hallowed steps, and we welcomed those nine pioneers into our fold. Two people wandered upon the scene and listened, but we sang for the Little Rock Nine. If eight of them weren’t still living, I could swear each of their ghosts sang with us. We absolutely sang on their strong shoulders.
After we finished, we took some time to wander around the grounds, viewing monuments and just taking it all in. As I quietly walked towards the bus, admiring the towering trees in that historic neighborhood, my friend Kevin Hodges said, “Can you imagine if these trees could talk? What they’ve seen?” I could have sworn I heard them whisper. Trees speak truths if you stop and listen.
The rest of the tour bred an abundance of profound moments. Every audience reflected humanity back at us as we sang day after day and night after night for four days.
We built bridges with our words, stories, and melodies, but the audiences met us in the middle of those bridges. They applauded, smiled, and cried. Many of them stood when we sang “Stand Up.” When we sang the African-American National Anthem, “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” African-American audience members stood tall and proud. Almost all of our venues filled to bursting throughout the tour.
One of the most meaningful moments for me occurred at our least attended performance at Centenary College in Shreveport. An older gentleman, seated in the second or third row, appeared fairly solemn throughout the concert. He maintained a stoic expression throughout. I should have been watching our conductor, Sean Baugh, throughout the concert, but I digress.
I noticed from the first note of Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence” that he perked up and sang or mouthed every word. I don’t mean he mouthed a few words. He was in sync with us, the Turtle Creek Chorale from Dallas, Texas, for every syllable. That is what music does. It brings people from different places, figuratively and literally, together. Some lines in that song seem especially resonant and relevant to the climate we live in today. “People talking without speaking...people hearing without listening…” The moment shared between that man in the audience and the rest of us on stage and in that building was the most important kind of bridge made of holy humanity.
I was privileged to share one of my favorite Brené Brown passages at one point in the Friendship Tour concert from her book Braving the Wilderness. It explains how the power of music brings people together:
Music, like all art, gives pain and our most wrenching emotions voice,
language, and form, so it can be recognized and shared… The world
feels high lonesome and heartbroken to me right now. We’ve sorted
ourselves into factions based on our politics and ideology… But
rather than coming together and sharing our experiences through
song and story, we’re screaming at one another from further and
further away… Spirituality is recognizing and celebrating that we
are all inextricably connected to each other by a power greater
than all of us, and that our connection to that power and to one
another is grounded in love and compassion (44-45).
That’s what music did for us on this tour. It brought us all closer together, within our own choral community, our local communities, and to the communities beyond our comfort zones. We thought we went on this tour to build bridges to bring strangers into our fold. We discovered they were not only willing to come hear our songs and stories; they were willing to build bridges to meet us in the middle. I hope we can find a way to do that in all of our daily lives before it’s too late. The middle place holds a truth, a peaceful calm, and a spirit that goes beyond sides and you and me. I long for a day we can all meet there and make music together.
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References
Brown, Brené. Braving the Wilderness: the Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone. Vermilion, 2017.
Simon, Paul. “The Sound of Silence.” Columbia Records, 1964.
