The Mother Church of Country Music

Beth and me on stage at The RYMAN AUDITORIUM!

The Ryman Auditorium – or as we call it down here “The Mother Church of Country Music” and ancestral home to the Grand Ol’ Opry.

What was once begun as a hellfire and damnation church to preach against the evils of a society in decay has grown to become an icon of the music that defines a region, a people and a way of life.

Though the right reverend and traveling evangelist Sam Jones had hoped the tabernacle built in 1892 would serve as a Nashville point of salvation, it became something greater in the hearts of those who were served and saved by not only the gospel but the music of the country in which it was born and raised. Intended to be the Union Gospel Tabernacle built for Sam Jones by the newly converted riverboat Captain Thomas G. Ryman, it grew and even expanded during an 1897 Confederate Reunion to add an expansive balcony to the original theatre in the round design to accommodate the crowd that had come to honor the soldiers who fought in the “Late, Great Unpleasantness”.

Years of use and then eventual neglect created changes to the now (thankfully!) restored and stately old building. The theatre in the round is no more. Country music and WSM radio changed the face of the Ryman from a gospel shouter’s paradise and into a mother church of the music that defined a segment of the population. Country music, bluegrass, homespun comedy and an environment where kids, adults and the aged could all come and join in the fun and rich emotion that drives home the lyrics of each song crooned into the microphone of the Grand Ol’ Opry.

Growing up listening to all kinds of music, I remember many times listening to the songs coming from the radio broadcasts of WSM in Nashville. They played the current, the old and the favorite gospel songs that were like mother’s milk to the ears of people needing to feel like someone else shared their cares, their woes, their load and lot in life. From the hallowed and almost reverent stage of the Ryman, those broadcasts shared with the eager ears emotion for emotion.

Gaining not only a reputation for the music of the people, but also for the voraciously sought worldwide acts and productions that brought culture to the masses, the Ryman was quick to be compared to the boards of the famed theaters in Damnyankee country and was even tagged as being “the Carnegie Hall of the South”.

Lines to attend the productions and live radio shows surrounded the block as hunger for more than the day to day filled the souls of people who were enriched by the music and the emotion of the Ryman. It was indeed a version of life’s blood to all those who entered the hallowed halls and sat reverentially on the worn pews that created the audience portion of the theatre and balcony.

Even now, you can feel that presence of being in a Tabernacle, one that has the acoustics second only to that OTHER famed Tabernacle in Salt Lake City, Utah. Both have stories that only the past can tell and both have futures that are, even now, unfolding before our very eyes and ears.

Visiting the Ryman was not what I was expecting. Frankly, I don’t know what I was expecting. Theatre, church, or both… who knows? I admit to being deeply awed, amazed and thrilled to know that where I was walking had graced the presence of “Country Royalty” past and present. I couldn’t stop smiling! Displays of the lives of the voices that I have heard on my radio filled the atmosphere with a heady presence of the living embodiement of what it is to 'be country'.

Walking from display to display to read about the people that inhabit the country world, I was singing along with Johnny Cash word for word and feeling the songs as if I had lived it.

Then, came the coup de grace!

Beth and I had the opportunity to ascend to the very stage and to the microphone stand that countless performers of Opry legend had occupied! It felt almost sacriligious. How could I possibly be counted worthy to step into the place where my musical heroes had once inhabited? It was a heady sensation. The photo op was just that… a chance to be immortalized in print as ‘being at the Ryman’.

Then, came the unexpected. Oh, joy! The photographer said "there's a couple of guitars up there, if you know how to play 'em". I picked one up and strummed a bit and picked out a quick giblet of a song. He laughed and said "Well, I guess you CAN play!"

The photographer then asked if we sang. Beth, who lied through her teeth, pointed to me and said, “I don’t, but she does”. Beth sings. I have heard her sing at lots of country concerts. I’ve also heard her scream herself hoarse at them, but I digress.

Chicken-hearted I am not, so I belted out a few lines of what felt was appropriate. I sang “Precious Lord”. It was, after all, a Tabernacle turned icon. Overwhelmed by both the atmosphere and the reality of where I was standing, I choked up a bit and just took it all in. My Grandpa Mitchell had been the bass in the old Athens Quartet and sung for recordings and radio broadcasts from back in the day when the Opry was just a regional suggestion. I hope he saw his granddaughter on the stage at the Ryman singing a tidbit of a gospel song. I think it would have made him smile.

When I talked to Kari about it later, she was jealous. I laughed. I WANTED her to be jealous. I want to go back and slip into the recording booth there at the Ryman with my sisters and record a gospel song in harmonies to give to Daddy. A record we’ll make at the Ryman.

I like to think that will honor both the Tabernacle that is the Mother Church of Country Music, and the Grandfather known as “Singin’ Sam”, the man who’s heart was filled with country music and gospel fervor whom we never really knew.

The Ryman – part auditorium, part church, all country.

Thanks, Beth! This was a road trip I will NEVER forget. I don’t think I will ever be the same.

Honk if You Love Jesus

The bumper stickers used to cover cars everywhere like butter on biscuits. "Honk if you love Jesus!"

Even as a child, I wondered about that. My folks raised me thinking that raucous public displays about God and Jesus weren't exactly kosher. Being reverent in church didn't often include honking the car horn on the Chrysler Imperial.

Nor did we honk our love for the Savior along the road.

Which brings me to another odd moment in life.

When did it become okay to begin honking your horn to urge the car ahead of you into the path of danger because you are too impatient to wait your turn when it is safe? That doesn't sound very much like an "I love Jesus" moment.

While sitting in the LEFT TURN LANE this evening heading to bring home some Chinese food Rick wanted, a dude in a jacked up truck waited precisely the giblet of a nanosecond when the light turned green to begin honking his horn.

I do not have a 'Honk if You Love Jesus!' bumper sticker, airbrush art design or magnetic sign ANYWHERE on the truck I was driving. So, I assume his honking had nothing to do with love.

And most assuredly, he didn't love me one iota.

He was URGING me forward by horn and by gesture which is know as "a Hawaiian hello", flipping someone off, "giving the bird", the middle finger salute, and other less savory names. I am quite certain that had I heeded his ill-timed and ill-advised suggestion and been rendered into a gooey pavement pizza, this gentle soul would have done nothing to ease my suffering, but rather, whipped around me to get to the tobacco shack or whatever else he was rushing to do that was more important than my life.

Drivers have grown colder by the year. Of late, the 'me first, last and always' mentality seems to have trickled down to the tricycle set. Impatience outweighs the need for safety.

That can't possibly show love for Jesus. He wasn't impatient with anyone.

I have a really hard time invisioning the Master of us all sitting in traffic and impatiently jabbing the horn in a rhythmic tattoo of audiological violence that incites others to acrimonious behavior.

There is no way He would offer someone a vulgar gesture or in any way make another driver feel as if they were unworthy of their lane on the highway.

Yet, our cars, which often bear everything from bumper stickers to tiny figurines of patron saints and plastic decals of fish to remind us that we are alleged to be Christians and thus followers of Jesus Christ, play host to our nasty fully mortal behaviors.

If we really love Jesus, can we cut a gap for the stressed lady trying to squeeze into the impossibly long line three lanes of traffic compelled to merge into a single lane while dodging barrels and construction workers?

Instead of honking our love while we drive, can we leave the maniac behind the wheel at home and practice a little Good Samaritan in our actions?

I'm certain that the horn is helpful, like a gentle toot of the horn to let someone know they are backing out into traffic or when someone is a friend of yours and you accompany it with a friendly wave that includes your entire hand and not just one finger of it?

Being honked at for not anticipating the change of lights that signals the opening of a new lane in the autobahn of Alabama just makes me feel scared. If I'm not quick enough to urge my car into motion, will they just whip out a gun and shoot me next? I'm relatively certain that would slow me down even more and probably make a big nasty mess of the moo goo gai pan.

There are lots of nice people on the road. We just don't hear about them in glowing terms because we simply take their behavior and Christ-like driving for granted.

It's the behind the wheel demons that worry me. They masquerade as a believer in the bumper stickers and decals adorning their car, but drive like a member of the Devil's own when they think they aren't making enough progress on the roadways however they choose to define that feeling.

Maybe it really is time to refine how we honk our horns. The first cars didn't even HAVE a horn. While I'm not sure that would be prudent, shouldn't there be some basic instructions about when it is safe and appropriate to honk?

Certainly, some harried driver's ed teacher has mentioned that jack-rabbit driving is just an accident waiting to happen and that the car's horn isn't to be used as a weapon? Oh, that's right, we weren't listening right then because that cutie pie in the second row was looking right at us with their baby blues or chocolate browns or whatever. We thought the car horn was a cute attention getter.

Little did we know it was a way to show impatience, aggravation, anger, malice and lack of care.

Honk if you love Jesus, indeed.

All I know is that the people who use their horns to bully other drivers into actions that are not safe should be confined to a room filled with flatulence and no air holes.

But that probably isn't very Christlike either.

Oh well.

Guess I need to find me a bumper sticker for my own car, but it needs to go on the inside to remind me, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Things You Shouldn't Do

Often, the experience comes before the wisdom in my life as I am not too keen on learning from the mistakes of others.

Sometimes, sheer stupidity is the only explanation for the messes and predicaments I find myself in... and sadly, I have no one else upon which to heap the blame. Dang it!

Lessons I have learned about things you shouldn't do... I pass this on because I care.

* Don't go out in your bathrobe on a windy day. Really. No matter how quick you think you will be in retrieving the newspaper, putting out the trash or turning on the sprinklers, you will be offering a free burlesque review to your entire neighborhood.

* Resist the temptation to open your bathroom window and sing in the shower. Sound apparently travels further when you are naked and wet. Makes for interesting conversation at the next neighborhood block party. Not all of it good.

* Avoid hugging the garbage man, no matter how thankful you are that they held up the truck route so you could lug your cans to the road. (This didn't actually happen to me... but to someone I know really well and can use this for blackmail material for all eternity! Muuuahahahahahahahahaha!)

* Refrain from singing out too boldly in an unfamiliar congregation. While you may know the hymn really well and can harmonize to beat the band, they may not be bold singers at their church and they WILL turn around to see who in the heck didn't get the memo regarding actually singing loud praises during the meeting. They might even give you the 'saved for visitors evil eye'.

* Talk to yourself in public. It just doesn't look good... or sane. Of course, now that blue tooth devices have allowed EVERYONE to look like a babbling fool with no connection to reality, that isn't such a big deal anymore. People now have no idea if you are a technologically advanced being or just a regular, garden variety blithering idiot. Either way you can get away with it for a little while unless you start screaming things like "WHY CAN'T YOU PEOPLE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE" in a crowded line at Piggly Wiggly. That tends to send the nice men who bring you "special jewelry" to your checkout line.

* Talk on your cell phone in the bathroom stall of a public restroom. I'll confess, I've done this before. Think what you will, but with a handicapped child, you answer a phone call from the school ANYWHERE. I can sanitize the phone later. Unfortunately, this can backfire on you if some idiot in the next stall thinks you are talking TO THEM. Awkward! Scary consequences might happen...and you'd better hope that if you wind up making a 'date' with the person one toilet over, that they are at least good looking!

* Eat fruit in the grocery store before you purchase, take home and wash it thoroughly. Not only is that theft, but some goobery kid with a snotty nose has handled every single grape, tangerine, and bag of store brand trail mix in the ziplock bags... and now, you are consuming.... nevermind.  Eeeeeeew!

* Tell everyone you know how to dance. The 'funky monkey' may have been a big hit back in the day, but it isn't a big hit now. Sure, when the music is playing and you feel it down to your disco shoes and rainbow striped toe-socks, you want to boogie. But trust me,  unless you REALLY know basic ballroom, go to the punch bowl instead. It's safer and less likely to result in a broken hip when you bust a move that will bust you.

This isn't a comprehensive listing, and I'm open to suggestions on more items on what not to do. The reality of our lives is that we are mostly driven by "To Do" lists and pages of "What Not To Do".

If I had them all figured out, I probably wouldn't be blogging. I wouldn't have anything to write about...