Forgiveness and Communal Music
I jam with a circle of musicians regularly. It’s the highlight of my week. There’s a core group that has played together for years, but the circle is open—others can join us and sometimes do. It’s a beautiful fluid community event. I count on it for spiritual sustenance.
Between songs we converse about whatever is on our minds. Sometimes it’s politics. More often it’s famous song writers and performers. But we openly share a certain credo about living in harmony with other people, no matter their skin color, country of origin, or any other factoid that makes an individual a target for the brand of disdain streaming from our nation’s capital these days
But at our last gathering, I found an ugly streak of judgment in my own soul. And I’m struggling to cleanse my attitude.
A person we all knew to one degree or another, but who doesn’t play with us regularly, stopped in. A person who adamantly, openly, and proudly supported the election of our current president. One of our regulars invited the visitor to bring in an instrument and join the circle, declaring that differing politics have no bearing on our music-making. That was the healthy and appropriate course. My thought process was less charitable, although I kept it to myself.
Prior to the election, I regarded folks donning MAGA gear with perplexity, and generally concluded they had missed the lessons meant to teach reasoning, and how to seek out reliable sources of news and facts. I sometimes even felt sorry for them because they could be so easily misled by the mistruths that had become prominent in cyberspace: Lies— like the majority of immigrants being druggies and rapists who eat neighbors’ pets. Clearly ridiculous!
But sitting in that music circle, I realized my perplexity and sympathy had recently morphed into anger—fury at those who foolishly elected a man who projects hatred instead of leadership. Who yanks people from their families, without warning or due process, to send them to foreign prisons. A man who fires workers willy nilly, upends world economics, and plays games with the social safety nets any good democracy should have in place. People once dwelling in peace now live in angst, and I’m angry at those who aided and abetted the institution of these inhumane policies.
I was taken aback—at myself.
I don’t want to emanate anger any more than I want it emanating from Washington D.C. It’s infectious.
Years ago, I played in New Mexico music circles. One of my fellow musicians there wrote and sang a powerful song about a mother who forgave her son’s murderer. The chorus asked, “Would you do the same? Could you do the same?” It challenged the listener to ponder the real meaning of “forgiveness.”
I am pondering it now. I haven’t lost a child, but I sense our democracy being snuffed out. Can I forgive the people who—whether knowingly or unwittingly—brought uncertainty, and even terror, to the country I love? While it’s my civic duty to hold our nation’s leaders to the letter of the law, it’s not my duty to hold fellow citizens in contempt.
It’s not that these folks seek my forgiveness. In fact, they might find my unease comical, if they have any feelings about me one way or another. But if I can’t expel this bitterness, I become part of the problem. Anger and hatred are what got us into this mess.
I must remember that what I really want is one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
Maybe communal music is one way to get there.