Pilgrim, my youngest son, was once asked on an application for a summer mission trip, “What unreached people group(s) are you concerned about?”
His answer was, “drunks in bars.”
I guess he is on his way, since last night be played bass for two bands performing in a local pub.
I don’t know what the drunks were thinking, but a number of his college friends came to see the show. One problem though. They couldn’t get in, since most of them were less than 21.
So about 10 o’clock we got a call. Would it be ok if he brought his friends home, along with the two bands for a second show, a house concert, from maybe 11 to 1?
Hospitality is a spiritual discipline, I think, and our rather large home has always been “devoted to hospitality.’ It’s the Lord’s house, after all. So about 11 o’clock the house started to fill up.
Pilgrim fed the bands some left over soup, since they hadn’t eaten. And the people who came to hear the music were fixing tea and scrambling eggs. Several thanked me for opening our home. They were nice kids, mostly college kids, staying up too late on a school night.
Seth Martin, from Washington State, had hooked up a group called the Menders, traveling across the Midwest “playing for house concerts, churches and intentional communities,” he said.
I’m not sure you can have community that’s not intentional. But I’m pretty sure you can have community that’s spontaneous. We did.
The other performer, Jeremy Siegrist, leads a band called the Illogical Spoon, all of which had sensibly gone home.
Jeremy, from Jackson, played the guitar and sang, with Pilgrim on the bass. Seth and the Menders (they’ll have to work on that name) had an African drum, a viola, a guitar and a banjo, with Pilgrim along for the ride.
The acoustic folk style was reminiscent of the 60’s, even though I missed the 60s while attending a nonparticipating conservative Baptist college.
But if the music wasn’t from the 60s, I’m pretty sure it was written by or influenced by people who were there. It was a mix of melancholy and mischief, a hint of ironic journeys toward freedom, and in this case, faith.
Throw in a little foksy gospel, some sing along, and a hint of story telling about life on the road and under the shadow of Mount St. Helens, and it had its own charm. Not to mention some really great bass, but I have my biases.
It didn’t really start at 11, of course, and it didn’t really end at 1 either. This morning the band was sleeping around the house, but Seth was up so we sat on the porch and had tea before I went to work.
He’s a preacher’s kid, the oldest of eight. At 27 he still seems to be looking for something, but aren’t we all?
He seemed grounded though. And grateful, at least, for simple gifts, like a shower and a cup of tea.