It's been a rough few days here in Charlotte with the shooting death of Keith Lamott Scott, a pretty horrific night of protests in the Uptown area with another death the following night, and a third night of thankfully more peaceful protests (with some pretty great stuff like this).  We, like people all over the country, are grieving and hurting and looking for answers.  Knowing how to respond - the faithful, helpful way to respond - is not always easy to discern.

Yesterday morning I was invited to speak about the shooting and protests at AG Middle School here in Charlotte for Bulldog Prayers, an interfaith gathering a half-hour before school.  They told me to hope for 50 folks.  Close to 150 students packed the gymnasium, along with a significant portion of the teaching staff.

Here's what I told them I was trying to do in my own response, and perhaps what they could try themselves as well:

LOOK CLOSELY
Don’t refuse to see what needs to be seen.  It's easy to hide in the busy-ness of our daily lives, and it's easy to turn away when we don't want to see what's there.  Don't let ourselves off the hook.  Look and see, even if what we see is hard to see.

CONFESS OPENLY
Acknowledge the ways in which we've inadvertently or knowingly contributed to some of the brokenness we’re facing.  At this point I told them it wasn't fair for me to ask them to do something I wasn't willing to do myself.  So....

I confessed that, despite my best intentions, I’ve contributed to a reality that inherently places my African-American brothers and sisters at a disadvantage and me at an advantage, for no other reason than the color of our skin.  It's an advantage that means, statistically speaking, someone who looks like me has a better chance of getting into college, getting the good jobs, and not getting arrested.  

I confessed to hearing “Black Lives Matter” and being tempted to think, “But ALL lives matter!”  And in so doing, missing the whole point.  It's not 'Black Lives Matter More.' As my friend David Lamotte says, if someone wants to add a clarifying word, it'd be 'Black Lives Matter Too.'  Which needs to be said.

I also confessed that I tend to take for granted the women and men who serve in law enforcement; that I don’t always appreciate the good work they do and the immense risks they take every day just to do their job; and the good people the vast, vast majority of them are.  

SEEK OUT BOLDLY
Most of us spend our lives surrounded by people who look like we look, think like we think, share the same values we do, and have pretty much the same life experience we do.  If all we ever do is stay entrenched in our own experience, we can’t expect to grow and learn.

So we need to intentionally seek out people who are NOT like us.  If we’re a Christian, have a conversation with someone who is Jewish or Muslim.  If we’re white, have a conversation with a black person, or Asian or another. Talk with them.  Learn from them.  See how their views and values differ from ours, and don’t be afraid or defensive about those differences.  The more we can have those conversations, the better we’ll be.

LISTEN COMPASSIONATELY
When we have these conversations, really listen to what is said.  Hear their story and refrain from passing judgment or making qualifying statements.  Acknowledge their joys and their struggles. Honor and value their perspective, even if we don't necessarily agree with that perspective.  

There's more I could have said - there's certainly more I can do myself - but I only had ten minutes before the school bell rang and they handed out Bojangles biscuits.  Anyway, it's a start; and a start is better than nothing.

What would you have added to the list if you were speaking to them?

#PrayForCharlotte

A little over six years ago, flying home from Austin after spending a week in that rich musical town, I saw a young woman in the seat behind me with a baby in her lap.  In my mind I let a story unfold that I am sure in no way was grounded in truth; but it captivated me so much that, for those two hours in flight, I wrote the lyrics and music for a song that would later become "The Dance."

I was on sabbatical at the time, a music sabbatical; so when I got home I fleshed it out and added it to the repertoire of tunes I took into the studio for the project I was working on called Let Go.  I'd wanted a piano song in the mix, so fellow producer Doug Davis and I made our way to Mitch Easter's studio to lay down the piano track.

It came out exactly as we hoped.  And the "Hey Jude" chorus moment at the end, with my family and a vast assortment of random vocalists na-na-na-ing our way into a lengthy track fade, proved to be one of my most cherished moments in the whole project.  In the various incarnations of the song's history, I like to call this one, The First Dance.

​Fast forward a couple of years.  My musical forays led me into a band, Mediocre Bad Guys, as keyboardist and backing vocals.  Originally pegged as a Jack Johnson cover band (thus the name), we eventually branched out into other covers and later started working on originals.  But we were particular about our originals, because lead singer Les Slate and his solid smooth vocals drove our mojo in a way we weren't willing to deviate from.  Any original tunes had to be tailored to him.

I can't remember if I mentioned it or if fellow bandmate Jerry did, but one way or another we found ourselves at a rehearsal playing through The Dance - albeit a half-step lower and in a quite different style from the piano-based track off my album.  We sped it up and let the guitars sit in the driver's seat.  Changing the essence of a song in such dramatic fashion doesn't always work.  But here, it absolutely did.  The Second Dance became a regular part of our live repertoire and found its way onto our debut album.  It was my only contribution to the project, and I was more than okay with that.

​My move from Mount Airy coincided with a pretty steep decline in music gigs.  Charlotte's music scene is already saturated with area musicians, and most places have a rotation they're comfortable with and therefore are less inclined to take a chance on some new guy who cut his teeth in the Mayberry music scene.  I find myself holding a guitar between the microphone and Bose tower here and there - a neighborhood pool gig, a winery.  Mostly at FABO, a quaint little coffee bar on the south side of town.  

So when I do play, since I don't always know if there's another gig in my future, I try to play The Dance. As a general rule I tend to shy away from originals; most places like these tend to be more cover-friendly. People want to hear songs they know.  But I make an exception for The Dance, like I did last night.  It's kind of a Third Dance, to be honest.  Not a slow piano tune.  Not the up-tempo full band version, either.  Something in between.  

​And every time I play The Dance, I see folks turn their heads a bit, listening a little more attentively to a song they don't know.  Although they seem to know it in a way.  There's a look of familiarity in their faces.  I see heads nodding, feet tapping.  They join in on the na-nas at the end.

And they don't realize it, but they're part of the dance with me.  They've always been.  They're on the plane out of Austin with the woman and the baby.  They're in the recording studio with Mitch Easter and his killer piano.  They're at a Bad Guys rehearsal for a first run-through.  And they're with me in that moment, a moment that won't ever exist again, sacred ground.  

Like the song's bridge says: Everyone's a part of us.