
Two forms of music exist: euphony and dissonance. The latter comprises man’s realm, untamed and wild to the point of inexplicable wars, apartheid, My Lai’s, and Madoff-esque avarice. Then there the sweet symphony rings, melting away the human for a pure note. This is the David’s chord, but not only his. Minor fifths, major sevenths, subdominant, Sonatas, Beethoven and Saint-Saens- the musical masterpiece from life transcends the living.
A guitar strums “Your Love is Deeper.” I sing along, transfixed by the chorus of combined passion and exhilaration. When “Grace Falls Down”, my eyes follow the brick, hammering nails to Jesus’ bloody hands. In the Churchen Powerhouse, logic often falls prey to legend.
But fidelity to religion fades in context, as faith holds no monopoly on music’s magic. Artists, musicians, and artist-musicians profess the therapeutic mysteries of marcato beats. The mantra of music remains especially effective on commercials (Five-Dollar-Footlong, anyone?). Now the heralds of angels have converted song to fit their own machinations. Piety, devoutness, the connection with Lord Almighty become readily apparent in the spirit-shaking tune.
Somehow, the empyrean soundstuff proselytize, with impact. Laced among the songs un-punitive morals reminiscent of the Ten Commandments complement the black and white of keyboards, the silver of guitars. Beyond the din is “eschew greed” or “value the family” (the commandments exclude mention of how to treat non-believers).
To call me a Christian or Catholic remains inherently inaccurate. I do not adopt the morals, rulings, and, bluntly, restrictions of either denomination. If anything, the existence of God may possibly only be verified in music- formless, beautiful, divine to the ears.







