SEARCHING FOR VINYL, FINDING SOUL

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Listen to or read Nicole LaMarche's Sermon that same day

For most of human history, if you wanted to hear something, you had to be right there when it happened. There was no way to record the sound of instruments making music, voices giving speeches, birds calling to each other, the burble of a brook. They existed the moment they were created, and then as their sound waves emanated into the universe, they disappeared, as far as our ears are concerned, forever. But as I described earlier, about 125 years ago that changed when Thomas Edison sang the words to "Mary Had a Little Lamb" through a funnel and imprinted the sound waves on a wax cylinder. And when a needle was placed over that altered piece of wax, the imprinted grooves of the sonic patterns were resurrected, amplified and delivered to the ear exactly as they were laid down in the wax. Magic!

In the 125 years since, we have continued to find new and innovative ways to capture sound, but we long ago got away from any other technology that actually captures that full sound wave. Because of this, I find it easy to feel a little different about vinyl music because it is real in a way that no other recorded music is, and I strongly believe you can hear and feel the difference. Music played from a record is richer and fuller than music played from other devices. People often describe the sound of a record as being a warmer sound, as its truth speaks to the heart of us.

But that is just where the fun begins. What has made me a devotee of vinyl even more than that warmth and the depth of the sound it creates is the process of purchasing records. And it is just that, a process. Unlike the instant gratification of hearing a song and downloading and then owning it a minute later, record collecting takes time. In fact, when I go out to buy records, I don't even know what I am looking for. It is an adventure that must be entered into with a radically open mind, which has been a great spiritual teaching tool for me. Some days I may thumb through hundreds of albums without finding any that I want to buy. Somehow, it still feels like time well spent.

Somewhere along this journey I picked up something more than just great music. Along with all of our great albums I rescued from boxes, bins and back shelves came the realization that so much about our cultural and familial rituals and traditions is getting discarded into the dustbin of history without a whole lot of thought. Amongst the endless rows of forgotten LPs and 45s I also found this uncomfortable truth: that if we want to bring any of what has been good about us in the past forward with us into the future, we need to start getting very intentional about it, because we live in a time of incredible upheaval and change, where traditions are being lost every day.

As relatively new parents trying to figure out what this means for the family we are creating, Nicole and I have been reflecting on what it is about our family traditions we want to bring forward, and what we want to leave behind, so we can be intentional about it. I have discerned that what I want to ensure remains at the heart of our family is symbolized by a sweet little cottage on the coast of Washington State. This beach house has been in our family for several generations, and has provided the space necessary for family to happen. We have gathered in this house: cousins, aunts, uncles, children, parents, grandparents, and great-grand parents. We have slept in the same beds and braved the same frigid ocean. It is a bond that goes back and connects us all and defines us as a family.

Now we suddenly find ourselves at a time when it is not clear how to go forward as a family with this space. To those who live closest it has come to symbolize something different: a burden. Maintaining its old bones and preparing it for another summer invasion of family is hard work that often times falls on too few shoulders; while to others it remains the thread that binds us together, our common touchstone that has allowed family to happen.

What I have had to realize is that whether we keep this place in our family or not, it may be the symbol of what I want to bring into the future, but it is not the truth itself. The truth itself is not a physical object at all, but rather the commitment to making a space for family to happen, a commitment to relationships in an age that makes isolation all too easy.

I think we can all relate to moments like this in our own lives - moments when we have to discern what about our past that we hold on to is real and worth fighting for, and what is just symbolic and we must learn to gently let go of. It is neither fun nor easy; it is real work. And just like my never-ending quest for vinyl, you cannot know where the destination is, but rather must be open to the pull of truth, wherever it takes you.

The song I want to conclude with was written by Neil Young in 1972 and chronicles just such a moment in his life. He had just come into his first big payday as a musician and used a great deal of the proceeds to purchase the now famous Broken Arrow Ranch that he and his wife still live on to this day. It was, as you may imagine, a confusing time for him. After years of toiling in obscurity, fame was suddenly on the doorstep, and along with it a whole new lifestyle.

When Neil and his wife arrived at the new property there was an old couple that lived on the land as caretakers. The man took him for a ride around the property shortly after they arrived. It was clear to Neil that this man was from another time, another generation, and he could feel the chasm of difference between the two of them. But when he sat down to write a song about this moment, instead of focusing on the space between them, he reached back into his own heart to find what it was about them that was the same, what about this man's values he wanted to ensure stayed with him in this new moment of his life. As we listen to Neil Young's "Old Man" I invite you to think about what in your families traditions you wish to bring forward with you as well.

May it be so. Ashe.