Aliens and Strangers

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It was undoubtedly the most unusual gig I have ever been involved in as a musician. Early on in my career as a cellist for the Phoenix Symphony Orchestra, in order to pad my meager income, I learned to say yes to just about every opportunity for an extra job that came along. Performing for private parties, weddings, churches, and political events became a common occurrence. But this particular job was truly unique. Three other symphony musicians and I, along with two members of a local dance troupe, had developed a program geared toward introducing grade school children to the wonderful world of the performing arts. We had been well received in many local schools and our schedule was rapidly filling up with requests for our program. One such request came from the Bureau of Indian Affairs.

Some brilliant bureaucrat had decided that Arizona's "culturally starving" Native Americans (aside from the fact that they were also physically starving) needed to be exposed to classical music and interpretive dance. It seemed like a ridiculous idea to us but hungry musicians are not in a position to question the sanity of anyone offering a paycheck. Consequently, a few weeks later we found ourselves on an adventure that would take us to what is perhaps the most remote village in the lower 48 states, the community of Supai on the Havasupai Indian Reservation at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

After an early morning car trip that included a two-hour drive over a dusty, deeply rutted, badly weathered dirt road, we reached Hualapai Hilltop, the starting point for our descent into the canyon. The only two ways into this remote area were on foot or by horseback. We chose the latter, although in a few hours I would have given anything for a chance to make another choice. Our Native American guides met us at the top of the canyon with our horses for the journey and a pack of mules to carry our suitcases, sleeping bags, and (gulp) our musical instruments. I watched in horror as these seasoned pack guides strapped my cello to the side of a mule and proceeded on down the narrow, twisting, cliff-hanging trail. Silently I prayed for the safety of my instrument and the sure-footedness of that mule. I learned later that my cello survived the trip in far better shape than I did.

Then it was our turn. Climbing onto our horses in the midst of that desolate wilderness it was easy to imagine ourselves on an Old West adventure. We were cowboys in tennis shoes, pioneers in sunglasses, intrepid explorers in baseball caps on a dangerous quest to seek out new civilizations. It didn't take long, however, for our imaginations to be quelled by our growing (or should I say groin) pain. I soon learned there is only one thing worse than a city-slicker’s rear-end on a long horseback ride. That is when the ride is decidedly downhill and with every step of the horse one’s delicate derriere slides forward into the saddle-horn. I gained an entirely new appreciation for the term "rawhide."

After three hours of riding in the hot sun through jagged rock formations and extreme wilderness, we rounded a bend in the trail and suddenly found ourselves in the Garden of Eden. Lush green trees, multi-colored wildflowers, and a thick carpet of grass lined the trail. Meandering through this paradise was a crystal clear stream of turquoise colored water. It was all stunningly beautiful. I was reminded of the meaning of the name Havasupai, "Blue-Green Water People," and I began to envy those who called this place home.

Later that evening the villagers gathered together in an ancient, rustic meeting house to hear a group of white strangers making strange sounds with their strange music boxes. Our music was politely received but I could tell these people had no comprehension of what we were doing. Classical music could not have been more out of place in that setting. I would have felt totally foolish were it not for our two dancers. They were the hit of the program. Although ballet steps were completely foreign to their culture, these isolated Native Americans understood the art of the dance.

After our program they insisted on showing us their steps. Quickly a pair of drums appeared and two elderly gentlemen began beating a simple pattern. Others began chanting a mournful melody while several children danced together across the wooden floor of their tribal meeting house. We were soon accompanying them by improvising rhythm and notes on our instruments while our two dancers tried, amidst the giggles of delighted children, to pick up on their intricate footwork. It was a magical moment I will never forget. Rhythm and dance had managed to bridge the gap between two cultures. I remember thinking on my way out of the canyon the following day (with my foam rubber mattress pad cushioning the impact between the saddle and my smarting backside), "How could anyone call these people culturally starved?" Indeed, those thought to be impoverished had fed us all!

I have often thought about that unusual gig in recent years while attempting to take the message of the Gospel to a modern culture which, at times, seems to have no comprehension of what we're doing. To be sure, much of what comprises the typical church program seems to be encased within a culture that is completely foreign to many of our neighbors. Sadly it is the church that all too often has become isolated from the surrounding community. When those outside the faith visit us they feel like aliens in a foreign land. Our music, our programs, our buildings, even our language, all of which seems so normal and so comfortable to us, may in fact be alienating us from the very people we are trying to reach. I'm not advocating that the Church adopt a worldly lifestyle, just one that is more culturally relevant. And I'm certainly not saying we should allow the world's sin to infiltrate the Church. In contrast, we need to learn how to more successfully infiltrate the world.

I believe we need to spend less time criticizing the culture that surrounds us and more time trying to connect with it; less time complaining about the evils of our society and more time trying to bridge the gap that separates us from that society; less time insisting that everyone else conforms to our culture and more time trying to understand theirs. Without compromising our message, we need to learn how to dance to their music. "I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some." - 1Cor. 9:22.

I don't mean to be a proverbial “pain in the rear-end” nor do I wish to rub you the wrong way with this. I would, however, remind you that as Christians we are the true "aliens and strangers" in this world and we will never feel entirely at home here (see 1Pe. 1:17, 2:11-12). ...our citizenship is in heaven. - Phil 3:20. But one glorious day, after traveling for many miles through this sin-filled, temptation-laden, spiritually-starving, desolate wilderness called Earth, we will round a bend in the trail and suddenly find ourselves in a lush paradise...across a sea of crystal...in a beautiful Garden of Eden...and we will finally be home.

Until that day, anyone care to dance?