Finding worship in concerts

Headbanging and spiritual connection

Published at June 14, 2022±15 minute read3403 words

Genesis

I was Christian for most of my life.

Unlike most Christians I know, who only happen to be inside a church for baby baptisms, which are cute, or marriages, which are boring, I was a full church-every-Sunday goer — with extra Thursday nights and some Saturdays, depending on the month. More than that, I was not only into church, I was a church musician.

I'd be there before every worship day, practicing the songs we'd play. Then, during service, we — me (keyboards), dad (electric guitar), my brother (drums), sometimes a very close friend (bass), and the preacher's daughters (vocals) — would steer the public's emotions with our playing.

Exodus

Alas, the fateful day finally arrived. I was finally touched by the light of doubt and gladly unfound Jesus, getting free from the shackles of dogma and liturgy. God Junior and I are not close friends anymore, but I don't dislike him. We're... acquaintances. I'd help to fix his computer, for sure, but I wouldn't lend him money. A colleague, at most.

Amongst trauma and fear, the church provided me with many good things. For instance, I'm still working hard to find a place with such a sense of community, unity, and communion that's not wrapped in religious thinking.

This is a strong word, communion; keep it in your mind.

The church is meant to give you this feeling that you are part of a whole — be it the body of Christ or a part of the group, the Christians. The former is nice to be in, feeling like you are meant to be there, not just to be, but to act. Be an essential finger, a functioning organ, or a relevant skin stretch.

Of course, there are the obvious appendixes, those that are part of without any good reason, or the small pieces of tumors that mess things up more than help, but those are also eligible for god's love.

For instance: specifically in my case, as an evangelical Christian from Brazil (those who know, will know), being converted gave you a free pass into any church and its workings. Let us say I got to this new church, and when the service ended, someone came to say hello to me (sometimes they do this out of the blue) and ask me who I am, where I'm from, and simple (kinda intrusive) questions. If I said I was already Christian, looking for a new community, or visiting from another, probably I'd get a smile and an "oh fellow soldier of Christ, you should come to our [insert theme] special worship on Thursday".

If I said I was not Christian, they would be more careful, and cautious, as I'd be flagging myself as a potential new convertee. I met Christians that saw this as some quota, a target to reach before going to heaven, like if there was some special prize for those who converted more (please, god, if you exist, let there be no prize, just for fun).

So, there was community.

Communion, on the other hand, means something else, which the church had in abundance. And even though I'm being (maybe too much) sarcastic about Christianity, this is crucial. Communion is awesome.

Being at a place knowing you profess the same (or close enough) faith as everyone in that room gives an unparallel feeling of safety. We are together, feeling whatever we're meant to feel, without fear or shame of what goes on in our minds at that time. Listening to the preacher say his words, praying together in a high voice, or, especially, during musical worship.

That's what I want to talk about: I fucking miss musical worship.

Leviticus

I did not like being in the church band. I was not too fond of it in some parts of my life. But, seeing those churchgoers smile when I played this specific chord at the start of a song, hearing them sing in unison, and the claps at the end — not for us, but for the whole idea of god being there with us — was moving. It made me feel not like an appendix, but a liver, a kidney, a high-traffic artery. I was an integral part of the body of Christ, doing my best to participate in communion.

After worship, compliments and praises were rejected. "No, I didn't play that well today; it's all for god. No, you shouldn't thank me for praise, but god". I need to take this to therapy urgently; I might've found a source for some trauma here.

Being this close to communion, not only as a participant but as a supplier, made me... hooked on it. I never stopped being part of the church that way. As soon as I got to other kinds of churches, large or small, my brother and I would quickly be siphoned into The Work. Not only regular church work — I've been a kids' teacher, a musician, a preacher for teenagers — but any work.

I configured an electronic projection system, typed every song we had into a computer, and set up the software in order for everyone to see the lyrics and sing along during worship. I helped set up and tear down weekend camps (something my mother loved to do), cleaned the church building after some special service, and more than once played a part in church theatrical performances.

In plays, I've been Jesus, Satan, a Samaritan, and other parts I can't remember anymore. Communion was part of my life, and I donated myself to it. Of course, I had a personal life, but the church was always a place of respite and refuge. I met my first girlfriend (and the second) at church — and we were a full Christian couple, even celibate.

I was — for 13 years — a frequent participant in summer and winter 1-week camps, something not at all Brazilian culture.

Psalms

I've been to two concerts since I came to Germany. Both were niche bands, important for a small group of people because of their exquisite characteristics. At the venues, while the bands performed their works of art, the public stood up and chanted the lyrics. They accompanied the singer with their voices and the instruments with their gestures. At the chorus, people made fists or signs with their hands and pointed them at the stage. Some of them had their flat palms up, singing the words with their eyes closed, almost like this was... worship.

Like in church, the fans were moved by the music and felt connected to what was being sung, sharing for a moment the experience of being together with fellow worshippers — I mean, fans.

The first of these concerts was by Ghost, a band known for their catholic satire and songs that look like hard-rock worship music but for the devil.

One of my favorite music videos from them is a faithful version of Christian recruitment material.

We're hiding here inside a dream,

and all our doubts are now destroyed

The guidance of the morning stars

will lead the way into the void

He is,

He is the shining and the light without whom I cannot see

And he is,

insurrection, he is spite, he's the force that made me be

He is, Nostro dis pater, nostr' alma mater

He Is - Ghost

As the whole concert had a spiritual theme, it was hard for me to notice how close that was to actual church worship. The closeness to the real thing clouded my judgment, so I needed clarification on what I wished to describe here.

Also, it's hard to have the proper critical judgment in a concert where zombie Pope comes out of a coffin and does a saxophone solo, right?

A month after Ghost's concert, I went to Prague to watch another favorite band: Tool.

And there, yes, I could feel it and say out loud: concerts are Worship, with a capital W.

I, as an ex-Christian, can say with confidence that the Holy Ghost was there with us. Maybe not the "Holy" you believe in, nor the kind of "Ghost" you are thinking of. But some energy was definitely moving us all, worshippers, fans, and the public.

I'm focusing on more than just rock and metal bands. I'm sure a Beyonce or Rihanna concert is also Worship. Maybe worship of the people they are — strong women with money and respected opinions — or the ideas they share with their songs — freedom, power, independence.

Get enough LGBTQIA+ friends, and you'll understand Lady Gaga is some goddess, yes. That's definitely Worship.

My experiences in these two recent concerts showed me how much I missed church worship and how concerts could supply me with this energy I was missing. Seeing a stadium stand up and sing, with full voice, the chorus of Tool's Pneuma, was... well, I could say indescribable, but hundreds of words describe it, right?

Reach out and beyond

Wake up, remember

We are born of one breath, one word

We are all one spark, eyes full of wonder

Pneuma - Tool

That's a fucking worship song, man. C'mon.

Slipknot calls their fans maggots, which I always thought stupid until now. Understanding this relationship between gospel and secular music, how the concert ambiance is a replacement of sorts for my lack of religious worship moment, makes me put the pieces together and get the whole point of the maggots thing. I don't mind being a maggot as long as I'm in a crowd of maggots, singing the hymn of our rebellion, the words of our emancipation of the traditional, and the celebration of our worship.

We fight 'til no one can fight us

We live and no one can stop us

We pull when we're pushed too far

And the advantage is the bottom line is

We never had to fight in the first place

We only had to spit back at their face

We won't walk alone any longer

What doesn't kill us, only makes us stronger

Pulse of the Maggots - Slipknot

Ecclesiastes

My whole point in this lengthier article than I planned is that concerts ARE worship, and they are even a way for me to reconnect with god — whatever you want to call it.

A Christian artist I still like very much, João Alexandre, used to sing some non-christian songs in his concerts. He'd sing Gilberto Gil or Caetano Veloso and tell people: "if this isn't praise, I don't know what is." He'd sing Moraes & Jobim's Garota de Ipanema in a weird (but efficient) and say: "look the beauty of God's creation."

Even if the Christian god is not there, there's a Holy Ghost floating through every mass of headbangers, the horn-sign-wielding mass of long-haired dudes and leather-clad dudettes. The Holy Ghost also cheers when the bass dropsand fills our spirit with joy when the solo comes. It makes the makeup stay on, gives energy to the dancers, and turns sweat into smiles.

The crowd singing together that particular part of the song that helped them go through a bad patch in life, even if in completely different circumstances, then bursting into tears after shouting the words out loud...

Well, if this is not praise, I don't know what is.