Friday night Linda and I attended the Beach Boys concert at Chautauqua. It was a great concert, given the fact that there are only a couple of the originals left with the group. I was disappointed that Al Jardin was not with them, but the music was the same as I remember from fifty years ago. Yep, it's been that long. They played a few songs I didn't know, but had the crowd on their feet for "Surfin' USA," "Barbara Ann," "Help Me, Rhonda," and "Kokomo," among others. There was a minimum of banter and a maximum of music as they moved seamlessly from one song to another, with a level of musicianship that was expected of a band of their renown. It was a memorable evening. In more than one way.
We had center seats in the third row (my choice so I could actually see what they were doing instrumentally), right behind a row of guys decked out in hawaiian shirts and Beach Boys baseball caps. They were unmistakably ready to rock. As was a somewhat stocky fellow in the front row sporting khaki shorts, hawaiian shirt, a mullet, and a very attractive younger girl friend.
It only took a couple songs before the fun began. After opening with "Good Vibrations" (or perhaps it was one of their other really upbeat songs), they soon moved into a slower set, at which time Mr. Mullet jumped up, grabbed his girlfriend, and began to dance as close to the front of the stage as he could get. This went on repeatedly, and not only with the slow songs. It was pretty obvious he was attention-seeking, and initially it bothered me that someone would try to grab the spotlight and spoil the view for the people behind him who paid dearly for those down front seats.
My initial irritation dissipated after a few songs as I began to take stock of things in the light of the Gospel. Pastor Joe touched on the core of the issue in this morning's sermon in his reading of Ephesians 4:26-27. "In your anger do not sin": Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold." Anger often reveals more about the angry person than about the recipient of the anger, and in this case, it revealed a judgmental spirit in me. I began to wonder what this man's life was like, why he felt he needed to show off, what were his insecurities, hurts, disappointments. Before the concert was over, I was actually happy that he enjoyed himself; it may have been the only respite from an otherwise futile existence. His antics no longer bothered me, but became the occasion for my prayers for him. Behavior which could have spoiled the evening was robbed of its power when I chose to bless instead of curse him.
Too often I've watched people give others control over them by their refusal to forgive. Someone does some real or imagined hurt, and long after the offense, the recipient continues to relive the incident, giving the perpetrator a continual presence and power over them as they fret and stew, forfeiting the joy of life that could otherwise be theirs. Last night God gave me the opportunity to practice my preaching, and I am grateful for this unnamed Mr. Mullet who was the unwitting teacher.
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