Ragged Nights

 January 11, 2024

Last night, I went out on the town to listen to a local band play. They were older musicians, vocally past their prime, but doing their best to entertain a small crowd of about 25 people who listened appreciatively and clapped appropriately. But as I looked around, no one seemed to be particularly happy. Many of them knew the words to the songs, many of which were forlorn love songs, but for the most part, they sat expressionless, sipping their beer as the band played on. They reminded me of Simon and Garfunkel’s song “The Boxer,” with all the poorer quarters where the ragged people go.

This morning, I woke up feeling rather empty. I was having a hard time getting my head and heart into our Thursday morning prayer hour until I reflected upon last night and thought, “My worst day is better than their best day.” I know that may be an exaggeration, but I don’t think it is by much. I hear better music played every Sunday by people who are passionate about leading worship. The only one who has played professionally was our drummer; everyone else sings and plays because they love music and they love the Lord. 

It doesn’t take a very observant look around to see folks struggling with life. People have been abused, neglected, betrayed, riddled by sickness, reeling from their own or other people’s bad choices. Even if for only a couple hours, they find relief and escape in the music and the beer. I saw that clearly this morning, and have to ask myself if I have been impatient or judgmental towards those who haven’t been blessed as I have been. Jesus didn’t chastise people for having dirty feet; he washed them. So must I.