distentus et districtus

On Tuesday night my former guitar teacher gave a concert at Columbia College. As much as I enjoy hearing him play, and as much good as it does me, I haven’t gotten to go to many of his concerts in the past couple years because I always have something conflicting. Tuesday was no different. I knew about the concert, but had a meeting I had to go to. At lunch, several of my students asked if I was going, “Hey Dr. Rod, you’re going to the concert tonight, right?”
Back in the day, it was like pulling teeth to get my students to attend concerts. They didn’t even listen to music. If this is really what you’re all about, then why aren’t you all about it? It baffled me. Now I’ve got students who devour concerts, and I’m too busy to go. It all made me think of some wisdom that this very teacher dropped on me less than a month ago.
The context is that going to concerts is not the only thing I don’t have time to do anymore. I don’t have time to give them either. A couple years ago, I was gigging a few times a week, playing on concerts at least once a semester, etc. All of a sudden, all that grinds to a halt.
I think I’ve noticed a couple results long before I noticed their cause. First, my students seem to be less focused and inspired. The least bit of life pressure and their instrument is the first thing that is neglected, despite the fact that it is their major and should be at the top of their priority list. I was talking about this with a friend when it occurred to me that this semester was the first time in several years that I didn’t perform in a formal context where they “came out” to hear me play seriously and with other performers involved. I began to remember encouraging comments my students made after those performances, and how they seemed to be inspired in new ways. I think my failure to perform outside our context has had an adverse effect on the progress of my students. This realization seemed to be affirmed in the wisdom drop I mentioned above. The wisdom was this, and I quote, “Rod, over the years, I’ve found that if I am true to myself artistically, my students always benefit.”
There is a profound irony in the knowledge that my busyness and distraction is indirectly caused by the very same people from whom I’m being distracted. I have to advise them academically, and otherwise interact in myriad official capacities as a part of my responsibilities in being in a position to be a part of their lives. But when it all comes down, my main responsibility to them is the very thing I’m distracted from and too busy to develop. So when my students were pressuring me to get to that concert, I’ll say it had some clout.
Seems I remember a couple of sisters who were visited by Jesus. One of them busied herself making sure everything was just right, the house was clean, the food was ready, and every other detail, all for the sake of her visitor. The other neglected all to spend time with her visitor. Seems he’d come to hang with them, not to do a house inspection.
It seems to be the norm that we begin with something to offer someone. In going about creating circumstances for this giving to take place, we neglect our own source for whatever it is that we’re to give. We’re just brokers. Middlemen. We don’t manufacture this stuff. If I don’t have a supplier, I’ve got nothing to give. Soon we’re so busy minding the store that we’ve got nothing to offer the customer.
That wisdom/encouragement/challenge was very important for me to hear right now. I am easily depleted. I must constantly refuel. I can’t give what I don’t have or teach what I don’t know. Of course, this is true of the very essence of my make-up, my wiring, my intense introversion. Unless I’m refueled, I’ve got absolutely nothing for you. I can’t refuel myself, so my intense need for solitude drives me to fellowship with the one who can refuel me. I am never alone in solitude, nor do I wish to be. Solitude is a temporary escape from giving and a move toward welcomed receiving.