Learning To Read The Room (1 of 8)

Having been a music engineer and producer for many years, take it from me, the process is much more than simply recording the music. There’s agreeing upon the arrangements and performances, settling on and managing a budget, and hiring and directing the musicians – every part contributing to the desired vision of the project. So I end up wearing three hats – I’m an administrator, a music conductor, and a psychotherapist.

The need for musical expertise seems obvious enough. The management of time, people, and money isn’t really that surprising, given the type of undertaking such a project requires. But what is often over looked is the need to cultivate and maintain the creative process of all of the artists involved who will be leaving their fingerprints on the end result. Artistic talent doesn’t simply get flipped on like a switch of a machine, it needs to be entreated to find its voice within the dynamic arch of the music.

So I learned early on, the importance of tuning into the emotional state of everyone involved. I had to learn to read the room. The more I focused on the objectives of the project, the more I ran the risk of leaving behind those who I had asked to join me in the process. So sometimes, I needed to be willing to put on hold those objectives in order to assure that everyone was making the trip together. Because making music, making art, is first and foremost, a very human enterprise. After all, music that is evocative, that moves us, in a very real way, is an expression of our deep longing for transcendent beauty and significance.

It has likely already occurred to you that my point here has little to do with music production, and more to do with our need to be mindful of how we might tune into those around us. Because it’s not enough to find our own path within God’s purposes, our path must include others, challenging and encouraging them on their path. The temptation is to view these opportunities as teaching moments—as if imparting some great wisdom were the point. Yes, the temptation is to think giving someone good advice is what they need – when what they actually need most is our presences in their life.

We experience Christ as incarnate, not as a conceptual ideal, or a proposition about heaven. He isn’t an academically insulated spiritual teacher, as if removed from our real world experiences — rather, he makes his dwelling among us, so that he might be with us . . . and us with him. When you read the Gospels it’s plain that Jesus knew how to the read the room. Because his desire to enter our room, in the first place, was evident — he left no doubt that he valued being with us . . . not as an opportunity to change our thinking, but because he knew that just being in his presence would change us.

In music there is a melody line and various harmonies moving together along the meter of the song. So think of Jesus as the melody, inviting us to sing our part – where the beauty of the music rises far above the smallness of our individual lives. It is a song of gratitude and rejoicing. It is an endless symphony, ageless and unencumbered, floating free of the cages of our isolation. It is an ancient song our hearts have always known . . . we just need to be in the room together, inviting one another to remember how it goes.

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This is an Advent song I wrote with my old friend Mo Leverett a few years back