Mitali Perkins

The first is not to fear. God already knows what’s out there, and is creative enough to use it in the divine pursuit of the human soul.

During my high school years, I memorized lyrics by musicians like the Beatles, Cat Stevens, the Who, and of course, the Rolling Stones. Later, while studying overseas in Europe, in the throes of a search for spiritual truth, I visited the site in Moscow where the Czar and his relatives had been brutally murdered. I’d been wrestling with the question of human suffering, but didn’t consider that a diabolical, personal enemy might be playing a significant role behind the scenes.

I wandered through the opulent galleries of the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, replete with art commandeered from the Hitler and the Nazis. Portrait after painting after mural depicted the suffering of Christ. One particular piece caught my eye — a rendition of Jesus agonizing in a garden. Instantly, the words to a Rolling Stones’ song sang through my mind: “I was around when Jesus Christ had his moments of doubt and pain. Killed the Czar and his ministers; Anastasia screamed in vain.” Sympathy for the Devil, the song was titled. 

Suddenly, I was electrified by the possible existence of an evil tempter who delighted in human suffering — and especially in the suffering of one particular Man. While this example may sound trivial in the re-telling, I know that God was powerful enough to use Mick Jagger’s song in my journey of faith. The same can happen with today's music and this generation.

The second lesson is that regular parental companionship is crucial.

When I was about twelve, I was belting out a hit song in the shower: “Having my ba-a-aby. I’m a woman in love and I love what’s going through me. Having my ba-a-aby. What a lovely way to say how much you love me.” Paul Anka’s song was playing non-stop on the radio and the catchy tune engraved the words in my mind.

Leaving the bathroom, I overheard my parents talking (in Bengali, my mother tongue):

“What is this ‘having my baby’ song?”

“Oh my goodness. Do you think she knows about what she is singing?”

Mortified, I realized how the words of the song had sounded to my parents’ ears. I wasn’t having anybody’s baby, for goodness’ sake. Why, then, was I singing about it at the top of my lungs? Thanks to the magic of listening through my parent’s ears, I was confronted with the absurdity of one particular song’s lyrics.

As we accompany our children into the world of music, everybody's hearing is sharpened. Our presence in listening to their generation's music, perhaps even more than our opinions, provides clarity in their process of discernment. This means reading the lyrics on CD jackets, looking them up on the internet, and tuning into their radio station in the car -- even when they're not around. And talking about it.

Music is powerful, as Martin Luther noted:

Senator Obama tapped into those views when he told us earlier in the campaign that there's "no black America and no white America, only the United States of America." Most people my age seemed to like that. But in this recent speech, the Senator told the truth: there are still two ways of viewing history in the past and history in the making.

Photo courtesy of the Munoz Family via Creative Commons The pivotal moment in the speech was when he talked about his grandmother, Madelyn Dunham, pictured above, who is still alive and living in Hawaii:
[She is] a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.