So I recently came across this outtake from the documentary, in which Derrida talks about how his fears regarding writing show up. This has a particular and even poignant relevance for theologians, who in a “religious” country like the United States bear a particular burden for telling what should count as the truth about Christianity. And, I might add, it has a particular relevance for Catholic theologians, given the frequent attempted governance of academic theological identity that has too many Catholic theologians “dying young,” as I wrote in an earlier post.

I think that no Catholic theologian doesn’t have this thought. But I also think that no Catholic theologian should unnecessarily avoid having this thought.

Tom Beaudoin

Hastings-on-Hudson, New York, United States

Here is a video of the blessing of the bikes this year that I found on YouTube. (Sorry, no credit is given for whomever filmed it — but thank you.)

My first thought was of the medieval European feasts, described well recently in Charles Taylor’s A Secular Age, in which cultural permission is given for a specified amount of time for the normal social-religious rules to be inverted. (This is also the association that Rev. Rachel Mann recently made to metal concerts.) This came to mind due to the display of socially transgressive behavior in the midst of a routinized religious space. (Although one difference from the medieval feasts would be the seeming lack of explicitly irreligious or antireligious sending up.) As Sayare reports, “Many came to pray, many to carouse, a surprising number to do both.”

As an event at which two open-air masses are held, and holy water is sprinkled on rumbling Harleys on a weekend featuring the musical sensibilities of AC/DC and a tendency toward body modification and robust partying, Sayare also links to this French bishops’ conference report about the festival, which is a tantalizing indication of its recognition by Catholic officialdom.

The presiding (and self-described) “biker-priest,” Jean-Francois Audrain, is quoted as saying something quite subtle: “No one should leave here without having gotten what he really wanted out of it.” I take such a statement as at once a pastorally wise spaciousness about the multiple motivations for attending such an event, and at the same time a theological claim about worthy desires presenting themselves precisely in those multiple motivations, desires known or unknown to the bikers themselves, but not separate from what the bikers really want. It reminds me of the important motif in Ignatius Loyola’s Spiritual Exercises, regarding the courage to ask God for what one desires. According to some interpretations of this aspect of the Exercises, what one “really wants” spiritually is precisely what should leave one unsatisfied until one has experienced “having gotten” it. I think that in this story there are analogies to rock scenes and their theological investigation.

Tom Beaudoin

Hastings-on-Hudson, New York

Yet despite the discursive tilt toward reading this as something of a “lifestyle” piece, or simply as further evidence of the decline of the Church of England and its clergy, it sounds like Rev. Mann has got some deeper ideas at work.

She speaks of a “liberative theology of darkness” in metal, and the value of confronting nihilism, as well as “death, violence, and destruction.” This very thematic is part of what makes the metal scene, she says, so accepting of others. This is not cheap stuff being put forward. Paul Tillich, among other modern theologians, famously urged theology to take seriously the destructive and disturbing as rendered in art, testifying to the complex depths of human alienation and searching, which (as I read him, especially in the works on theology and culture) are propaedeutic for any meaningful theological talk of salvation or healing in modernity. Marcella Althaus-Reid argued that the desire to fence off “obscenities” from being given theological attention was the effect of a more truly obscene theology, one that wanted people to divide their lives up into acceptable and shameful behaviors before they could take their own spiritual inventories of their own “queerness.” Rev. Mann seems to be moving theologically in these waters.

But other parts of the admittedly very short report seem less helpful. There is the note about metal musicians and fans “play-acting” their criticisms of religion or their vivid negations. As if these gestures are at best momentary masks, and at worst, bad faith in metal culture. They don’t really mean it, after all. What if at least some metal musicians and fans do really mean it? I think that’s where the important theological explorations lie, and where Rev. Mann’s more theologically interesting comments lead. And her comments about Christianity needing to learn from metal strike me as unlikely to garner much serious consideration amidst the people she presumes wants to hear her perspective. I wonder if it might be more fruitful to simply experiment in talking theologically about metal (and metalishly about theology) without trying to persuade Christians that they should learn from it. This approach would not be a retreat into indifference but rather justice as confidence in the long-term ability of truth to persuade, a truth not yet known fully by anyone in the conversation.

Tom Beaudoin

Hastings-on-Hudson, New York

When human rights theory first emerged amid the French Revolution and the Enlightenment, the Catholic Church viewed it with suspicion. Seen as promoting secular notions of individual freedom and self-interest, the Church resisted human rights language/concepts until the papacy of Leo XIII (1878-1903). Eventually, the Church came to embrace human rights language. One of my favorite papal encyclicals is Pacem in Terris (Peace on Earth). Written in 1963 by Pope John XXIII, Pacem was influenced by the UN’s Declaration of Human Rights issued in 1948. The encyclical contains a list of human rights considered to be the most complete and systematic found in the modern Catholic tradition and include: religious rights; economic rights; political rights; and the right to food, clothing, shelter and health care (nos. 11-27). Pacem defines human dignity in terms of these rights by arguing that human dignity is fully interrelated with all political, social and economic structures of society. Hence, governments and institutions must assure that these structures are organized in such a way that they promote and protect human rights.

One of the more interesting rights mentioned in Pacem is found under the section titled “Rights Pertaining to Moral and Cultural Values.” Here, paragraph 12 states that everyone “has the right to respect for his person, to his good reputation; the right to freedom in searching for truth and in expressing and communicating his opinions, and in pursuit of art, within the limits laid down by the moral order and the common good.” I’ve never done any research on the history or connotation of this paragraph. Obviously the phrase “within the limits laid down by the moral order and the common good” places some restrictions on artistic expression and is open to interpretation. Nonetheless, the fact that the pursuit of art is recognized as a right at all is quite progressive for an institution that often drowns in a sea of reactionary views.

There is a human rights activist in New York City named Austin Dacey who takes freedom of expression and the right to pursue art very seriously. He started a foundation called Impossible Music which gives a voice to musicians who cannot perform freely in their native lands. Describing the Foundation as “a world-wide underground railroad for musicians,” Dacey looks for musicians from around the world who have been muted by their governments. Then he finds American counterparts to perform their work and puts on live shows so the music can be heard. Sometimes the persecuted bands can even watch the performances and participate via the Internet. Here is a video about an Iranian band called Plastic Wave who met each other when they were arrested near Tehran in 2007 at an illegal rock concert.

Next Dacey worked with a rap group in Guinea-Bissau named Baloberos Crew. In 2009 they recorded a song called “Seven Minutes of Truth” which attacked the president and corruption in their country. After recording the song, the members of the group were arrested, detained for several days and had their lives threatened. Dacey found New Jersey rapper, Hasan Salaam, to perform Baloberos Crew’s song.

By providing a voice for these muted musicians, Austin Dacey not only gets their music heard but also sheds light on repressive regimes who continue to desecrate human dignity. Hopefully, his “underground railroad for musicians” will not only provide a community of support for these silenced artists but will also help bring down authoritarian governments around the world who suppress human rights.

Mary McDonough

Below is a video of a group called the Red Hot Chilli Pipers who describe themselves as “bagpipers who rock.” They performed last Friday at the Milwaukee Irish Festival. According to people who attended the concert, they dedicated this song to the memory of Bill Millin.

Mary McDonough

Perhaps it’s my Catholic upbringing but I’ve always associated pilgrimages with religion. Until a few days ago. That’s when I heard about “Elvis Week.” This past August 16th was the 33rd anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley. While I appreciate the contribution Elvis made to music, I’ve never understood the fervor surrounding his legacy. Regardless, for the past 29 years thousands of people have gathered in Memphis during the anniversary of his death for what is called “Elvis Week.” This year 40,000 people attended and participated in an array of activities including tours of Graceland, panel discussions on Elvis’s contribution to American music and culture, an Elvis impersonator contest (no, I’m not making this up) and, on the final evening, a vigil just outside the gates of Graceland where 20,000 fans stood in 100 degree heat holding candles.

One journalist described Elvis Week as a “pilgrimage of fans to Graceland.” The use of the word pilgrimage threw me. Like I said earlier, I assumed pilgrimages were journeys to religious places. So I started thinking. What is a pilgrimage? Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary defines it as “a journey to a shrine or other sacred place” (emphasis added). Here again we encounter that difficult to define word: sacred. At R&T we often grapple with notions about the sacred and the profane in our attempts to understand the relationship between rock music and theology. If you think about Elvis Week, you can envision a community of people, passionate about the same thing (Elvis), gathering peacefully at a place symbolic of that passion to perform certain harmless rituals. Perhaps there is some kind of holiness within those simple circumstances. And while I’m not sure if I would even visit Graceland if I ever went to Memphis, I have found the presence of God in diverse groups of people, gatherings, spaces and songs.

Thinking about Graceland reminded me of one of my favorite Eric Clapton songs, “Presence of the Lord.” I was surprised to read in his autobiography that he wrote the song about a place, a house he eventually purchased in the English countryside called Hurtwood Edge. Clapton recalls that when he first entered the house he “had the most incredible feeling of coming home.” The hook of the song goes: “I have finally found a way to live like I never could before. I have finally found a way to live in the presence of the Lord.”

Maybe we’re all looking for that sacred place where we feel like we’re truly home. Where we’re loved and at peace. Perhaps that’s where we experience the Presence of the Lord. It might occur in a building like a house, church, mosque or synagogue. Maybe at a gathering of friends, family or fans. Possibly in the lyrics or melody of a song. For some, it may require a pilgrimage. Even if it is to Graceland.

Mary McDonough

As a 12 year-old Staples was the lead singer of the Staples Singers, an influential band led by her father. During the ‘60s, they became voices for the Civil Rights movement. In 1999, they were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Another interesting part of the story is that Staples has spent the last year and a half working with Wilco frontman Jeff Tweedy. He produced her new CD, You Are Not Alone, and also wrote the title track which is about keeping one’s faith.

When asked by a reporter about how she felt about playing Lollapalooza, Staples quoted her father who always reminded her that: “You’re singing God’s music. You be sincere. What comes from the heart reaches the heart.” Never straying far from her spiritual roots, even when she sings music that isn’t literally gospel, Staples still sounds as if she’s testifying directly to you.

Mary McDonough