An Evening at the Ryman

Editing note: This post was actually written on the 16th of December, before promptly getting lost in a small black hole of drafts and portions of blogs. I'm posting it now, because after rereading it and beating it into shape a little bit, I found that I actually liked it. So, here it is.

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The neon lights on Broadway and 5th reflected on the wet streets, as we pulled up beside the building many affectionately call the Mother Church - the Ryman Auditorium. We get our tickets and wander into the venue, trying to find our seats. After some awkward, anticipatory chatter - a crucial part of any concert - the lights dim and Andrew Peterson comes onstage. He thanks us for coming as a large handful of musicians file out on the stage behind him and silently take their seats. One of them happened to be my reason for travelling hours on a rainy Monday night to be here.

  Sometimes irony is cruel, in a slightly ridiculous way that you can only laugh at. I could see every musician sitting up there, except for a man in a fedora, who was blocked by a music stand. Normally it would have been fine, but that fedora-wearer happened to be Jon Foreman, and I was suddenly unwilling to put up with any shenanigans the Ryman had to pull. So after a couple songs, I moved to an empty seat, whose owner had conveniently failed to show up. 

  Andrew introduced the guests one by one and they each came up and played a song or two. There's nothing like an audience devoted to the musician, and the people of Nashville have an enormous appreciation for the art of music. They aren't shy or rude, and it was truly wonderful to see the warm welcome they gave to each artist, well-known or otherwise. I was taken completely unawares by the presence of Caleb Chapman, frontman of one of my favorite bands, Colony House, who's got a powerhouse of a voice packed into a budding twenty-something indie rocker. It was an eclectic mix of Nashville's homegrown, alongside music-makers from other scenes.

  Jon stepped up to the mike last of all, and asked the crowd, "I think what we need is a waltz, right?" The crowd laughed and he waited. "The answer is... yes!" Then he started into Only Hope, the very first Switchfoot song I fell in love with. The strings and piano sections behind him made it feel like the song had been pulled straight out of the record and was now echoing off the old walls. When he finished, he tuned his Taylor a bit and started into Your Love Is Strong, a favorite from one of his solo EPs. Another guitarist played along with him and Caleb backed rhythms on his electric.

  Moments, unironically, last for only a moment. It's strange to think that future we anticipate becomes further in the past every second we live. Jon finished his song and the crowd dissipated for intermission. And if the evening had ended there it would have been worth it.

  As we all settled into our seats again, Andrew started It Is Well With My Soul, singing softly. The audience joined in, and he stepped away from the mike as the sound of two thousand people singing in perfect melodies filled the air. The notes lingered as he sang a song written about and completed in the Ryman, and we listened once more. Then he and the band started playing through the Behold the Lamb of God record, guests reappearing on the stage one by one as the songs began. By the end, they all stood together, singing the last chorus of The Theme of My Song. They bowed together, and the concert was over.

  We waited in the lobby to see if any of the artists would come out, but the ushers started asking everyone to exit, and we reluctantly left. Outside in the cold, my dad gave the valet our ticket, and we waited by the door for our car. At that point the musicians did start coming out, on their way to their respective cars and homes.
 I waited aimlessly, attempting to not get my hopes up, but lo and behold, through the door comes this normal looking guy, guitar case in one hand, keys in the other. I looked at my dad and mouthed, "Get your camera!" and made a beeline for Jon.
 "Hi!" Oh my gosh, my voice is three octaves higher.  
  "Hey!" He smiled and I wrung his hand, keys and all. "Y'all enjoy the show?" I assured him that yes we did, absolutely. "I mean, the Ryman, right?"
  We chatted for a minute, and then I asked him if I could get a picture. "Yeah, let me just call my in-laws real quick." he replied. He put down the guitar and started dialing away at the speed of a dozen turtles, like any adult, and I stood somewhat awkwardly while he told the person on the other side of the line that he was on his way home. He hung up and someone else approached him and began talking. I thought, Oh no! I didn't just lose my chance, did I? But as soon as the fan left, he turned to me. "You wanted a picture, right?" We took a quick photo, and I thanked him and he moved on as someone else quickly struck up a conversation.
  My dad was scrolling through his phone with a confused expression on his face. "It's not here. All the other pictures I just took are on here, except for that one."
  "What?!"
  "Hang on, we'll take it again." He walked up to Jon and explained, and Jon came over again.
  "We did that on purpose." I laughed, as we took the picture for the second time. As I shook his hand, there was so much I wanted to say. I wanted to thank him for the humility that permeates his music and his philosophy. I wanted to tell him that Hello Hurricane had been getting me through the last four months of getting out of bed bleary-eyed, and that Restless will be my anthem until the day I die. I wanted to ask about the upcoming EPs and the next record they were working on as a band. I wanted to know what he thought of Francis Shaeffer and Shaeffer's opinion on Soren Kierkegaard, to talk about how hard music is to create and to play.
  I said, "Thank you."
  He said, "Have a good night."
  And the valet came and took us to our car.
  Jon shouted "Merry Christmas!" to the small crowd still hanging around the entrance, and walked himself out to a little white rental, which he piled his things into and drove away. I watched him go, and seldom has the feeling of surrealism been so strong. I knew, in that moment, that it very well might never come again. That whether or not he would remember, a very real connection had been made between a San Diego songwriter and a girl who wanted to survive in the same meaningful way.

  There is acceptance to be found in moving on from events you can neither change nor re-experience. I treasure this memory, tinged with the regret that time will warp it into something it was not, that perhaps it already has. It didn't change the way I listen to his songs, the way some of them fill me with a higher longing for something I can't yet perceive. But I am so thankful for this good moment in my past. Life can be too full of bad ones. Perhaps the joy is lost from life not through its absence, but by the fact that it is so often ignored. I am thankful for Jon. I am thankful for his kindness and his genuine love for his fellow man. I am thankful for a character which permitted me to tell my dad, "No, he's not a star. He's just a guy." I'm thankful for the struggles in his life that have allowed him to create such deep and meaningful art, and I am thankful, as strange and as hard as it is to say it - for my own struggles. I will look back on my life and find that it has held meaning. This is a truth I wake up to, and this is the truth I will live my life trying to affirm. I am thankful for Jesus, the reason for this evening and my existence in the first place.

~Margaret