Neil Peart and Grace

I have a short list of favorite musicians; not necessarily best, because I'm sure there are better musicians in the Classical and Jazz worlds that I'm not familiar with, and whose music I might not appreciate as much; but favorite, because they combine a high level of skill with the ability to make music that moves me deeply.  This list includes Rick Wakeman, Steve Howe, Jon Anderson, Phil Keaggy, Carlos Santana, Jaco Pastorius, Pete Townshend, Robben Ford, Sonny Landreth, Miles Davis, The Edge . . . all right, it's a long list.

And on that list are several drummers; Terry Bozzio, Ringo Starr, Michael Shrieve, Carter Beauford . . . and a gentleman from Canada who, if I were forced to pare my favorite musicians' list to what I thought were the best three or four, I would simply have to include; Neil Peart.

One point  I would like to raise, that there has been a lot of debate about over the years, and I have to admit I do not have the definitive answer for.  It's about the pronunciation of his last name.  Most people I know pronounce it PERt, like the shampoo.  "And for breakfast she makes coffee that tastes like cham . . . poo," as Tom Lehrer once wrote.  Sorry, ehem . . . Anyway, and some people have said PEARt, like the fruit.  But in a radio interview about 1981 or so, during the promotional time for Rush's "Moving Pictures" album, the members of the band pronounced it PEErt, with the long E sound.  I swear to God, that's how I remember it and have always pronounced it myself ever since.  If I ever find out definitively that I'm wrong, I will happily change that, as I have the utmost respect for the man.

I know that, if I ever got the chance to meet him, which is highly unlikely, I would be completely speechless.  Which would probably be fine with him.  He has a reputation for being very shy around strangers, and frankly, I have nothing he needs.  Certainly not my adulation, because he could get that anywhere.  He might be pleased, slightly, to know that I fully intend to purchase the new album when it comes out, which I do.

The point of this is a public letter he recently put on his own blog, the link to which I will place here:

http://guitarsquid.com/newsletter/squidpick/neil-peart-qcant-resist-spilling-a-littleq-about-the-recording-process-behind-rushs-new-album-clockwork-angels/134/

This hooks you up with not only Mr. Peart's page, but also gives you a link to an excellent guitar-oriented site called Guitar Squid.  I get their weekly newsletter, and click on more of its links than from any other newsletter I get.

In the letter he talks about the six months that have passed since his last missive, including details about his life, a recap of his family's Christmas, some background on the upcoming Rush album, and a little discussion of his spiritual beliefs.  He reveals himself, certainly not for the first time, as a Pagan.  He even makes a few mildly snarky remarks about Christianity.

To be honest, this didn't really surprise me.  And, I know that as a friend and/or admirer, I'm not supposed to care what anyone's personal beliefs are.  I should allow the same freedom of choice and expression that I reserve for myself, and this is certainly not unreasonable.  It makes me feel good, in fact, that many of my friends have let me know that they appreciate that I don't shove a bible down their throats, even though everybody knows that I'm a Christian.

That pleases me, because I want everybody to know that I'm a Christian.  But I also want to have friends.  And I am very pleased that I have awesome friends.  I could make a short list - certain to be shorter than my list of favorite musicians - of people who will read this, and I'd bet you're all my personal friends.  I appreciate each of you, respect each of you, and - dare I say it? - love each of you.

And that creates a problem.  Especially considering my age, because I am becoming increasingly aware of my own mortality.  I know that I have fewer days before me than behind.  That in itself is not a problem, because I believe in the immortality of the human soul.  And, I also believe that, as a believer in Jesus Christ, I will spend that immortality with Him.

But what I've learned in twenty-eight years as a Christian includes the knowledge that nobody who's not one will have that privilege.  And that saddens me.  I will miss you who are non-Christians.  And, I will miss Neil Peart.  But that's his choice, and yours, and I won't infringe on it.  No matter how much I might want to, even if I could.  Which I can't.

In a way, I understand Mr. Peart's position.  In his letter he comments on Charlemagne and the invocation of the US's Founding Fathers as examples of Christian hypocrisy, and he makes a good point.  Christians are imperfect, and I have to count myself among them in that as well.  That's one big reason why I'm a Christian; because I want to be a better person.  The only reference Mr. Peart makes to Jesus Himself concerns his agreement with the shortest verse in the bible; Jesus wept.

What I would suggest, to him and to you, is that you not look at Christians, but at Christ.  We Christians are admittedly faulty, flawed, prone to being considerably less than perfect, just like . . . well . . . everybody else.  And I don't believe in Christ because I'm scared to believe in anything else, or because I'm just too stupid.

I'm a Christian because for my first 28 years I looked deeply into the world, life, and as wide a variety of philosophies and religions as I could find.  And by March 14, 1984, it was clear that there was an obvious choice.  And in the 28 years that have followed, I have tried to keep my eyes, ears, and mind open.  And Christ, His Holy Spirit, and His bible, have never left me wanting for a more satisfactory answer.  I looked at all the options and decided of my own free will to hand my entire life over to Jesus Christ.  And I have never, not once, regretted it.  I go to church because I want to.  And if I ever don't want to, I'll stop.

I must admit, I do not know precisely what heaven is.  But I do know where.  It's here, with me, in me, all the time, every day.  It's not some pie-in-the-sky grand prize I'm waiting the rest of my life to see and hope I haven't lost my ticket for.  I'm already there.  There are many times I have felt like I'm looking through a window at the world.  That I'm safe, in a place that can never be breached, safe from all harm, for all time.  Not because I deserve it, or that I've worked hard enough and followed the rules tightly enough to earn it, but because Jesus loves me and gave it to me, expecting nothing in return. 

What I want most of all, for the people I admire, for the people I love, is for you to be in here, too.  The door is open, and there's a window nearby through which you can look in.  What you see will undoubtably be as confusing for you as it was for me when I was looking in from the outside.  That's because in here, we're still human and behave too often like humans.  Watching us for an example instead of Christ would be a big mistake.

Anyway, that's up to you.  You know what I believe, and if you want to know more, just ask. 

Recently a couple of people that I work with, who play off each other like a well-oiled comedy duo, started riffing on Christians and how closed-minded and bigotted "those people" are in general, mostly in regards to something that some politician or other had recently said.  I admit, I got rather heated about it all.  I stepped into the middle of the workroom floor and very loudly stated that I am a Christian.  Then, I asked everybody if that was what they thought I thought.  Because if they all thought that what these two comedians were saying in any way represented me, or any Christian that I personally knew, then they were mistaken.  I didn't jump on them for saying it.  In fact, I reminded everybody that it's a free country, and everybody has the right here to say and believe anything they want.  But if that's what they thought of me, I reserved the right to dispute it.

Not surprisingly, nobody said anything at the time, and we all went back to work.  Over the course of the day, most of the crew came up and  assured me that they didn't believe that of me.  Some of them even made it a point to tell me that they, too, were Christians.  Of the two comedians, one apologized, and one never said a word.

I'm not mad at these two.  In fact, I count them as friends, and one of them may be reading this.  I just wish that they could see what I see, from where I see it.  And the same for Neil Peart.  Because if they let the bad things that Christians have done keep them on that side of the window, that would be a crying shame.