The Church of David Stringer

Friday night I went for the third time to see David Stringer perform Kirtan at Maya Yoga Studio in the Crossroads. The first time I saw Stringer perform, several years ago, I didn’t know what to expect. I’d seen a flyer advertising the performance and was intrigued enough to attend. I couldn’t find anyone to go with me who didn’t think it sounded weird, so I went alone.

The dark room was filled with people sitting cross-legged on blankets and pillows. Twinkling Christmas lights dotted the exposed beams of the old warehouse space giving it a magical feeling. The performers, 4 or 5 of them, sat on blankets at the front of the room with various instruments – guitars, a tamboura, hand drums, finger cymbals, shakers and David’s harmonium – arranged around them.

The next hour and a half was spent chanting Sanskrit mantras to beautiful melodies in a form of call and response. David Stringer and his musicians called out the melodies (the mantras were projected overhead) and we, the audience, responded in kind.

I had expected to watch the performance, and was instead pleasantly surprised to find myself a part of the performance. The distinction between the performers and the audience quickly dissolved and instead we all became musicians, offering up the most beautiful music together.

I only vaguely understood the meaning of the mantras we chanted, but the intensity and purity of the energy in the room was palpable and I found myself deeply moved by the experience. Spontaneously I found myself lifting my face and palms upward in deference to the great mystery and wonder of life. My palms tingled with electricity. I felt intoxicatingly joyful and at the same time, profoundly at peace.

Incidentally, I get the creeps when I see people do this “lifting their hands to the Lord” thing at church. (I’ve often imagined the pandemonium that would ensue if I could drop a small mouse in someone’s outstretched palm - but I digress.) Yet here I was doing essentially the same thing – and feeling good about it. I remember thinking this was as close to the feeling of what I thought “church” should feel like for me as anything I had experienced.

So, on Friday, I attended the “Church of David Stringer” again, for the 3rd time in as many years. I’ve gotten to know a few other faithfuls and even know a few “hymns” by heart now. I also made an offering this time, but it turns out I got a CD in return, so it didn’t really count.

If I could go every Sunday, I would.