I have a friend. One of those rare treasures of a friend with whom you can seamlessly jump from topics of faith to home repairs to literature to Radiohead all in one dinner. At one particular dinner, in between our small kids falling off chairs they shouldn’t be on and sneaking scoops of ice cream with their bare hands, Radiohead came up. Between the four of us (myself and wife, him and his wife), we shared a collective moment of exasperation and agreed that what we really need and deserve is a quiet life, one that runs smoothly if planned out just right. A life whose chores and tasks and responsibilities don’t look like the National Debt Clock in New York City, continuously adding upon the trillions already there. Almost as if we could enter into a bargain that said: we’ll tamper down any ambitions and dreams for a quiet little corner, where the problems are minimal, the highs aren’t that high and the lows aren’t that low. “No alarms and no surprises,” my friend said, quoting the lullaby-like Radiohead gem, “No Surprises,” from OK Computer. My millennial archives had been opened, and I thought, “Yes, is that really so bad?”
Indie Rock and the Needs of the Heart
I’m a sucker for indie rock. There was a window from 2003-2008 where a much cooler roommate introduced me to a great collection of indie rock because he saw I liked Modest Mouse and the Pixies. I was hooked, and that was about as close as I ever got to being cool. Too much time analyzing indie rock lyrics can make one roll his eyes, but little snippets here and there can reflect the wisdom of modern pagans. It can be surprisingly honest about the modern human experience. But it falls short: sometimes cleverly cynical, sometimes placating itself in the good things of the world, or sometimes just content to be resting in its own melancholy. These can sometimes be stops along the way in understanding the longings of one’s own heart. But the honest man knows none of these stops will ever be enough.
Radiohead’s “No Surprises” presents a snapshot of a particular moment in a life; one that expresses that this life is not enough. In fact, it can be suffocating with “a heart filled up like a landfill.” The closing lines sardonically point to the great modern hope: “Such a pretty house / And such a pretty garden.” Is that it? As lovely as that sounds, it can’t be it. A pleasant life in a pleasant house can’t be what the heart has been searching for all this time.
The Way, the Truth, and the Life
Christ knows the offerings of this life are not enough to fulfill the heart. They were not enough 2000 years ago. They are not enough now. He’s clear enough about what fulfills the heart: “I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly” (John 10:10). All those melancholic indie rockers are right in one sense, this life can feel disappointing, to say the least. But even the absolute best of songs are like a sketch of a masterpiece with no color or like an exquisite feast presented raw. It’s missing the life. Without Jesus, everything is cut off from the origin, the meaning, the purpose.
The Light of the World
T.S. Eliot understands this well and explores it beautifully in his poem Choruses from the Rock. There’s not so much a five-step plan to let Christ give you life abundantly, as there is simply living with him, a presence that illuminates our lives and everything in it. The difference becomes apparent, like trying to see in the dark versus the daylight.
The visible reminder of Invisible Light.
You have seen the house built, you have seen it adorned
By one who came in the night, it is now dedicated to GOD .
It is now a visible church, one more light set on a hill
In a world confused and dark and disturbed by portents of fear.
And what shall we say of the future? Is one church all we can build?
Or shall the Visible Church go on to conquer the World?
[…]
We thank Thee for the lights that we have kindled,
The light of altar and of sanctuary;
Small lights of those who meditate at midnight
And lights directed through the coloured panes of windows
And light reflected from the polished stone,
The gilded carven wood, the coloured fresco.
Our gaze is submarine, our eyes look upward
And see the light that fractures through unquiet water.
We see the light but see not whence it comes.
O Light Invisible, we glorify Thee!
In our rhythm of earthly life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.
We are children quickly tired: children who are up in the night and fall asleep as the rocket is fired; and the day is long for work or play.
We tire of distraction or concentration, we sleep and are glad to sleep,
Controlled by the rhythm of blood and the day and the night and the seasons.
And we must extinguish the candle, put out the light and relight it;
Forever must quench, forever relight the flame.
Therefore we thank Thee for our little light, that is dappled with shadow.
We thank Thee who hast moved us to building, to finding, to forming at the ends of our fingers and beams of our eyes.
And when we have built an altar to the Invisible Light, we may set thereon the little lights for which our bodily vision is made.
And we thank Thee that darkness reminds us of light.
O Light Invisible, we give Thee thanks for Thy great glory!
It’s not that the heart longs for nothing to do, our chores to be wiped clean with no alarms and no surprises. It wants something more through all those experiences. A presence that gives life, another person that gives meaning. If I’m tired of feeling around in the dark, merely sitting in the dark isn’t all that much better. Neither is what I actually want. I want light. I want Christ.
The Heart’s Home
None of this is a case for or against indie rock in all its fading glory. Casiotone for the Painfully Alone and Frog Eyes are hard sells. I’m certainly not arguing that indie rock is modern man’s precursor to Christianity. Though, when I have those rare moments to myself listening to, say, Bonnie “Prince” Billy invoking some Gospel wisdom, I find that there are joys and angst and sorrows I can share in and appreciate. But after turning it off, I thank God that my heart has found its home in Him.
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