It's Time to Rock the House!

Please note that I hope to not offend anyone with this blog.


OK, call me old fashioned or whatever you like, but when it come to Christmas I like tradition. I like a live tree, an oven roasted turkey, gifts that are wrapped not bagged, and traditional carols. My very favorite Christmas song is Oh, Holy Night - which when properly sung can easily move me to tears. And if sung perfectly, I am completely reduced to a sobbing, sniffling public spectacle.


But on occasion one must do something at the request of a friend that is out of one’s own personal comfort zone. This was the case in my life recently when I agreed to visit a friend’s church to hear her sing in the choir during their Christmas concert.


I was fully aware that the church she attends has contemporary services. Not that there is anything wrong with that. In fact, when it comes to religion I am pretty much a “whatever floats your boat” kind of girl. But on a purely personal level, I prefer traditional worship services.


However she is a friend and I wanted to be supportive, so I agreed to go. And I was prepared for the concert to be a little different. At least I thought I was prepared.


When I arrived an overly friendly girl at the door handed me a program. On the cover was a photo of a young girl who appeared to be screaming into a microphone. I am not exaggerating here. Her nose was all wrinkled up, her eyes squeezed shut, and her mouth wide open. Her expression reminded me of Janis Joplin. The words above the photo read, “It’s Time to Rock the House!”


I began to wonder just what I had gotten myself into.


The concert started with a candlelight processional to a song called Let There Be Light. I know that was the title because this song was longer than the album version of Hey Jude and repeated the same lyrics over and over. 'Let there be light, let there be light, let there be light,…….'


I was seriously temped to get up and locate the light switch.


I squirmed in my seat and looked at those around me. And bless their hearts, they were singing along. (Like I would have been if they had been singing Hey Jude.) I told myself to stop being overly critical and to try to enjoy the evening.


But seriously, it was not going to happen.


They had one performance that was very much like Christmas at the Grand Ole Opry. Toe tapping, knee slapping, where’s my fiddle stuff. Followed by another that could easily be compared to Christmas in Vegas with a bad Elvis impersonator.


I was longing to hear something traditional but was ready to settle for something familiar. And I was already checking my watch. Twenty minutes had gone by. Only twenty minutes.


And that is when the interpretive dancer took the stage. Followed by a jazzed up version of Little Drummer boy which included a stomp style group performance complete with garbage can drumming and lids as cymbals. I am really squirming by that point. Little Drummer Boy is a children’s song. Where are the children?


I repeat my mantra - and add a new spin. Stop being overly critical. Try to enjoy the evening. At least they are not singing “Oh Holy Night” and ruining that for me.


Up next was another dance performance with a group of girls dancing to Jingle Bells. All I could think of was SNL’s Sweeny Sisters. “Bells? Bells! Bells! Clang, clang went the trolley, ding, ding, ding went the bells…” I bit a hole in my lip to keep from laughing.


More mantra. Stop. Enjoy. At least….


Then it happened. The unthinkable. The indescribable. The unforgivable.


Two groups of girls entered from opposite sides of the stage. Dressed all in black. Doing a slinky, slow, aggressive, suggestive walk that looked like choreography straight out of West Side Story. Snapping their fingers in time to the music I couldn’t recognize. They starting this mournful humming which sounded like a funeral dirge. Then one girl began to sing…


“Oh, holy night, the stars are brightly shining…..”


I made myself a couple promises right then and there.


1. Next year, I will “have a previously scheduled engagement that I can‘t gracefully get out of” on the night of the Christmas concert at my friend’s church.


2. That I will go to a traditional Christmas service this Sunday and overwrite the sector of my mental hard-drive which contains the file labeled “It’s Time to Rock the House!”


And I will end by saying that I hope you are celebrating the holidays in the way you find most meaningful!