If I were a rockstar

Attendance at band practice was scarce tonight. Several of us opted to skip (hopefully, you won't notice on Sunday) to attend the John Mayer concert, with personal favorite Ben Folds as the opening act.

It was awesome. The talent on that stage was both inspiring and humbling (depressing, actually, if I compare myself musically to either artist, or their bandmates, or the road crew that tests the equipment). Nonetheless, I couldn't help but slip into my usual concert daydream of envisioning myself on stage.

Sometimes I want to be a rockstar. Last night, I really wanted to be a rock star. Sure, the money's good, and it's nice to have thousands of fans—both male and female—screaming over you, but the biggest attraction is connecting with people, and helping them connect to an emotion.

That connection is why we worship through song on Sunday mornings. We can feel a presence, or a sense of belonging, of comfort, of hope (you get the idea). It's powerful. In many ways, in fact, standing on stage at church is similar to standing on stage at the SaveMart Center.

But worship isn't a performance.

I think we forget that sometimes. The band gets caught up in sounding good, and the congregation gets caught up in the quality as well, and we lose focus of the purpose of music, and of the band's role.

Don't get me wrong—a poor performance at a concert doesn't sit well, and a poor performance at church makes it hard for people to connect to God. That's why we practice every week. That's why Weston and others regularly give up hours of their time to practicing and organizing what can so easily be taken for granted (or criticized).

I still have dreams of being a rockstar, but I have to remind myself that I can't force those by standing on stage on Sunday.