Revival

It’s eight o’clock on a Friday.
The out-of-town crowd shuffles in.
There’s an old friend sitting next to me
waiting for the show to begin.
 
She says, “I hope he plays me some memories,
something I’m sure how it goes,
the sad and the sweet that I knew complete
when I wore a younger girl’s clothes.”
                                                              
Then he says, “I’ve got nothing new to play for you,”
and the crowd whistles and cheers with delight.
We agree it is sweet that we know them complete
‘cause that’s what we came for tonight.
 
It’s a pretty good crowd for a Friday
and every face young and old has a smile
because it is he that we came here to see
to forget about life for a while.
 
He sings us his songs our piano man.
He sings us his songs all night,
and we’re all in the mood for his melodies.
It is time for some things to feel right.
 
The atmosphere is a carnival
as the crowd slowly sips on its beers,
and we sit in the stands and clap with our hands,
and say, “Man it is good to be here!”
 
And then, just like that, it is over.
We wait for Brother Joel to return.
And he steps on the stage with an encore arranged,
and he plays ‘til a new day is earned.

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​On the eve of 9/11/2021, the 20th anniversary of the attack on the World Trade Center, I attended a revival.  Our tent was the Great American Ballpark on the banks of the Ohio River.  Take me to the water!
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The leader of this traveling salvation show was not a preacher.  He was a musical storyteller, a piano man.  We arrived to the event weary and worried, pulling ourselves from the rubble of a global pandemic and reminders of the life-shattering events of 9/11.  Then the Piano Man stepped onto the stage.  He put his hands on the baby grand, and we were all born again.
 
He rocked us awake from our COVID sleep and out of our painful 9/11 nightmares.  His old songs became our medicine, pain relief in a time capsule, taking us back to simpler days and better places:  high school dances and college dorms, first concerts and first loves, songs on the road and songs in the shower, the ages of vinyl, cassette, and CD. There was joy and happiness, togetherness and hope.  In a crowd of thousands, each person sang from the same page in a shared and familiar songbook.  Bass or soprano, alto or tenor, it didn’t matter.  There was harmony.
 
The Piano Man delivered the sermon in lyrics as familiar and reassuring as old psalms.  By the time the night was over, we were all converts.  Rising from the ashes of our sorrows, we found that we could survive the burns. Hallelujah! 
 
On the eighth day, after some rest, God said, "Let there be music."  And there was.  He sent us a piano man.  'Cause even God's in the mood for a melody.  He wants us feelin' all right.