This interview was originally printed in Cornerstone Magazine. If I have violated any copyright laws, then I offer my sincerest apologies...


Exploring the Inside Ghetto
Linford Detweiler and Karin Bergquist of Over the Rhine


Karin:
The most literal song I've ever written is Poughkeepsie which is on GOOD DOG BAD DOG The Home Recordings. Writing a song is often an expression of where I am and where I've been. Poughkeepsie came out of a real state of depression a few years ago. We had been travelling through upstate New York in the late Fall. The trees were on fire with colour everywhere. We crossed the Hudson River on a massive bridge, and on the bridge was a sign with a "suicide hotline" number. This image went deep into me and as Christmas approached it recalled some scenes from a favorite movie of mine, "It's a Wonderful Life." I think the song speaks to anyone who has seriously contemplated giving up, escaping, getting out. Writing the song was part of a process for me personally that gave me clearer perspective on my own struggle.

I got a letter from a teenage girl whose teacher had played Poughkeepsie for her high-school class. (The class had been discussing suicide.) It as a beautiful letter talking about what all teenagers struggle with: Confusion about their young bodies, their young minds, finding their place, accepting themselves. Their emotions are in an uproar and they have all this stimuli coming at them. Something will crumble and it can all feel overwhelming. This particular girl had asked for a copy of Poughkeepsie to take home and the song helped her to reconsider what she had been contemplating. It kindled some new hope. The letter was a wonderful reward.

I was raised without a father. My parents split when I was three and I didn't know my dad for twenty years. There were bad experiences between him and my mom and I had been praying for many years, promising myself and God that if I could just find him I would forgive everything. I wouldn't hold a grudge. I just wanted to know my father. I kept my promise. Eventually, we did meet in San Francisco while Over the Rhine was on tour, and there was great acceptance. A lot of healing.

I was able to forgive him for what needed to be forgiven and we started anew. He didn't have to embrace me but he did. We wrote letters for a few years and it was all happening pretty quickly. I would wake up and realize, "I have a father." I mailed my first Father's Day card ever. I'm not saying that I know or understand why my father suddenly and unexpectedly died, but in retrospect I believe God knew when to take him. I think I was close to basing too much of my identity on my dad. I love my father, but he wasn't the kind of man I needed to base my identity on.

He still had a lot of wild, loose ends. I don't even know if he died a Christian. But the time we did have together was a gift, and I know the love that I was able to show him wasn't coming solely from me. I know the strength to forgive him was bigger than me, but losing my father unexpectedly was also bigger than me.

Control is a big issue in my life. I never realized how much I struggled with this issue, until my father passed away. In his death there was good. It was ultimately God's grace that yanked the rug I thought I was standing on right out from under me. Why would God do that to me? I felt like had to relearn everything. Everything was being stripped away from me and felt like I was clinging to some pseudo-faith left over from my adolescence. I spent countless, sleepless nights lying awake in fear. "If God would arbitrarily take my father away from me, why should I believe that He would let me wake up tomorrow?" I had difficulty sleeping for weeks because was afraid that God couldn't be trusted. I wasn't sure any longer that He had my well-being in mind.

I needed to go through my own Valley of the Shadow, so to speak. To shed the old skin. To rid myself of a frail insubstantial faith. My faith was worthless to me and it was worthless to God. When I began to reevaluate my spiritual situation the thought of abandoning God altogether did cross my mind. But I came to realize that the flaw in our relationship was not God, it was me, and that the relationship deserved a second chance. God had been faithful with his part of the commitment. I had not been so with mine.

I started over with nothing and said, "Okay, this is it, and you are all have. Let's start here. All I need is everything." That was the beginning of a reworking in me and a good chapter in my life filled with grace nd blessing. I never realized the significance of words like 'grace' and 'blessing' before I had a lot taken away from me.

Linford and I try to live according to what Christ taught. It's ultimately simple and practical. Essential concepts like, "Make everything you do an expression of your love for God and your neighbor. Don't worry about stuff. God takes care of the sparrow. You will be cared for. Don't believe what false prophets say. False prophets say, "Buy more things and you'll be happy." Remember, blessed are the poor in spirit. Happy are the sad.

When we realize how empty we really are, we are at an important mysterious place approaching deeper joy and strength. Anything can happen. Expect surprises. Don't be afraid to be different and think differently than the eligious establishment. You'll get glimpses of deep truths everywhere: in a good story, among simple people, at a wedding party where wine is in short supply. Love your enemies not just for their sake, but more importantly for yours. I want to teach you how to be stronger than anything that can potentially rob you of your humanity, or God of his sovereignty: worry, fear, an inability to forgive, self-righteousness. Love is your most important calling."

These are some things we hear Jesus saying. Yeah, I say simple and practical, but requiring a lifetime of learning and experimenting and listening and letting go and persevering and creating. A couple of things turned me away from the 'American mainstream church' and one of them was a real low tolerance for anybody who was different or wasn't quite up to snuff spiritually. If somebody believes or acts differently than I do my highest calling is not to point out their deficiencies and correct them, my first and highest calling is to love them. I am close to a lot of people who don't profess Christianity and I respect them. I don't want to exclude them for what they do or don't believe.

I hadn't completely given up on Christianity or my faith when we started Over the Rhine but I didn't have much of a support group to connect with. almost two years ago Linford and I hooked up with a small church in Cincinnati. We walked into our present situation and never imagined that we could feel so at home in a "church." We have found an overwhelming sense of community and friendship and support in this small, very young church, that we never thought that we would find.

I guess I had not trusted God for living, breathing mentors who could also be my friends. Linford and I had actually talked about getting married for a number of years, but it never seemed quite right for some reason. Something was missing. So we waited. After we were married last October, it seemed impossible to imagine going through with it without the new circle of friends that we had been given not so long before, and who surrounded us. Even our pastor, Dave Nixon, the man who married us, is a real friend, someone we can really be open with, someone we look forward to hanging out with, someone with whom we have much in common. We are part of a real community, which is something I've always longed for. It's a rare gift in this day and age.


Linford:
I grew up in a big family. My parents were devout Christians. We absorbed the faith at a very young age, it seeped into the fabric of our lives. I believe Christianity is true but that doesn't mean it is something that I don't wrestle with. It is something that at its heart, resonates deeply with me. But anybody who's awake will have a certain amount of doubt.

I say this as a reflection on my own brokenness, but I too had given up on finding a meaningful "church." I see the ragged collection of people in various states of healing that we are currently a part of as a beautiful, sometimes wacky but real tag-team expression of what I think "church" as intended to be. We try to look after each other and care for our neighbors. Basic stuff.

I still wrestle with how best to express my faith and whether it should fit in to the creative process on a conscious level. I feel like I have a lot to learn. I'm very much a student and I don't think of myself as a teacher. But by being a student, maybe I occasionally show others how to explore, go deeper. My songwriting is an expression of my journey, my search for truth, and a reflection of my world view, which usually operates mostly on a subconscious level. It's not something that I constantly brandish about or announce, it's naturally a part of me. I'm learning how to receive.

All the good stuff in life is given, not taken. My whole expression of faith is narrowing into this sense that I'm inadequate, and anything ultimately beautiful that is made out of my life is a gift that has very little to do with me. I want my life to be a work of art. I need to be faithful with my small part, but it's the easy part.

We were thinking of calling "Happy To Be So" Psalm 151 for awhile because to me it's very psalm-like lyrically. The psalmist often bemoans his inability to break through the walls of heaven, fearing that God is ignoring him, feeling alone and abandoned, and then often ends a piece rather abruptly with a few simple statements of hope. Praying grandiose prayers isn't as important as simply telling the truth.

We're very puzzled right now because being famous is so low on our list of priorities and I fear for our music career because I don't feel like I want to run out there and attract a bunch of attention to myself. I want to whisper something hopeful to the world, I don't want to make a bunch of wild gestures, although Flannery O'Connor says you have to for people who are blind and deaf in the world, or you won't get their attention.

I run into people who think a lot about the creative process and aesthetic theory. What I do is very intuitive. I don't analyze it very much. Instinctively I think I have a sense that creativity is much more central to the human experience than most people acknowledge.

One thing I do struggle with is telling people that I'm a Christian. I usually don't. It's the same dilemma I have telling people I'm an American. I don't feel I'm a typical American. I don't feel I'm a typical Christian. Both labels seem inadequate. I look at much of Christianity as it's expressed in mainstream America and I just feel very little connection to it. I don't really care to be associated with it. And that's not a judgment, it's just a statement. (I'm not saying that the experiences of many of these people aren't legitimate.)

I look at how many people live their lives in corporate America, or I watch television and often I think, "These are not my people. I don't laugh when they laugh, I don't cheer when they cheer, my mind wanders elsewhere when they talk."

But I'm looking for a balance. Take music. Much of the music being made in today's mainstream doesn't interest me. But there are fires here and there that warm me. Often these fires burn on the fringes. And take my country. No, I can't identify with most of the Republican agenda, but I can fall in love with certain American writers, the energy of black people, the land itself. And as for Christianity, the words of Jesus go deep like a sword and ring true. I'm more alive when I attempt to put them to good use in my life. I die a little when I fail to. The words of some perceptive writers and artists who live outside of the Christian ghetto, the actions of selfless anonymous people working hard to make a difference - there are moments of current undeniable beauty that can be gathered together loosely under the wings of "Christianity." There are redeeming moments when it's not hard to think of myself as an American.

There are redeeming moments when it's not hard to think of myself as a modern musician. There are redeeming moments when it's not hard to think of myself as a Christian. I hope this all doesn't sound incredibly egotistical. It's the dilemma of the outsider. I rarely feel like I fit in. Take Over the Rhine's music. The mainstream music industry has struggled with making a place for us. We're different. We don't plan to be different. We just are.

One of the reasons we play Cornerstone is that the festival doesn't apologize for hosting a diverse romp of creative mayhem. It's very humbling to be welcomed back year after year. Cornerstone was one of the first festivals anywhere that gave Over the Rhine a chance.


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