The breakfast nook at the Hampton Inn was full of patrons on Sunday morning, folks from all walks of life. I imagine most mornings are like that at this location because of the hotel’s proximity to the Charlotte airport. Bacon and bagels flying off the shelf; juice and coffee wetting the whistle. Lots of bleary-eyed and busied bodies all searching for sustenance to fuel the road ahead.

Amelia and I added our appetites to the mix, filling our plates and hunkering down for a few minutes of breaking our fast from the night before. And for all the strangers who surrounded us (different ages, different races, different accents, and different moods), the divide that might normally exist between us was made smaller because of the one thing that we shared in common – our clothing. Sweatshirts, t-shirts, hats, stadium approved 12x6x12 clear bags – all items procured because of the concert we’d attended the night before – Ed Sheeran’s Loop Tour at the Bank of America Stadium.

The glances and brief exchanges amongst us were joyful. Kind. Affirming and uplifting. No one was majoring on safe spaces and social boundaries. Instead, because of our shared experience, we all just kind of knew something that we didn’t know (or had forgotten) twenty-four hours earlier…

Music binds hearts together. A shared love for a talented artist who is operating in the fullness of his giftings is a love that has the capacity to help us momentarily set aside personal prejudices in order to take hold of a love that can, instead, shape a heart for the common good. Mold a heart. Stretch a heart. Open up a heart.

And that’s what happened for me. Surprisingly so. Just when I thought my heart was too crusty, too rusty for movement, movement happened. My heart expanded an inch or two or ten in a right and very good direction. Because I rarely leave the safety net that envelops my days and informs my heart, my life-lens stays focused, narrowed (most often) in a good and right direction. But every now and again, I am reminded that a narrow focus can sometimes eliminate a peripheral view that is a worthy glance. Why?

Because there are people, all sorts of people, who land in my periphery who will benefit from a shared experience with me. A moment when we can laugh and dance and sing together, expanding the musical score of an artist whose work we adore. Standing in unity over a song adds texture and layers and splashes of color to the original work. And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe a piece of art (music or otherwise) doesn’t solely belong to its creator. Maybe a masterpiece becomes more masterful because of the responses evoked therein. Maybe a song, a poem, a movie, a painting, a bouquet of flowers or a piece of jewelry become fuller (more of what they are meant to be) when they are released to the responses of humanity.

When music moves to the frontlines – when the work of our hearts is released to the world – well, that can become an occasion for solidarity. For unification. For clarification and for, ultimately, celebration.

Today, you and I will pull up our chairs (and our hearts) next to humanity to break our fast from the night before. The challenge before us shouldn’t be to just get our fill and no more. No, the challenge should be for us to move our focus from our plates and, instead, turn our glance toward our neighbor. There are all sorts of people in our periphery who will benefit from a shared experience with us. We benefit as well.

Perhaps, in the end, that’s what Ed was after all along. He talked a lot about it during the course of the evening, and I appreciate his heart (and honesty) on the matter. And while we don’t necessarily need a camera to capture that moment (and the many moments since), with these few words, I hope that I did…

Capture the moment.

Thanks, Ed, for giving us your music. And thanks, Amelia, for dragging my crusty, rusty heart to a moment that will carry us both home. We are all better for having been together. Indeed, “Some visions don’t ever fade.”

Peace for the journey,