We have wondered from time to time how to reconcile public performance with personal behavior or belief.

We recently heard a choir perform a song that struck us as a hymn, or potential hymn.  Some of our readers who are more in tune with popular culture will recognize these lyrics.  I am old enough to be disconnected from the appeal of People magazine, for example and I probably would not have known the significance of a good percentage of the women who caused extensive gushing from observers as they strutted along the red carpet at the Oscar ceremonies recently. I have never known why the word Kardashian should occupy any of my attention whatsoever.

So I heard this song and I evaluated it for its lyrics and its sentiments.  And that’s the only thing I considered.

I used to think that I could not go on
And life was nothing but an awful song
But now I know the meaning of true love
I’m leaning on the everlasting arms

If I can see it, then I can do it
If I just believe it, there’s nothing to it

I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky
I think about it every night and day
Spread my wings and fly away
I believe I can soar
I see me running through that open door
I believe I can fly

That seems to be a pretty uplifting sentiment, one that has been expressed in prose, poetry, and music—and inferred in scriptures of various faiths—for centuries: by placing trust in “the everlasting arms,” a person is capable of great things.

At the least, the song is a statement reminiscent of Norman Vincent Peale’s best-seller, The Power of Positive Thinking, which is still in print sixty-five years after it was first published.  Peale wrote, “A positive mental attitude is a belief that things are going to turn out well, and that you can overcome any kind of trouble or difficulty.  Those who seek positive thinking in the Bible point to the first chapter of Luke where it is said, “For with God nothing shall be impossible.”  The sentiment also appears in the nineteenth chapter of Matthew.
I’m leaning on the everlasting arms

If I can see it, then I can do it
If I just believe it, there’s nothing to it

I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky

The rest of the lyrics are al continuing affirmation of that idea, the idea that by leaning on the everlasting arms, anything is possible:

See I was on the verge of breaking down
Sometimes silence can seem so loud
There are miracles in life I must achieve
But first I know it starts inside of me.

If I can see it hoo, then I can be it
If I just believe it, there’s nothing to it

I believe I can fly
I believe…

 A flash mob performed this song in, of all places, an airport in Stockholm: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCucos4qGQw

But will we hear this song sung in future gospel festivals?  Will we hear it sung by our church choirs?   Will its message be dismissed because of who wrote it?

R. Kelly—

—-who will be sentenced in February on three counts of production of child pornography and three more of enticing a child.

This is the point where some of us ask whether a performer’s works should be ignored because of their personal actions or political positions.  Or can we, should we, separate the person from the performance?  Does the idea that we find a performance worthy of praise somehow automatically mean that we support who the performer is or was as a person?

In the 1960s, plenty of people attacked actress Jane Fonda and folk singer Joan Baez because of their personal political positions on the Vietnam War. And we have seen similar reactions to more contemporary performers such as athletes who kneel during the National Anthem. Many of those who are vehemently opposed to those who kneel during the song cheer when that same player does something good on the field.  Clearly there is room for separation.

Several years ago. I attended a worship service at Martin Luther’s church in Wittenberg, Germany.  At the close of the service, with the centuries-old organ playing behind us, we stood and sang, “A Mighty Fortress is Our God,” Luther’s great hymn. Goosebumps seldom come to me in church regardless of how good the sermon is. But they did that night.  Afterwards, as we talked to the young Lutheran minister from Ohio who was preaching English-language sermons in the church, we were led outside and shown a carving high up on the wall of the old church. It showed people suckling a pig, an anti-Semitic carving on Martin Luther’s church, a reminder that even Luther was not above political sentiments of his time.

I am bolstered at times by the music of Richard Wagner, whose music is informally banned in Israel because of his anti-Semitic writings that influenced the Nazi movement and apparently were appreciated by Adolf Hitler.  But does my appreciation for Wagner’s music mean I agree with his nationalistic writings?  I hope not. Does my appreciation of Jane Fonda as an actress mean that I supported her actions in Vietnam? I hope it doesn’t mean that. Do I have to agree with those who attack kneeling athletes to be a good American, or do I think I need to kneel, too, to be a good American?

So does R. Kelly’s apparently pending disappearance into the prison system for some decades and the reason for it lessen the inspiration that listeners might feel listening to—or even performing—“I Can Fly?”

Why can’t I believe I can fly even if the person who suggested it is beneath my respect?