That worked fine until I watched a clever, poignant little indie film that featured a soul-rending final sequence, complete with indie-folk score. Suddenly, I was seized by the rare condition of feeling like I couldn't breathe until I found THAT song. It turns out it was Iron & Wine--of which I have a few songs, but clearly not this one (and, after the Pandora experience, not nearly enough).

Which lead me to believe that I should put in "Iron & Wine" on Pandora and see what came up. I'm about 10 days into the alt-acoustic-indie-folk-pop playlist and I can count on one hand the number of songs I have despised--equally as fast as I can tell you my "buy with the next iTunes gift card" list is growing exponentially (all I'm saying is somebody better step up come birthday and Christmas time).

For the uninitiated, Pandora is a website that allows you to input any artist or genre that you like. Using a complex series of logarithms, listener responses and individual song tagging and pairing, it then generates a personal "radio" station around the artist you selected. This is far beyond the call-in radio shows my parents grew up with--and a genuine improvement over the highly-specific-yet-one-sided satellite radio stations of the last ten years. You can even "like" or "dislike" any song it offers--the program uses this feedback to more carefully tailor not only your station, but the requests of others creating their own "stations".

I'm convinced, if properly used and deployed, Pandora could save the music industry. But I'm also convinced it has something to say about shifting generations and attitudes regarding faith and religion.

Once upon a time families crowded around radios in their living rooms to listen to news broadcasts, radio theater and maybe the latest Big Band track. The progression to stronger FM radio and music variety shows was a swift one, aided by the glow of the TV screens that slowly invaded suburban enclaves. From albums and singles to 8-track tapes, the music suddenly went portable. Listening to music in your car was no longer limited to radio-play, but could be freely determined by any number of cumbersome "8-tracks". The cassette tape initially only replaced the 8-track with a slimmer, more portable model, but as "Walkman" entered the public vocabulary, music went portable--earbuds and headphones became a common sight in public places. The advent of the Compact Disc--the CD--upgraded music quality, while initially sacrificing portability. Then came the iPod--the portable music player that boasted enough "memory" to hold an entire library of albums, all with agile navigation and control. But the iPod lacks the original versatility of the radio--there is (as yet) no function to listen to and browse other songs on the iPod--one is limited to one's own collection of songs.Enter Pandora--a website so smart that it can not only create a radio station tailored around your personal tastes, it even allows you to determine what is and isn't a good fit.

Now, I realize there are millions of church-y books on shifting attitudes of religion that use any number of crazy metaphors, but I think there may be something to this, so bear with me...

The traditional old transistor radio represented a standard and authoritative voice. Sure, over time there were a few more stations to choose from, but there was little-to-no competition across formats--the information presented--be it newscasts or song-charts--was to be trusted. Remember when people tuning into "War of the Worlds" thought Martians were really invading Earth? Behold the power of the one-way radio to capture the imagination.

Similarly, the people of the radio generation--my grandparents and great-grandparents--were a people who, by and large, picked a denominational "station" and stuck with it. They may not always agree with everything that was said, but there was a sense that any controversy would soon pass and any larger issues would be swiftly dealt with and the status quo would be maintained. The church and its ministers were to be trusted with matters of faith.

It may be splitting hairs a bit, but the Album generation gravitated to what was popular. A single song could be so sonically overwhelming that it would cause a frenzy at the record store--at least until the next hit came out. Music producers quickly realized that this was the place to make money--to find whatever "hit" the kids were listening to and find 10 more acts with the same sound. Use the same production teams and the burgeoning television audience to create a buzz and the road to financial success lay ahead.

Where the radio generation trusted what it knew, the Album generation was among the first to gravitate, in some sense, to what was popular in terms of religious faith. Their parents didn't do it that way--and they might still want Jack and Jane in the pew at their church on Sunday, but para-church organizations and youth ministries began to form around winsome, charismatic leaders who planned special activities to cater to the masses, much as the music industries tailored their sounds. Religious leaders responded with a mixture of disdain and envy--choosing on some ends to reject the movement and long for the "good ol' days" of radio, or to clone the techniques in an effort to find their own sound and audience. (I'm convinced the "Youth Pizza Blast" started somewhere in this era, at least in spirit)

Where the album allowed for people to enjoy music within the confines of their own home/bedroom, the 8-track made it all portable. For a generation that grew up without the entertainment options of our current era, as much time was spent in the car as it was the home. No longer captive to the whims of an unseen radio programmer (not to mention the heyday of payola), the 8-track listener could set his or her own soundtrack, completely by choice.

As institutional alliance waned in the boomer generation, the church, maligned by many as bastion of judgmental tradition-centered intolerance, became less palatable. As eastern thoughts matriculated through the cultural ethos, the "Jesus Movement" sought to capture the Aquarian spirit of the New Testament church. Brick-and-mortar buildings were decried for impromptu worship sessions in fields and basements, often in the very presence of the allegedly antithetical "counter-culture". Faith was as much personal as it was corporate, which thrived in a cultural atmosphere predicated on mutual respect for personal expressions of belief and faith, regardless of its end.

Though tapes and CD's might initially appear to be less cumbersome, more sonically pleasing versions of the albums, the shift to the "Walkman", or personal music player, represents a moment of demarcation. At this level, to enjoy music didn't mean only to listen to the vibrations of a speaker through air--be it in a bedroom or a car. The ability to take whatever music you like with you wherever you go, coupled with the gradual public acceptance of this practice in nearly every social setting meant that an individual could, by the omnipresent headphones, remain completely detached from nearly all environs  while--in a very real way--dancing to their own soundtrack.

Perhaps it's not surprising that the cassette tape phenomenon lies squarely within the 1980's--the "Me" Generation. It's also not surprising to find Christian Culture catering to the age of materialism. Christian "book"stores suddenly emerge to cater to the uniquely Christian--most often not at the reccomendation of a minister or Sunday School teacher, but at the sole discretion of the consumer. Suddenly Sunday School conversations begin to center around what the latest book said, or what Robert Schuller or Charles Stanley said on the TV and Radio. The community--the Sunday School class, or the church at large--was then left to determine whether or not the information presented was in anyway heterodox. Authority no longer lied with the pastoral staff, but with the individual.

What the Tape/CD generation began the iPod generation multiplied. The idea that one could instantly access not only one or 100 cd's, but an entire library of music changed the game indefinitely. Between purchasing individual songs--no longer full albums--the individual music world became--well, more individualized. At parties, it's easier to get a snapshot of a person's personality by looking at their iPod--no two seem to be alike. While it allows for perhaps the fullest expression of the individual self, the ever-present ubiquitous white earbuds unwittingly communicate that the hearer has no desire for social interaction. It might even be possible to go one's entire life only plugged into one's own soundtrack.

"Visionaries" within the church world saw the iPod generation as the zeitgeist of crafting a church "experience." Churches, much like boutique stores, quickly became less about the community that gathered and more about the programs, worship style and ministries they offered. instead of presenting a community of faith for all, the church catered to a certain "playlist" demographic to attempt to lure the individuals away from their earbuds by playing the same music for all who were drawn to that artistic style.

Despite the relative lack of direct social networking, there is a communal sense within Pandora--the idea that by making a reccomendation, or validating a selection, you are implicitly joining with other folks who are drawn to similar traits in music. Add to that the joy of stumbling across something so new, so unheard of, that you feel like it's the song that's been shut up in your bones your whole life, you were just waiting for someone, something to bring it to you.

I suppose that's where I want to hope the future of the church is. I, like many others in my own generation, have grown tired of the stale individualism of faith. 

I am presciently aware that there are countless others out there who do not share the same identical "playlist" of beliefs and allegiances I do.

I am aware that finding only those who share my same convictions will find us un-plugging our ear-buds and listening to the same music over and over until one of us gets tired and turns the darn thing off.

I am also aware that I don't trust the institutions but I do trust people--particularly people who feel drawn together by something but are still willing to be surprised.

I also know I need to get beyond myself--to beyond my personal truths to a community-defined truth--to people who care about me as I care about them, even when our playlists don't quite match.

I know that the church, per se, is dying but I want to believe, that in spite of it all, the Church is still very, very much alive.