By Conor Hilton
Watching Tyler Glenn’s first solo music video “Trash,” I felt darkness—the darkness of unimaginable suffering, the anguish of feeling betrayed, the loss of something near and dear to you, the fierce anger burning from the pain of feeling cast out of your home. I’ve felt some of that on my own faith journey and try to empathize with those that feel that more strongly than I do.
It’s undeniable that “There are moments that the words don’t reach/There is suffering too terrible to name” (Hamilton, “It’s Quiet Uptown”) and I get the desire to express that suffering with the fire of anger. But I think this only serves to prevent us from seeing the deep anguish that lies at the heart of the fire, at the core of Tyler’s appropriation of Mormon iconography (including sacred symbols related to temple rites). Was this too much? I think so. Yet, there are many that feel like the song and video capture their life experience and give life to thoughts and feelings they could never put into words, even going as far as citing the video as a spiritual experience.
That was not what I felt. Nor what I experienced. I saw a fire that consumed. A fire that burned bridges that desperately needed to be built, repaired, salvaged. Perhaps I just don’t understand, not having the temperament of an angry person, occasionally being frustrated, but rarely experiencing that fire of passionate anger. I do know that I felt pain. I mourn with Tyler, who by all accounts is a kind, loving, generous soul—feeling caught between worlds that cannot be reconciled.
And I felt hurt. Hurt that one of my fellow brothers in Christ would openly mock something I hold sacred (even though my relationship with the temple is complicated), that he once held sacred too. Hurt that the Church I know to be a place of love and kindness acted in a way that led Tyler and others to feel anything but love. Hurt that Tyler and some of my closest friends agonized over whether they belonged in Mormonism. Hurt that anyone experiences that amount of loss, betrayal, and loneliness.
I could lash out with anger at Tyler, but that would only further add fuel to the consuming, destructive fire. Instead, let’s try to understand the pain that sparked the fire Tyler burns with throughout the video. Let’s work to mourn with those that mourn. To comfort those in need of comfort.
I have hope and believe that even though “There are moments that the words don’t reach/There is a grace too powerful to name” (Hamilton, “It’s Quiet Uptown”). Let’s embody that grace—refuse to give in to the destructive fire that consumes and burns down when we need to build. The grace that heals and welcomes. The grace that Christ extends each and every one of us in our darkest moments. The grace that Tyler and so many others that are hurting so desperately yearn for. The grace that enables us to walk through the fire and flames. The grace that empowers us to take trash and transform it into treasure.
For another perspective, from Nick Galieti, read here.