What a Hilarious Band of Billboard-Ranked Bluegrass-Loving Monks Taught Me About a Life of Faith

I can't help but shed a tear every time I hear Harry Chapin's hauntingly beautiful song, “Mr. Tanner.” In it, Martin Tanner is a baritone laundress with an otherworldly voice. When his professional debut is panned by critics, his passion for singing is extinguished and his spirit is crushed.

When I heard Hillbilly Thomist perform live in concert for the first time in August, tears of a different kind welled up in my eyes: tears of joy. Taking its name from Southern Gothic novelist Flannery O'Connor's joyous description of her own creative worldview, this sensational bluegrass band is made up entirely of monks from the Order of Preachers.

For fifty weeks of the year, these priests humbly fulfill their priestly callings as university chaplains, parish pastors, best-selling theological authors, and for the other two weeks they live out their days in blissful harmony, traveling on the road.In many ways, they are like the fictional Mr. Tanner.

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Like the dry cleaners, music is a side business for these lyrical yet submissive Dominicans, who, like Tanner, met on the path to becoming priests because, each “sang from his heart, sang from his soul, and I didn't know how well I sang, but singing made me whole.” They keep singing because, deep in their bones, and as a sympathetic Cat Stevens hilariously puts it, they can't help it. Bluegrass is the soundtrack to their life's faith journey.

The Hillbilly Thomists differ from Mr. Tanner in a very important way. From the beginning, critics have praised their music. They released their first album in 2017, which Father Simon Teller, chaplain and campus ministry director at Providence College, modestly explains, was partly for evangelism, of course, but also to pay health insurance premiums.

Imagine the band's surprise when the debut of that eponymous album reached No. 3 on Billboard's Bluegrass Albums chart. When Billboard broke the news to Father Terror and asked for a photo of the group, he coldly told his bandmates, “You better buy a camera.” The same thing happened this summer when their fourth album, “Marigold,” debuted at No. 2.

Their folk music is complex and beautiful, with lyrics rich in poetry and scripture, but their live performances are joy incarnate. The Hillbilly Thomists' love of God, each other, and music is unmistakable, making them the perfect symbol of the reality they worship so devoutly. Transforming Americana into sacred sounds, they lightly tug at the heartstrings. To borrow GK Chesterton's definition of gratitude, they play happiness multiplied by amazement. They are, to put it nicely, lovable.

But why is this? It seems pathetic to attribute their phenomenal success to divine providence – after all, it's not standing on stage with the band, timing the performances – but what is it about their music that exudes this irresistible euphoria, multiplied by wonder? I think it's something maddeningly simple, the momentous choice they made with their lives, but in a world that is equally maddeningly rare, because so few people would make that choice so unapologetically.

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The choice is about prioritizing what is most important, God first. As talented musicians, Hillbilly Thomists rightly rejected the dilemma of music or ministry as a false choice. Rather, as Dominican priests, they chose to always serve God. In doing so, they found each other as brother musicians and became the band they never would have been if they had put music first.

British author CS Lewis explained this phenomenon succinctly: In a 1951 letter to Dom Bede Griffiths, Lewis wrote, “If you put the first, the second is thrown in; if you put the second, you lose both the first and the second.” Later, in his masterpiece, The Essentials of Christianity, he made the same point, but more universally: “If you aim for heaven, earth is thrown in; if you aim for earth, you gain neither.”

It's easy to say, but hard to do. I struggle with it every day. Even in good moments, like prayer, it's too often an exercise in artfully demanding that my will be done, rather than humbly accepting that Thy will be done. That's the very definition of putting the second first, aiming for the earth. A cheerful band of bluegrass-loving monks melodious yet methodical reminded me of the folly of my ways and the wisdom of theirs.

I think that's why Hillbilly Thomists radiate triumphant joy when they play. They are following the advice in Matthew 6:33: “Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.” They are bearing the fruit that is promised to those who put first things. If they can do it, so can I.

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With poor Mr. Tanner in Harry Chapin's imagination of the depressed singer, I end this story where I began: It is extraordinary when life imitates art, it is sublime when life imitates good art, it is transcendent when life improves on good art.

Listening to Hillbilly Thomist, we can see the path that Tanner must have taken when he was hurt. Their beautiful music heals not only the priestly band members, but everyone who listens to it. Like holy rock and rollers, our job is to make it our number one priority.

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