A Theology of (my fear of) Jazz

I imagine we can all think of situations that push us to the edge of our comfort zones, those challenging experiences that we try to avoid out of fear, or even just plain laziness.  One such activity that always tops my list is... performing jazz music.  I'm a completely classical, on-the-page sort of musician, in the same way that I'm a straight-laced manuscript preacher.  The thought of open space, the absence of page, the lack of visual prompt... the need to create on the spot... to respond artistically (whether verbally or musically) with just a second's notice... this terrifies me.  And the theological implications of this fear only pile on more guilt (shouldn't I welcome these opportunities for spontaneous inspiration?  shouldn't I be more open to the mysterious workings of God?  what does this lack of trust say about my ability to be in any sort of relationship?  am I really such an incurable control freak?  ahhh...)  But in my more sane moments, when I am able to rationally reflect on this fantastic opportunity for personal growth, I understand that for me, jazz is clearly symbolic of not only my innate fears, but also my profound hopes and longings.  Humor me for a moment:

• Jazz is forgiving.  In jazz, two wrong notes make a right note.  There's lots of space and freedom to make "mistakes."  They're easier to cover, harder to hear, and quite frankly, rather difficult to make in the first place.  The only true sin in jazz is hesitation.
• Jazz is flexible.  It's entirely permissible, and even encouraged, to deviate from the plan.  This means that you can change your mind mid-thought, that you can respond instantly to your own emotions and the overall vibe from those around you.  This can make the experience more relevant, more authentic, more meaningful.
• Jazz is empowering.  A jazz musician (in my opinion) has significantly more artistic license than a classical player.  You not only get to take some liberties - rather, you are required to make use of this creative freedom. 

I won't spoil this reflection by imposing some weak metaphor about society or the church.  I think I'll just let you finish the song on your own...