Go figure. The album (Mercy) was completed, and became the soulful singer's most critically acclaimed and best selling album to date, spawning a number of radio hits as well. He's now followed it up with Slow Revival, an album that lyrically addresses the issues of his psychological and spiritual recovery even more directly than Mercy.

One of the highlights of our last chat with Mr. D. was his willingness to share out of his personal journals, an important and therapeutic part of his new approach to life. While visiting Bryan at his home in Riverside, California, I asked the newly trimmed-down Duncan if he has continued writing in his journals as intensely as he was a couple of years ago.

"I journal when I sense something's going on in my life," said Duncan. "I tend to write only in crisis periods, transitions, that sort of thing. It's also been helpful writing for this newsletter we're doing now because when I write these little articles I have to reach some conclusion at some point."

Reaching a conclusion doesn't come easily for Bryan, whose sometimes overly analytical nature causes a peculiar kind of neurosis that he enjoys more often than not, though he admits it tends to drive those around him nuts.

The newsletter, then, has been an extension of the journal, a way to continue writing for himself, but also a way to reach out and communicate more directly to his many loyal fans, some of whom have followed him since his days with Sweet Comfort Band in the '70s.

Bryan said there were further reasons for writing to his fans, explaining, "Because I don't use a lot of Christian terminology in my concerts, I want to make sure people know what I really think about my faith, where my heart is. I'm not sure you'd get the impression I'm as committed to my faith as I am, simply from seeing my concerts. For me, presenting my faith from the stage feels weird, like prostitution or something. I guess it's because you are doing something that is designed to make money or at least entertain people that have paid to see you.

"One of my problems is that I compare myself to other Christian artists, and when you do that you alienate yourself instantly. But I see people being very vocal about their faith on stage, and I feel like a heathen next to some of them. They seem more spiritual than I've ever been, but I don't know whether it's spiritual or just religious. Religion certainly looks spiritual. When a guy says, 'I just want to serve Christ. I want to do what's right in the eyes of God. I love Him with my whole heart,' that sounds so good, and the fact that he has said it to you is so powerful that you buy into it. But if a guy really loves the Lord, but he's not gonna tell you point blank because it means so much to him, he's held in suspicion."

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what "guy" Bryan is talking about. It's all part of Duncan's dilemma of working out the relationships of faith, life, and livelihood in his own experience, a subject that has suddenly become Topic A of our discussion, as Bryan continues. "There's a problem here, because you're doing something that you make money from, and when it becomes the way you make a living, it's almost like a conflict of interest to present your faith as something genuine. Maybe that's why I'm less likely to make big statements on stage about how God's gonna change your life, and what He's gonna do in your life, things like that. Although I've got to say, after going through the things I have in the last few years, I can really look back and say, 'God has been faithful to me, even when I was really, really angry with Him.' So I guess I could get up on stage and say, 'God is faithful,' but it just sounds so glib."

I suggest to Bryan that what he may really be chafing at is the generality with which many of these types of statements are made in Christian concerts, and that perhaps he would be less bothered if Christian artists would share more honestly and completely about the bad as well as the good experiences in their lives, and how they apply their faith to difficult situations. We talk about some of the "casualties" in the Christian music scene over the last couple of years, and I confess to Duncan that I don't really understand why Christian artists can't be more transparent.

"I think they don't do that because it'll cost 'em," replied Bryan. "It's meaningful to somebody to stand up and say, 'I made a mistake,' but leadership positions don't like to hear that. It makes them less trusting of you, a little more suspicious if you admit to any faults.

"Early on, I used to pray about conviction, 'cause I always thought that if I had true conviction, I could better identify in Christian circles and be more acceptable in Christian music; that my conviction about Christ would gel with theirs and I would sell better, be a bigger artist somehow. What I've discovered is that conviction will separate you pretty quick, and it will cost you something every time."

Now those are some pretty transparent statements, and as I transcribe the tape of our conversation, I ponder Bryan's take on sharing personal convictions, and realize how even these very thoughts could be misunderstood by some CCM readers. It occurs to me that his statements could be construed as cynical, spoken by an artist who's lost his idealism or is just burnt out.

"I think if you're idealistic about the impact you are going to have in the name of God, it's easy to get disillusioned or to suffer from job burn-out; more so than if you just look at it as a job. In most people's cases, their job is one thing, and their life is another. In Christian work of any kind, it's your job and your life."

Does Bryan think about doing something else with his life at this point?

"I used to fantasize about it. You know how it is--actors want to be singers, singers want to be writers--I've often wondered what it would be like to own a business and live at home and not leave town and be at every game your kids ever played at...just being present. I used to think that I would have to give up my Christian life and career to have any sense of real humanity, of being a human being. I've discovered that's not true, that I've just been seeing things improperly.

"I had to realize that saying no to an offer to do a concert wasn't anti-servanthood, but that sometimes saying no to that was the right thing to do, because it was also saying yes to other things like the emotional needs of my family."

Bryan says this whole process is so new in his life that it's still "scary," as he puts it, and that he still struggles with doubt and double-mindedness after some of the "no"s, but a great source of strength and comfort has been the counsel of close friends--another new area for Duncan.

"I've had to learn how to cultivate--and maintain--relationships, 'cause I was always in front of a different audience every night, and it's just really easy to not be involved. There's no sense of community when you're on the road all the time, especially by yourself, which I did for five years. I don't think I realized what that did to a human being."

Part of the new "community" has also involved what Bryan termed "extra-curricular activities," those that don't spring from an aspect of his career in Christian music. An example?

"All-terrain bikes," said Bryan enthusiastically. "Going up to the ski lifts with some guys and riding like crazy. It's a blast, but what's funny about this is that I'm having to learn how to do things like ride bikes. If you've been a workaholic like I have, it's all new to plan something for the purpose of having a good time. Now there are new things to say no to, but it's all part of a slow revival.

"Here's the concept of a slow revival. A revival of any kind is always slower than you want it to be, and all this down time that you thought was a waste of time, the most boring part of the day, is where God can start instilling in you what is valuable. I spent the day doing yard work yesterday, and fixing things around the house, stuff that seemingly means nothing in the eternal realm, but I was aware of how much the time meant to me, the kind of time when God can speak to you about things that are quite important. I'm learning to enjoy mowing the lawn, and I'm finding out that it can be a religious experience!"

The phone rings, and Duncan's son Devon needs to be picked up from school, another mundane activity, which, I'm assuming, means more to Bryan than it used to. "Who we are is more than what we do, and Idon't think anyone wants to be remembered just for what they did to earn a living. I think the reason I continue is because I still have something to say, and it's seasonsed with a whole lot more grace than it was before the Mercy album.

"It sounds a little self-centered to say, 'I've stopped trying to change the world, and I'm working on trying to change myself,' but that's really what it's come down to. And when I look at my own faults or my own needs, I realize it's going to be a slow process, and that I have more mistakes to make along the way.

"I'm aware that I may not ever be the biggest thing, but I'm grateful that at 41 I can still learn something, that I still have the ability to change, that I could lose 30 pounds. I'm looking at life instead of my career...my life. That's really it--I have a life. There's the title of your article: Bryan Duncan Gets a Life!"

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