he driving beat of a popular 80s rock-and-roll tune wafted down the driveway, spilling into the street as I stepped out of my van. I had found the weekend haunt of The Freeman Wallace Band where I’d been invited to conclude my interview with musician, Bryan Courtright or, as he is affectionately known among the homeless on the streets of Dallas, Texas: Mr. Bass Man.

The gritty southern rock of The Freeman Wallace Band emanating from the crowded living room of this quaint home in Mansfield, Texas seemed far removed from the soul-stirring worship of the Trinity Boulevard band that I experienced in my first meeting with Bryan at the Union Gospel Mission, serving the homeless in Dallas.

I was on a search to find the connection that motivates this seasoned bass player to play in two bands, straddling opposite ends of the music spectrum.

My interview with Bryan began the previous weekend. I arrived at the mission a little early, to find a half-empty gymnasium serving as a sparsely decorated sanctuary lined with aged wooden pews and folding chairs.

I looked across the rows of seats at the 75 or so street-weary men: some struggling to stay awake, others unable to fight the urge to nap through the Saturday evening sermon. The preacher didn’t seem to mind that he had only a few rapt listeners as he pled with hopeless men to consider the benefits of God’s love.

Within minutes of the concluding prayer, Trinity Boulevard began setting the stage. An air of expectancy filtered through the room as the sleepy men began to nudge each other. Empty chairs filled up quickly with new arrivals, shouting a few song requests and cheerful greetings toward the band members as they took their seats. A drum roll and a few loose riffs from lead guitarist Tom Gamez brought the room alive.

“Good Evening, men!” Drummer Alex Earl incited a wave of emphatic salutations. “We are Trinity Boulevard …”

“Rock and roll!” Hoots and whistles curled around the guttural cat call that emerged from the far end of the room. The thunder of electric guitars and a driving bass filled the would-be sanctuary as 200 homeless men stood to their feet, clapping and singing along. “Every knee shall bow, every tongue confess …”

Hands rose across the sanctuary, reaching toward the heavens. Tears of pent-up emotion streaked through the grime of street life. Hope had entered the room, and the hopeless began to worship. Smiles began to pierce weather-beaten faces as the atmosphere quickened. God was with us.

Forty-five minutes later, men filed toward the dinner line, holding on to the energy of life that had squarely wedged squatters’ rights in the midst of their private hell of addiction, illness, poverty and varying stages of mental incapacity.

Ron, recently released from prison, and his buddy Giovanni describe their experience. “The band’s message is very powerful. We are so tired. We fight for survival every minute. It takes a lot to keep our attention. All we have is the incessant madness of the streets; it’s all we know. Words don’t mean anything to me anymore.”

Giovanni struggles for a moment to put his emotions in check. “This brings God to me, and me to God — I feel him when I worship through music.”

“It helps me remember that I have a purpose,” Ron chimes in. “In prison, I worked for the chaplain. I knew my purpose in there. Out here on the streets, it’s hard to stay encouraged. What Trinity Boulevard did tonight re-engaged me with my purpose, and I know now that God is still with me.”

Trinity Boulevard is widely known among the homeless population in Dallas, having served them through their worship ministry for over 15 years. Currently, four members comprise the band: Alex Earl, drummer and official leader of the group, his son Carl Earl on rhythm guitar, Tom Gamez, lead guitar and keyboards, and Bryan Courtright on bass. Bryan is the latest addition to the band, now with Trinity Boulevard for almost 10 years.

“Trinity Boulevard came along at a time in my life when I was searching to reconnect with God,” says Bryan. “These guys helped me overcome some major obstacles in my life and, in the end, I was able to share that victory with our audience.” Bryan hesitates briefly as he considers what joining the worship ministry has added to his personal journey of faith.

“At first it was about my own inner search for relationship with God. Now it’s about offering back to God something for all that he has done for me. When we start playing, and you feel the anointing fall, a visible change takes hold of these guys. They’re not hopeless anymore. They feel God’s presence; they know he hasn’t tossed them aside. When they come up for prayer afterwards, it’s powerful. You know that no matter what you are, or what your past may be, God does have a purpose and a plan for you.”

Catching up with Bryan in Mansfield, he cites his involvement with The Freeman Wallace Band as a more simplified expression of faith.

“I think God wants us connected in real ways to other people. We very seldom play for money. We play for friends and for each other,” says Bryan. “Music has a way of creating a bond between people; it’s a vehicle that can lift you through anything. Whether you’re singing, dancing, playing or listening, something inside you is bonding with everyone else in the room. It releases something we need that’s very basic.”

“Whether it’s southern rock that gets everyone clapping or anointed worship that touches someone’s heart, it’s all him. God’s love richly expresses itself in the friendship and camaraderie we enjoy through music. It’s his gift to us.”

Mr. Bass Man is on to something. When those bass strings start thumping out the rhythm, you can’t help but notice he’s connected to something bigger; and it doesn’t take long before you find yourself clapping to the same beat.