Dear John, (My Tribute to John Prine)

Dear John,

I remember the first time I heard you sing was in the late 1970s or early 80s.  I was with my lifelong friend, also named John (hereafter referred to as “Friend John”). Friend John had gone to G.F.Wilson’s in Florence, and bought a bunch of vinyl albums.  They were selling them all because everyone was switching to the newest thing… cassette tapes.  Anyway, Friend John still had a turntable and we were listening to some albums when he said, “Check out this guy…John Prine.” I said, “John Prine?  What kind of music does he sing?”  “He’s sort of a folk singer, I guess,”Friend John replied.   

I wasn’t really interested.  I was definitely a Rock-n-Roll guy, but Friend John said, “Just listen to this.  This guy is just so…real.”  And I heard these words and this song coming from the Radio Shackspeakers:

Sam Stone came home to his wife and family

After serving in the conflict overseas.

And the time that he served, had shattered all his nerves,

And left a little shrapnel in his knees.

But the morphine eased the pain, and the grass grew ‘round his brain,

And gave him all the confidence he lacked,

With a purple heart and a monkey on his back.

That simple, profound song about a veteran who came back from war with a drug habit touched something in me.  Truly, I became an instant fan.

I don’t know what it is about your songs, John.  Maybe it is their raw honesty.  Maybe it is the way you exposed life with all its joy, pain, and silliness. Something about your songs grabbedme, and I proceeded to listen to every one of them.  Not only did I listen to them, I sang them!  That my crooning was not all that great didn’t seem to matter as I rolled down the Natchez Trace with the windows down in the car (your crooning was not all that great either to be perfectly honest), but singing your songs helpedme somehow.

Please don’t bury me down in that cold, cold ground

No, I’d rather have ‘em cut me up and pass me all around

Throw my brain in a hurricane and the blind can have my eyes

And the deaf can have both my ears if they don’t mind the size

The first one of your songs that I learned to play on my guitar was Paradise.  I still pick it and sing it from time to time.

When I was a child my family would travel

Down to Western Kentucky where my parents were born

And there’s a backwards old town that’s often remembered

So many times that that my memories are worn.

And Daddy won’t you take me back to Muhlenberg County

Down by the Green River where Paradise lay.

Well, I’m sorry my son, but you’re too late in asking

Mister Peabody’s coal train has hauled it away.

How many people have covered thatsong over the years?  John Denver, Tom T. Hall, The Everly Brothers, Jimmy Buffett, John Fogerty…the list goes on.  My favorite cover was done by Johnny Cash; he really makes you feellike he is from Muhlenberg County.

I got to wondering about that song, Paradise…wondering whether it was just a song.  But your songs are never really “just songs,” are they?  I knew my Uncle Red had worked and lived up in Kentucky for several years.  One day I was talking to him and asked, “Hey, Uncle Red. I’ve been listening to this song, Paradise,”and I went on to describe the lyrics.  “Is there any truth to this song?”  He said,“Every word of it is true.  I’ve seen what got left behind by those coal companies, and it’s a crying shame.” Friend John was right; your songs are so…real.

Your songs helped me get through a variety of seasons over the last 40 years; some of them happy and carefree, and some of them painful and difficult.  Your album The Missing Yearshelped me through a divorce. The Missing Yearswas considered your comeback album, and while I played the heck out of that album, I had a comeback in my own life.  I got married to Tammy in 1993, and while she has never reached the “I-can-sing-every-lyric” status like me, she does have an appreciation for your genius.  One of the best birthday gifts anyone ever gave me was the year Tammy got tickets to see you live at the Alabama Theatre.  It’s the only concert I ever attended where the whole audience (except for Tammy) sang every line of every song!  I’ve got that memory stored away in the locker.

And singing your songs while I bang away on my guitar is helping me de-stress through this COVID-19 pandemic, too.  I knew you were sick with the virus, but your death still caught me off guard.  With all you had been through—two bouts of cancer, two knee replacements, a hip replacement and metal in your elbow—I never thought a virus would take you out, you son of a gun.

When you died last Wednesday, I saw a lot of people coming out on social media as big fans of yours.  Honestly, I had to take a few days before I could write anything.  I had to let all this process in me, maybe like you processed life before you wrote all those lyrics?  

I couldn’t help thinking about your song, When I Get to Heavenlast Wednesday. I’m not saying it’s great theology, but it’s classic Prine.

When I get to heaven, I'm gonna shake God's hand
Thank him for more blessings than one man can stand
Then I'm gonna get a guitar and start a rock-n-roll band
Check into a swell hotel; ain't the afterlife grand?

And then I'm gonna get a cocktail: vodka and ginger ale
Yeah, I'm gonna smoke a cigarette that's nine miles long
I'm gonna kiss that pretty girl on the tilt-a-whirl
'Cause this old man is goin' to town

Rest in peace, John.  Thanks for all those great memories!

Yours truly,

Sam

What’s (Churned) Up, Doc?

What’s (Churned) Up, Doc?

I’m thinking about hurricanes on this beautiful, perfect-weather spring day in Alabama. I’m thinking about how when a hurricane hits, there is a tremendous impact on the surface–trees, structures, etc. Everything we see is affected. So, why am I thinking and writing about this today?  Because this Covid-19 pandemic feels like a hurricane that has hit…except that it is worldwide and not limited to one area.  Doesn’t it? Everything around us is touched by this pandemic…businesses, churches, recreational venues.  The surface of our world has changed.

But hurricanes don’t just affect the surface of the ocean.  They also affect the ocean floor.  The high winds and waves of a hurricane churn up silt (and anything else) that is on the ocean floor–especially in the shallower areas, like around the Florida Keys. You can actually look at satellite photos before and after a hurricane and see that the ocean actually changes colors for a while after the storm…at least until things “settle down.”

The same goes for our Covid-19 hurricane.  The deep, unseen “ocean floor” of our lives is being affected, things churned up from the bottom…recoloring our emotions.  What sort of silt is churned up?  Well, I can speak most clearly about my own stuff.  Some of big things that are churned up in me from Hurricane Corona are stress, anger and grief.

Stress?  Who hasn’t been stressed lately?  “But you seem so chill…” Even the most “chill” among us are taking on stress like lightning rod…or like a solar panel, storing that “stress charge” up.  Where will all that stress come out?  Usually in our relationships…with the ones who are in the house with us or even with the people who are stocking the shelves at Wal-Mart. 

What’s churned up, Doc?  “Anger?”my inner voice asks.  “That’s right, Doc.”  This is a long-standing issue for me, since I don’t yell and scream like some folks do to deal with their anger.  When I first entered the ministry, I had to take a written psychological test, and then meet with a psychologist and be interviewed. (Ok, before anybody says it, “How does any preacher ever pass that one?!”) The one thing I remember from that day (sometime in 1980) was being asked, “How do you deal with your anger?”  I don’t know what I said.“Anger?  I didn’t know I had any.” If I had been totally honest that day, I would have said, “I handle my anger by pretending it doesn’t exist and letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean floor.”

I wasn’t even aware that anger had been churned up in me until Tammy named it for me.  “You seem angry,” she said.  I hate it when she’s right.  It made me a little angry that she said that.  Truth is, I had a lot of anger that I had not dealt with.  It made me angry to see panicked people buy up all the toilet paper and hand sanitizer.  It made me angry to see people ignore social distancing by taking the whole family on an outing to Lowes. I’ve been angry at politicians…at people putting stupid things on social media. I just haven’t really named it “anger,” until this week. And until I name it, I can’t deal with it.

What’s churned up, Doc? How about grief?  “Grief?”  “That’s right, Doc.”  I had a FaceTime counseling session this week with a pastoral counselor friend who has helped me through many storms in my life.  He helped me name the grief. You and I grieve when we experience loss.  I know I haven’t lost things like others have.  I haven’t had a loved one die from this awful virus.  I haven’t lost my job.  But just because my loss isn’t as profound as some others, doesn’t mean that I don’t have to deal with it (It’s not a competition). Me?  I’ve lost my normal. I’ve lost access to my mom, except by phone; to my congregation, except via online worship and Bible Study. I’m an introvert. I’m better suited for quarantine than some.  But I get a little wigged out and antsy at not being around people like “normal.” And sad…

And my grief reaches beyond me to my immediate family. I grieve over Tammy’s losses.  She finally got a new job and showed up the first day of work and got sent home.  The office closed down because of the virus. She worked hard as a part of the orchestra in a local musical; it was great, but canceled after the opening weekend - no gatherings permitted.  I understand, but still grieve for her.  And I grieve over our children’s losses. Our daughters have lost their college classes, at least in the traditional sense.  Our son has lost his senior year in high school, his senior prom, graduation and other “lasts.”

My grief reaches farther still…to our collective grief; to people like my sister and all the other healthcare workers who are working so hard, and exposing themselves at the risk of their own health and that of their families to take care of others.  I sent my sister a text this evening, asking how she was holding up.  She responded, “Crying my eyes out right now.  Walked out of work and the hospital was surrounded by people praying and all the ambulances and fire trucks with sirens on.” My sister is one of my heroes. I grieve over small business owners, hair stylists, nursing home residents…to those who have lost loved ones and can’t have a funeral and those who planned a wedding and are having to postpone…the list goes on and on.

Once we put a name on the things that get churned up, how do we deal with them in a healthy way?  I’m thinking about a song from Donald Fagan’s Sunken Condos album, ”The Weather in My Head”:

Here comes my own Katrina - the levee comes apart
There's an ocean of misery floodin' my heart

They may fix the weather in the world

Just like Mr. Gore said

But tell me what’s to be done

Lord ‘bout the weather in my head?

Good question!  I can only speak to what works for me.  Wise counsel is one thing I can do about the weather in my head. As I mentioned before, I get wise counsel from my wife, trusted friends and my pastoral counselor.  Meeting with him this week really helped me look at this churned up stress, anger and grief. My counselor said his rule of thumb for grief was to slow down. Some of you know that if I was any slower, I’d be moving backwards:)  By slowing down, though, he means to take time to feel, to mourn and to lament.  He said to think about this whole thing like an athlete…pacing and recovery.  If an athlete expends more physical/mental energy than usual, then it’s absolutely essential to pace and to recover.  So, if it takes twice as much energy to do an online sermon verses preaching to a congregation (because in an online sermon there is no energy in the room directed back at me), then I may need extra time to recover.

What can be done about the weather in my head?  About the churned-up issues?  Well, I’m praying a lot these days, taking lots of walks outside, writing in my journal, immersing myself in Scripture and listening to good music (I’ve been listening to Ellis Marsalis all day – RIP).  Writing this out on this blog post is helping me.  I hope it helps others, too!

I’m seeing some good stuff churned up in me through all this, too. I’m seeing a LOT of good stuff churned up in those whom I work with in my church and in my community and country. Let us thank God for that!  Let us learn our lessons well!  And let us not ignore the opportunity to deal with the “silt” when it surfaces.

I’m still trying to figure this stuff out.  Some days are better than others.  I’m trying to take this time to observe and name what gets churned up in me and trying to learn how to address it.  “It’s not until the tide goes out that you see who has been swimming around naked.”  I think Warren Buffet said that.  Under-the-surface stuff is important. What’s churned up, Doc?  Hopefully our awareness.