Songs of Pain and Hope

When I found out I was to be admitted to the hospital, I felt relief.  At the least, I’d be taken care of.  When they told me it may be cancer, I said to myself – ok, I’m ready.  I was exhausted.  One of the nurses said I had high pain tolerance, anyone else would have been screaming but I was still cracking jokes.  All those years working in industrial labs, tough positions, and assorted experiences counted for something.

The first person I shared a room with was a bit difficult.  He watched TV the whole night at a high volume.  His wife and a church member visited and would pray.  Once I just said – Ma’am that’s a great praye – so they asked me my name so they could pray for me too.  The next person was a pastor so we joked about being there together.  The third one was angry.  He accused nurses of trying to kill him.  No – they were just trying to give him injections.  

But God or the universe has good timing.  Shortly thereafter, I got moved to an intermediate care unit where the care was somewhat better.  When I got returned, I only stayed a few more days.

What’s this all about?

I think it’s still about surrender.

There’s this priest I like – Fr. Mike Schmitz.  He says that surrender is giving God access to your life – good, bad, and all the in-betweens.  After the hospital, I also started to use this app – Hallow.  They had good YouTube commercials. 

The most powerful segments were the Surrender Novena that teaches us to let God take care of everything.  This does not mean doing nothing but rather allowing God to do something.

I realize there are roughly two ways in which I can live.  Use what I have to get what I need or want, or allow God to use those same skills and experiences to accomplish the same things.  

It sounds similar.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

This one is about allowing God in.

U2’s guitarist said that they were below average musicians who asked God to give them His songs.  He did.  When you listen to their early albums, you can hear their talent but they haven’t mastered their instruments.  Some of the play is sloppy – especially the bassist who is arguably the least talented musically of the group.

But those songs have endured.

The one I constantly listen to and quote is 40, their rendition of the Davidic Psalm.

I’ve learned this many times in my life.  Sometimes all you can do is wait.

But it is worth it.

I waited patiently for the Lord 

He inclined and heard my cry

He lift me up out of the pit

Our of the miry clay

He set my feet upon a rock

Make my footsteps firm

Many will see 

Many will see and hear 

Yet how long to sing this song?

(From the Indiana years)

“I look at you all, see the love there that’s sleeping 

While my guitar gently weeps…

I don’t know why nobody told you how to unfold your love 

I don’t know how someone controlled you 

They bought and sold you… 

Look at you all… 

Still my guitar gently weeps…”

I had this song playing in my head this morning.  Harrison was my favorite Beatle, probably because we play the same instrument.  I like the imagery of the guitar weeping; it expresses compassion rather than a judgmental tone in the lyrics.   

An older Harrison had a certain quality of brokenness and mellowness to older musicians.  Even a sense of peace.  I think Cobain, Morrison, Hendrix, Joplin, Bonham checked out too early.  There is nothing quite like playing in front of others.  Just like Bob Seger’s lines “Every ounce of energy, you try to give away… As the sweat pours out your body like the music that you play…  Later in the evening, as you lie awake in bed… With the echoes of the amplifiers ringing in your head…  You smoke the days last cigarette…  Remembering what she said…”

(From the Indiana years)

“I met a girl who sang the blues and I asked her for some happy news.  But she just smiled and turned away…”

She was special on stage and also in life, contrary to what others thought.  You could definitely hear the pain and angst when Janis Joplin sang, a true epitome of a blues singer.  The account that sticks out to me most about her life occurred shortly before she died.  

Joplin grew up in a small town in Texas where she was labeled an outcast in her high school.  People who would go on to accomplish so much less in life than her derided and made her feel worthless and lonely as a teenager.  Joplin would eventually become one of the legends in rock music.  At the height of her success, Joplin decided to return to her hometown for her ten-year high school reunion where she thought she would finally receive the respect and love that she longed for all those years.    

Sadly, circumstances may change, but people often don’t.  Joplin returned home only to find that people still treated her poorly.  Her high school classmates hardly acknowledged her even though she had eclipsed them in fame, wealth, and success.  To them, she was still an outcast.  One of her friends chronicles how Joplin staggered the streets of her hometown drunk after failing to quieten her inner demons.  A few months later, she dies of a heroin overdose after an unsuccessful attempt to numb her pain and loneliness in a hotel room.  She once said that she would make love to 25,000 people on stage and still go home alone.   

All that is gold does not glitter.

(From the Indiana years)

Well I’ll never be a stranger and I’ll never be alone 

Wherever we’re together, that’s my home. 

Home could be the Pennsylvania Turnpike 

Indiana’s early morning dew 

High up in the hills of California 

Home is just another word for you. – Billy Joel 

They played this song this weekend at my friends’ wedding.  The lyrics had a meaningful connection to the members of the bridal party.  They both met in Indiana.  My best friend in law school, who was also a groomsman, also met his wife and a bridesmaid, in Indiana.  Both of them moved to the West Coast after the wedding.  My friend’s family lives in New Jersey/Delaware and he uses the Pennsylvania Turnpike quite a bit.  I was a groomsman and use that road to go back to Maryland.  We were also in the West Coast this past winter for our the other wedding.  

Although one of the most difficult roads to drive due to winding, narrow lanes, high truck traffic, long distances between exits, and constant roadwork, the Pennsylvania Turnpike goes through some of the most magnificent stretches in the Pennsylvania countryside.  You will see mountains, valleys, farmland, animals.  In the winter, the snow hanging off the mountain trees is spectacular.  As I drove back this last time from Indiana, I felt a sense of love for my future home state.  I hope to play this song again in a few years with my friends there.

Who is my home?

First, a sad story about a case my colleague is working on.  This 21-year old guy worked hard as a cook to save up to buy a $650 leather jacket.  He was walking on the street when two guys come up to him saying, “Give me the butter.” (referring to the softness of the jacket)  One of them puts a gun to his head.  The guy gives his jacket away and one of the two guys walks away.  The 21-year old then punches the remaining guy and starts to get the upper hand in the fight.  Unfortunately, the guy who walked away comes back with his gun and joins the fight.  The 21-year old runs away and the guy with the gun shoots him in the back, paralysing him from his chest down.  He is now wheelchair bound, cannot go to the bathroom by himself, and has lost most of the use of his arms.  He was engaged at the time of the shooting.  The shooter denied having done anything even after being convicted at trial.  There was no remorse until the judge started to break him down.  One former youth intern at CBC got upset at me when I wondered aloud how God could allow some of these people to go to heaven.  Oh well. 

Next, a tragically funny story on my case, also a murder.  This guy shoots his friend who went to a club to gamble.  Granted, the friend probably shouldn’t have had $10,000 in cash with him and probably shouldn’t have displayed it on the pool table at the club.  The cops arrest the shooter and ask him to give his side of the story.  The shooter admits to owning the gun and shooting his friend but claims that it was done in the best interests of his friend.  His story was that after they left the club, he saw a bunch of people swarming around his friend.  Being afraid for the welfare of his friend, he points the gun at the crowd and fires to scare them away.  Unfortunately he shoots his friend five times.  He also takes the cash from him.  When asked by the cops whether his friend said anything to him when the cash was taken from him, the shooter replies, “He said ‘Take it dog, and give it to my peoples.”  The next day, he changes he story and says what really happened was the following.  They were both leaving the club and the shooter was trying to unjam his gun that was jammed in the club.  So he points the gun sideways at his friend and tries to unjam it.  Unfortunately, it goes off five times.  When asked what his friend said, the shooter replies that he said nothing.  But the shooter did say that he apologized to his friend and told him he didn’t mean it.  The shooter had a partner drive a getaway car, a yellow Peugeot station wagon.  They would have gotten away if the driver did not cut off an off duty cop to pick up the shooter who was cradling blood-stained money as he entered the car.  The driver was also wearing a bright red and yellow hat and shirt.  I guess the dumb ones get caught.  

Wealth protects children.  No way around it.  Half my family was poor – Third World style.  The generational effects are tremendous and long-lasting.  Money doesn’t just talk, it screams and curses.

But wealth can also make you stupid.  While I did teach a goodly number of kids from difficult backgrounds, I also taught those from wealthy ones as well.  Most were actually very decent people, they had grounded parents.  Some not so much.  I felt sorry for them.  I did enjoy looking at their sports cars.  Wealth is one of those U-shapes curve phenomena.  Too little or too much can be harmful.

Once upon a time, this rich self-centered corporate lawyer told me patronizingly that while I didn’t get paid much, I had a lot of stories.  I didn’t think much of that statement at the time.  But now it makes more sense.

I started telling mt kids my stories.  Primarily so they could know me better.  Somewhere along the way, I realized and told them that this is how I am protecting them.  The stories give them a framework to handle various situations that come their way.  Life trained me well.

And beyond those, that law enforcement network I built up over the years.  That is not a story.  That is also their shield.  In addition to Jesus, they can wash sins away.

In Boston, I attended a pretty well-known church.  It was filled with extremely intelligent, highly educated, well-to-do attendees.

Some of them were even nice.

Every Sunday was well-choreographed.  I would sometimes hold an imaginary lighter to the sky when the band played modern renditions of hymns that had no discernible melody to sing to.  At times, I couldn’t control laughing because I couldn’t understand what the pastor was saying.  He used a lot of big words and made less-than-funny jokes.

I would also play an imaginary drinking game during sermons when I would take a “shot” every time the pastor said the words “God” or “Jesus.”  Over a several week period, no “shots” were taken.

This was also the church where I started and led an unofficial men’s group for two years.  And got totally ignored.  And where the guy in the group abusing his wife got nominated to be a deacon.  The pastor was eventually let go for financial shenanigans and abuse of authority.  As Good Will Hunting would put it, how do you like them apples?