Arms wide open, I've run a twisted line
It’s been more difficult than I had anticipated to depart American culture (and our version of the church) for three years and then to leap back in and pretend as if I’d simply stepped out for a smoke.
Trying to get back in the groove, I’ve done things that eager, post-modern Americans do. I’ve sought to sponge up life via the internet. I got satellite radio so that I might pass my driving time choosing from the gamut of options—Howard Sterne, C-SPAN radio, the BBC, the O’Reilly Factor on FOX, NPR, Canadian Broadcasting French language service, numerous sports channels, and 100 music formats.
This morning, driving to work and punching around on the radio, I settled on NPR’s Fresh Air with host, Terry Gross, who was interviewing Douglas Brinkley—friend of celebrities, Tulane professor, author, and, oh yeah, historian. Brinkley’s written a new one—published only two weeks ago—titled The Great Deluge : Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, and the Mississippi Gulf Coast.
Toward the end of the interview, Doug mentioned that while writing this book he found himself listening to certain pieces of music that inspired him. Terry, a music buff, couldn’t let that pass—asked him, “What music?” Brinkley mentioned a couple of Dylan tunes, a few others, and then said, “and Willie Nelson’s recording of ‘The Maker.’” He paused a moment and said, “I encourage everyone listening right now to go listen to Willie Nelson’s version of this song.”
I’m not a Willie Nelson fan. I’m not a Douglas Brinkley fan. But something about the passion in the latter’s voice when he urged all listeners to listen to this tune…. When I got to the office I jammed my laptop into the docking station, jacked up my speakers, logged onto “MusicMatch” (to which I pay about $13 a month in order to hear any of 1,000,000 songs I might choose) and tracked down “The Maker” by Willie Nelson.
Actually, I didn’t expect much (being neither a Willie Nelson nor a Douglas Brinkley fan). Then, the song came like a flaming arrow, expertly aimed at a deftly guarded place in my soul. In a way I can’t completely describe, it spoke to my own sense of alienation. My own sense of lost-ness in this world in which I’m neither an African nor an American nor a….what? To me it spoke a word of trace, a word of sacred connection...
It’s written by native Quebecois Daniel Lanois. Here are the words. Go listen to Willie sing them. Don’t listen with your head. Listen with your whole being….
Oh, oh deep water, black and cold like the night
I stand with arms wide open,I've run a twisted line
I'm a stranger in the eyes of the Maker
I could not see for the fog in my eyes
I could not feel for the fear in my life
And across the great divide,
In the distance I saw a light
Saw Jean Baptiste walking to me with the Maker
My body is bent and broken by long and dangerous sleep
I can't work the fields of Abraham and turn my head away
I'm not a stranger in the hands of the Maker
Brother John, have you seen the homeless daughters
Standing there with broken wings
I have seen the flaming swords
there over east of Eden
Burning in the eyes of the Maker
Burning in the eyes of the Maker
Burning in the eyes of the Maker...
Oh, river rise from your sleep...
Ger
Trying to get back in the groove, I’ve done things that eager, post-modern Americans do. I’ve sought to sponge up life via the internet. I got satellite radio so that I might pass my driving time choosing from the gamut of options—Howard Sterne, C-SPAN radio, the BBC, the O’Reilly Factor on FOX, NPR, Canadian Broadcasting French language service, numerous sports channels, and 100 music formats.
This morning, driving to work and punching around on the radio, I settled on NPR’s Fresh Air with host, Terry Gross, who was interviewing Douglas Brinkley—friend of celebrities, Tulane professor, author, and, oh yeah, historian. Brinkley’s written a new one—published only two weeks ago—titled The Great Deluge : Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, and the Mississippi Gulf Coast.
Toward the end of the interview, Doug mentioned that while writing this book he found himself listening to certain pieces of music that inspired him. Terry, a music buff, couldn’t let that pass—asked him, “What music?” Brinkley mentioned a couple of Dylan tunes, a few others, and then said, “and Willie Nelson’s recording of ‘The Maker.’” He paused a moment and said, “I encourage everyone listening right now to go listen to Willie Nelson’s version of this song.”
I’m not a Willie Nelson fan. I’m not a Douglas Brinkley fan. But something about the passion in the latter’s voice when he urged all listeners to listen to this tune…. When I got to the office I jammed my laptop into the docking station, jacked up my speakers, logged onto “MusicMatch” (to which I pay about $13 a month in order to hear any of 1,000,000 songs I might choose) and tracked down “The Maker” by Willie Nelson.
Actually, I didn’t expect much (being neither a Willie Nelson nor a Douglas Brinkley fan). Then, the song came like a flaming arrow, expertly aimed at a deftly guarded place in my soul. In a way I can’t completely describe, it spoke to my own sense of alienation. My own sense of lost-ness in this world in which I’m neither an African nor an American nor a….what? To me it spoke a word of trace, a word of sacred connection...
It’s written by native Quebecois Daniel Lanois. Here are the words. Go listen to Willie sing them. Don’t listen with your head. Listen with your whole being….
Oh, oh deep water, black and cold like the night
I stand with arms wide open,I've run a twisted line
I'm a stranger in the eyes of the Maker
I could not see for the fog in my eyes
I could not feel for the fear in my life
And across the great divide,
In the distance I saw a light
Saw Jean Baptiste walking to me with the Maker
My body is bent and broken by long and dangerous sleep
I can't work the fields of Abraham and turn my head away
I'm not a stranger in the hands of the Maker
Brother John, have you seen the homeless daughters
Standing there with broken wings
I have seen the flaming swords
there over east of Eden
Burning in the eyes of the Maker
Burning in the eyes of the Maker
Burning in the eyes of the Maker...
Oh, river rise from your sleep...
Ger
posted by Rick at 9:03 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home