Man in Black

I'm usually about 5 years behind all pop culture. So I was right on my own schedule when, earlier this week, I watched the movie Walk the Line, the biopic about Johnny Cash and his wife, June Carter Cash. It was good, so naturally, being me, I threw myself into reading about Johnny Cash and his life.

I'm not a stranger to Cash or country music. My grandmother and great-aunt listened to country music when I was growing up, so I got large doses of it when I would stay with them. When people turn up their noses at country music, I simply bask in my superior knowledge that country music has turned out the best vocalists, hands down, in the last 100 years. I was reared on the Statler Brothers (and watched their really cheesy variety show), and loved Roy Clark (the banjo guy) and Buck Owens (with his red, white and blue gee-tar) from Hee Haw (which, music aside, had no redeeming value other than being a link to my childhood).

But other than Cash's big time hits and some of his gospel music, I didn't know too much about him except that he wore black. So in my obsessive study of Cash this week, I looked up the lyrics to his song, Man in Black. I had heard once that he wore black as a reminder to himself of the rough life he had and poor choices he made. But in this song, he explains that he wears black for the poor, the hopeless, the sick, and the imprisoned. That's not all:

I wear the black for those who never read,

Or listened to the words that Jesus said,

About the road to happiness through love and charity,

Why, you'd think He's talking straight to you and me.

It is sad that many will never know Jesus or his teachings. And I think Johnny is right-sometimes He's talking straight to me in Scripture. Did you ever read a Psalm or a Gospel passage that hits you in the chest, convicting you about your life or your choices? It's scary.

I wear black a lot too. I wear it out of a combination of laziness and a lack of sense of style. I like Johnny's reasons for wearing black more. It is also a physical reminder, when we "church people" get spiritually content, of two things: 1) so many people haven't heard Jesus' words; 2) His words will always be speaking directly to everyone.

Some of Scripture is for all of us, and some of it is clearly for "church people." Why is there Scripture specifically "church people?" I think it might be because the sins of "church people" can have a further reach than the sins of others, and therefore can be more harmful. Paul's letters make that clear. If I ever get to the point where I am not being hit in the chest by Scripture, I had better be careful and back up. I had better ask myself why I don't think it applies to my life.

Johnny said it well. He's always talking straight to you and me.

Seaweed and Supplications

This morning I did something I haven't done in 20 years--an open water swim. It was full of firsts--first wetsuit swim, first time wearing a timing chip on my leg for a swim instead of a run, first time entering a swimming race and not knowing what the heck I was doing. I needed help getting my wetsuit zipped up. I had to wear my bib number inside my swimming cap to turn in at the end of the race (???). And let's just say that figuring out when and how often to go to the bathroom prior to coating myself in latex was a challenge.

I like ocean swims and pool swims, but I don't like weird, big-leaf seaweed. Which was, of course, ubiquitous in the Chesapeake Bay this morning. And the bottom was mushy-silty mud, which is not as nice as hard packed beach sand or the smooth tiled bottom of a chlorine pool. In a word, blech.

Other wisdom from this experience: I've decided that swimming with a wetsuit is like putting a tourniquet around your neck and then doing jumping jacks. Next time, no wetsuit.

I did this swim at a leisurely pace (really, those who know me from my college days, it is true--no racing). The first one-third of the swim was a free-for-all, arms and legs battering me from all around as everyone positioned for 6 feet of open water all to themselves. The second one-third was the best, with mostly open water, and the last one-third was confusing (I couldn't find the bouys and zig-zagged most of the way to the finish).

Half way though, it occurred to me to pray. Here I was, on a really beautiful summer morning, and I was in the Bay, and I hadn't thanked God for the opportunity to be healthy enough to participate in this event. Now, it would have been holier to pray before the race, but I can't lie-I didn't. In fact, during the last third of the race, I actually prayed for the shore to come out and meet me, because I was over it by that time.

I dragged myself out of the Bay, ran across the electronic time mat, and was happy to have simply finished. I didn't care about my place. All good. Then I checked my place and it was higher than I thought I could do, not having trained for it and surely not being in good swimming shape for it.

What happened then? I was really happy for a few minutes, and then I was mad at the fact that I should have, could have, trained for this event and then placed higher.

Here is a truth about me. I can always kill my own good time.

I should have prayed (before, after, in the middle of the race) for the grace to be happy with myself and the events of the day, whatever they might be. But God graced me with that peace later in the day, even though I didn't ask, and surely don't deserve it.

He's a cool God.