Rich As Best As I Remember Him

And the moon is a sliver of silver
Like a shaving that fell on the floor of a Carpenter’s shop

 

People say “Why do you write music?” and I always say “Well, how many of Wesley’s sermons do you know?” And I’ve talked to a lot of good Methodists and they don’t know any of them. Then I say, “Well, how many of Wesley’s hymns do you know?” and most church goers know at least a good solid dozen hymns that Wesley wrote. Most pagans know at least a couple. And I kind of go, that is why I write music and not sermons.

Sound of (Movie) Music

I bought a soundtrack to a fifty-year old movie this week.

Which, of course, got me thinking about my favorite movie soundtracks. (Why, doesn’t it you?) I’m going to exclude musical soundtracks; that’s kind of cheating, since the soundtrack essentially is the movie. Or a large portion of it. So, no Sound of Music (ugh), no Funny Lady (double-ugh), and most definitely no La-La Land.

Good movie soundtracks are usually unobtrusive; they make the movie better, but don’t take attention away from it. Great movie soundtracks, however, not only make the movie better, they become a character themselves, a character so good that you can’t help but notice them.

Caged

Radio listeners in early 1971 were treated to something rare for that time — a song that dealt with adult relationships like an adult. The song began with just a piano and a woman’s almost wispy voice singing of her parent’s in-home estrangement and how it had impacted her. It was remarkable for a number of reasons, not the least because the woman singing was only twenty-six.

My father sits at night with no lights on, his cigarette glows in the dark
The living room is still, I walk by, no remark
I tiptoe past the master bedroom where my mother reads her magazines
I hear her call sweet dreams, but I forgot how to dream

After a chorus of sounding less than thrilled at her boyfriend’s proposal, she goes on to sing of all her friends from college and their equally dismal married lives.

Joy and Sorrow

Our first Postmaster General once wrote that nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes. I’m sticking with the theme, but picking two different certainties, since Franklin’s two turned out not to be quite as certain as he thought. (See Jesus for the former and our President-elect for the latter.)

My first certainty is from yesterday’s post — there’s bound to come some trouble. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe next year, but there’s bound to come some trouble. That’s not pessimism, that’s just reality — we live in a broken world, and we all eventually step on that brokenness and find ourselves with a (figurative) cut foot.

Trouble with a Capital “T”

There’s bound to come some trouble to your life
But that ain’t nothing to be afraid of
There’s bound to come some trouble to your life
But that ain’t no reason to fear
I know there’s bound to come some trouble to your life
But reach out to Jesus, hold on tight
He’s been there before and He knows what it’s like
You’ll find He’s there

There’s bound to come some tears up in your eyes
That ain’t nothing to be ashamed of
I know there’s bound to come some tears up in your eyes
That ain’t no reason to fear
I know there’s bound to come some tears up in your eyes
Reach out to Jesus, hold on tight
He’s been there before and He knows what it’s like
You’ll find He’s there

Now people say maybe things will get better
People say maybe it won’t be long
And people say maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow
And it’ll all be gone
Well I only know that maybes just ain’t enough
When you need something to hold on
There’s only one thing that’s clear

I know there’s bound to come some trouble to your life
But that ain’t nothing to be afraid of
I know there’s bound to come some tears up in your eyes
That ain’t no reason to fear
I know there’s bound to come some trouble to your life
Reach out to Jesus, hold on tight
He’s been there before and He knows what it’s like
You’ll find He’s there

Rich Mullins