When I moved to Nebraska the first time, in 1991, I bought a 1988 Ford Black F150 pick-truck (5 speed, stick on the floor!), a pair of cowboy boots, and I started listening to country music. My New Jersey friends were appalled. I loved that truck, to my own surprise, and it was with great heartbreak that I got rid of it after 10 good years together, in 2001, because the rear-wheel drive was incompatible with the narrow, steep, winding mountain roads of Northeast Pennsylvania where we lived then. The cowboy boots didn't last as long; one full day at the Nebraska State Fair for a Garth Brooks concert did my feet in. (Or was it wearing them for line-dance lessons when I was 6 months pregnant?-- ouch)
Though I am currently truck-less and bootless, I still listen to country music. I also listen to Public Radio (I love that Billy Joel song, "I don't know why I go to extremes!") When I was in seminary at St. Paul School of Theology in KC, my professor Tex Sample taught a January class called "White Soul." Tex also wrote a book by the same name. It was, believe it or not, a class on the history of country music, and how it is essentially the "soul music"of mostly white people, and not just rural white people. In other words, country music is often about real life, real struggles and real people. I don't like ALL country music, mind you. I'm not crazy about the heavy bear-drinking, woman-hating, flag-worshipping, sometimes violent, sometimes nasty songs. But there are many songs that speak about the real pains and joys of life. I commuted to seminary in my pick-up truck for two years from Nebraska, listening to Alan Jackson, Brooks and Dunn, Martina McBride, Garth Brooks ("I've Got Friends in Low Places" will preach!), Trisha Yearwood, Wynonna, Confederate Railroad, etc. During the 1992 presidential election, there was a lot of songs about the working man or woman just trying to be by, trying to get a job, the homeless, the regular guy on the street. There are songs about spousal abuse, child abuse, impossible bosses, trying to get by on minimum wage, raising a daughter in a world where women's bodies are used to sell everything from pop to cars to shampoo. Then there's the just plain fun ones like "Bubba Shot the Jukebox," or "Prop Me Up Against the Jukebox When I Die" and the controversial Dixie Chicks' "Goodbye Earl." Jukeboxes are big in country music, along with trucks, trains, bars, dogs and mama. Country music also pokes fun at the absurdities of life, like in Tracy Byrd's "Celebrity"about the whacked-out life of big stars who can literally get away with crimes. The music also celebrates the simple, good things of life; like fried chicken (never mind the trans fat), long conversations on the front porch, biscuits and home-cooking, and country life.
My moving to Nebraska wasn't my first exposure to country music, it was more like a return to it. My mother, Mississippi-raised, had country music playing all the time on the kitchen radio. I grew up listening to Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Little Jimmy Dickens, and company. Then upstairs on the second floor, my older brothers were playing 60s and 70s rock, so I had a diverse exposure. I learned to especially love Johnny Cash in elementary school. It was a Johnny Cash movie on the life of Jesus that simultaneously made me love Johnny AND Jesus at the same time when I was 9 years old. The day Johnny Cash die I felt an eerie grief, as íf I'd grown up with the man. In a way, I did.
Country music also has great story-songs that'll make you cry and songs about God and Jesus. No other song, I believe, captured and comforted the national heart after September 11th more than Alan Jackson's "Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?"
I guess I try to do in my preaching what I find in a lot of country music. I try to get a sense of what the regular person in the everyday world is experiencing and feeling and wondering about, and try to talk to them. I want to find out their story, their lived experience. So much TV represents so much false life, people with way more money than any of us'll ever have, doing things that none of us have the time to do even if we wanted to, and they do it all without having to reap any consequences. I like to talk about real people and bring the Good News of Jesus Christ to them. Otherwise, what is the point of any of it? I like the song by Confederate Railroad; "Jesus and Mama always loved me." Now, it doesn't get much more basic than that. Then there's Brooks and Dunn's "Believe"; "I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red..." Country music, more often than not, is about real life, real heartbreaks, real struggles, real people, and often about the very real struggle to have faith in a world that makes faith so difficult. Sounds like gospel to me.
Music is often like praying for me. Sometimes a song can say what I don't know how to put into words myself. It can lift my heart when nothing else can. It can help me grieve, too, while also reminding me of heaven. It's good stuff. I don't know, it'd be just like Jesus to hang out in the honky-tonks if he came back today. Call me crazy. Jesus always seemed to prefer the down-to-earth, tell-it-like-it-is people over the uppity ones who thought they had it all together. Jesus came that we may have life-- REAL life-- as real people. Who knows? He might even wear jeans to church if he were here.
pmr
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Friday, January 12, 2007
Ice, Ice, Baby
It is January 12, 2007, and I somehow missed the transition from Christmas to the New Year. Usually it seems that Christmas drags on forever, long after the needles have fallen from the tree, the lights are sagging off the roofs of the neighbor's house, and the Santas in the neighborhood yards look a little depressed that another Christmas is gone and they fade back into obscurity for another 10-11 months. But this year in Nebraska was different. On December 30th, the hard rain we had the previous day turned into an ICE STORM within hours. Saturday night I learned that most if not all of the churches in the area had cancelled services for the next morning as ice accumulated on all surfaces. The emergency siren kept going off in town, followed by fire truck sirens and ambulance whistles, indicating that some people perhaps did not heed the warnings to stay home, or that emergencies still happened that didn't listen to the forecast. Around 5 o'clock that afternoon my friend called me to tell me that their power had gone out at their farm. Our lights kept flickering, teasing us for awhile, until about 10:30 p.m. as I was getting ready to go to bed, all the lights went out. We were to be without power for 43 hours; something, I confess, I'd never experienced. The temperature in the house got down to 40 degrees by the end of Sunday. We spent New Year's Eve, huddled around the table amid all the lit candles, bundled up in all the layers of clothes that we could fit on our bodies, and our feet in snow boots. I'd love to say that I was a really creative Mom and came up with all kinds of fun activities for us to do, treating the time as an adventure. But I am a weenie. It did not turn into a fun adventure, or a "cool" camp-in, as some families later reported, as if they never whined once or got on each other's nerves or got cranky about not being able to take a shower for 3 days. I was cold. I got bored. The cats strolled through the darkness as if nothing was wrong, and didn't shiver once, and I swear they looked down their noses at us wimpy humans.
Our fun plans to be with friends and play games and gorge ourselves on New Year's Eve, was of course cancelled. Instead we heated water on the campstove on the porch, drank a lot of coffee and hot cocoa, listened to the Country Music Countdown on a battery-operated radio (hint: always know where your batteries and matches are), as even NPR was without power. Sarah Gene really wanted to stay up to midnight, but we were too cold, and so we all went to bed at 10:00 to get under as many blankets as possible and let the Country Music Countdown play till midnight. I fell asleep long before the #1 song was announced.
We were lucky. Our hot water heater is run by gas, so we had hot water. We took hot showers, as hot as we could stand it, and then QUICKLY got dressed, while marveling at the wonder of seeing our breath in the bathroom. We got our power back by Tuesday afternoon. The sound of the furnace kicking in was never such a therapeutic sound! However, our rural friends outside of town were without power through the following Saturday or Sunday. Their water is on a well system, so they ran out of water early in the week. Many people we know went to relatives' in other parts of Nebraska, others went to already crowded hotels for several days, while lots of meat spoiled in their freezers back home. In Holdredge, Nebraska, they are still without power in the whole town, depending only on generators and making a choice between having heat or doing the dishes. Word has it that they are receiving money from the United Methodist Committee on Relief and that the state of Nebraska will get disaster relief funds from the government.
It was a strange week, heading into 2007. You go to the cafe, the church, the post office, it's all people are talking about. Parts of Kearney look like a tornado hit, with all the tree branches down everywhere. The current figure for what this storm will cost NPPD is over 100 million dollars. The other day I was having lunch with some of the ladies from my church and the waittress accidentally bumped the light switch and the lights went out. Everyone in the room collectively gasped. Lights going out still produces anxiety immediately for many people.
During the power outtage in town over New Year's, we finally got in the car and drove (slowly) around town-- partly from sheer boredom, partly for the precious heat!! The whole town was dark-- it was very bizarre. You could see dim glows from houses, where there were candles burning inside. Everything was quiet and still, illuminated only by a full moon that reflected through the ice-covered trees. You could hear the branches cracking and straining under the weight. It was hauntingly beautiful; the silence, the moonlight reflected through ice, the stillness, and the groaning of the trees.
But it was good to get out again this week and see people, share our own stories, bring water to those who were still without power, let someone come in and take a hot shower, who, frankly, were beginning to stink (we didn't say so). There's something about going through something together that makes you feel like one. Of course, when it's over, you can laugh about it, as you turn on the light switch and the light actually comes ON. I haven't lit a candle since the storm, and it may be awhile. Suddenly I really like electric light. I like not seeing my breath when I get out of the shower. I like not having to decide just how badly I have to go the bathroom in the middle of the night because it's just so warm under the covers and my husband puts out some serious body heat. And I like living in a community where people know each other and can't wait till the cafe re-opens so they can swap stories about using lake water to flush their toilets and the many ways they improvised to get through the enduring darkness. I liked how we all cried out together when the lights went out in the restaurant, like we all shared a private joke.
Life goes on. The kids finally went back to school, people put on real clothes (only 1 or 2 layers now) and went back to work. The city workers are collecting the massive piles of branches out on the curbs, while NPPD is still putting up new poles all throughout Central Nebraska, replacing the thousands that had been snapped in two like toothpicks. Folks are finally draining their bathtubs, trusting that enough water will come out of the tap. I know people are turning out more lights when they're not using them, taking shorter showers, noticing more how much energy we used to waste-- and take for granted. It was good to go back to worship last Sunday after two weeks, sucking in the warmth, the light, and the good fellowship. A little bit more grateful for the basics of life, and still praying for those who still wait.
Tomorrow the forecast calls for more snow and perhaps some more ice. I can hear the collective groan for miles.... But it could be worse. We could be in Denver.
Happy New Year from the Prairie!!
Our fun plans to be with friends and play games and gorge ourselves on New Year's Eve, was of course cancelled. Instead we heated water on the campstove on the porch, drank a lot of coffee and hot cocoa, listened to the Country Music Countdown on a battery-operated radio (hint: always know where your batteries and matches are), as even NPR was without power. Sarah Gene really wanted to stay up to midnight, but we were too cold, and so we all went to bed at 10:00 to get under as many blankets as possible and let the Country Music Countdown play till midnight. I fell asleep long before the #1 song was announced.
We were lucky. Our hot water heater is run by gas, so we had hot water. We took hot showers, as hot as we could stand it, and then QUICKLY got dressed, while marveling at the wonder of seeing our breath in the bathroom. We got our power back by Tuesday afternoon. The sound of the furnace kicking in was never such a therapeutic sound! However, our rural friends outside of town were without power through the following Saturday or Sunday. Their water is on a well system, so they ran out of water early in the week. Many people we know went to relatives' in other parts of Nebraska, others went to already crowded hotels for several days, while lots of meat spoiled in their freezers back home. In Holdredge, Nebraska, they are still without power in the whole town, depending only on generators and making a choice between having heat or doing the dishes. Word has it that they are receiving money from the United Methodist Committee on Relief and that the state of Nebraska will get disaster relief funds from the government.
It was a strange week, heading into 2007. You go to the cafe, the church, the post office, it's all people are talking about. Parts of Kearney look like a tornado hit, with all the tree branches down everywhere. The current figure for what this storm will cost NPPD is over 100 million dollars. The other day I was having lunch with some of the ladies from my church and the waittress accidentally bumped the light switch and the lights went out. Everyone in the room collectively gasped. Lights going out still produces anxiety immediately for many people.
During the power outtage in town over New Year's, we finally got in the car and drove (slowly) around town-- partly from sheer boredom, partly for the precious heat!! The whole town was dark-- it was very bizarre. You could see dim glows from houses, where there were candles burning inside. Everything was quiet and still, illuminated only by a full moon that reflected through the ice-covered trees. You could hear the branches cracking and straining under the weight. It was hauntingly beautiful; the silence, the moonlight reflected through ice, the stillness, and the groaning of the trees.
But it was good to get out again this week and see people, share our own stories, bring water to those who were still without power, let someone come in and take a hot shower, who, frankly, were beginning to stink (we didn't say so). There's something about going through something together that makes you feel like one. Of course, when it's over, you can laugh about it, as you turn on the light switch and the light actually comes ON. I haven't lit a candle since the storm, and it may be awhile. Suddenly I really like electric light. I like not seeing my breath when I get out of the shower. I like not having to decide just how badly I have to go the bathroom in the middle of the night because it's just so warm under the covers and my husband puts out some serious body heat. And I like living in a community where people know each other and can't wait till the cafe re-opens so they can swap stories about using lake water to flush their toilets and the many ways they improvised to get through the enduring darkness. I liked how we all cried out together when the lights went out in the restaurant, like we all shared a private joke.
Life goes on. The kids finally went back to school, people put on real clothes (only 1 or 2 layers now) and went back to work. The city workers are collecting the massive piles of branches out on the curbs, while NPPD is still putting up new poles all throughout Central Nebraska, replacing the thousands that had been snapped in two like toothpicks. Folks are finally draining their bathtubs, trusting that enough water will come out of the tap. I know people are turning out more lights when they're not using them, taking shorter showers, noticing more how much energy we used to waste-- and take for granted. It was good to go back to worship last Sunday after two weeks, sucking in the warmth, the light, and the good fellowship. A little bit more grateful for the basics of life, and still praying for those who still wait.
Tomorrow the forecast calls for more snow and perhaps some more ice. I can hear the collective groan for miles.... But it could be worse. We could be in Denver.
Happy New Year from the Prairie!!
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